Engaged to a Billionaire

Secret Triplets: The Billionaire's Second Chance

Roderic Penn

I stood at my mother’s open grave in the freezing rain, my heels sinking into the mud. The space beside me was empty. My husband, Hilliard Holloway, had promised to cherish me in bad times, but apparently, burying my mother didn't fit into his busy schedule. While the priest’s voice droned on, a news alert lit up my phone. It was a livestream of the Metropolitan Charity Gala. There was Hilliard, looking impeccable in a custom tuxedo, with his ex-girlfriend Charla English draped over his arm. The headline read: "Holloway & English: A Power Couple Reunited?" When he finally returned to our penthouse at 2 AM, he didn't come alone—he brought Charla with him. He claimed she’d had a "medical emergency" at the gala and couldn't be left alone. I found a Tiffany diamond necklace on our coffee table meant for her birthday, and a smudge of her signature red lipstick on his collar. When I confronted him, he simply told me to stop being "hysterical" and "acting like a child." He had no idea I was seven months pregnant with his child. He thought so little of my grief that he didn't even bother to craft a convincing lie, laughing with his mistress in our home while I sat in the dark with a shattered heart and a secret life growing inside me. "He doesn't deserve us," I whispered to the darkness. I didn't scream or beg. I simply left a folder on his desk containing signed divorce papers and a forged medical report for a terminated pregnancy. I disappeared into the night, letting him believe he had successfully killed his own legacy through his neglect. Five years later, Hilliard walked into "The Vault," the city's most exclusive underground auction, looking for a broker to manage his estate. He didn't recognize me behind my Venetian mask, but he couldn't ignore the neon pink graffiti on his armored Maybach that read "DEADBEAT." He had no clue that the three brilliant triplets currently hacking his security system were the very children he thought had been erased years ago. This time, I wasn't just a wife in the way; I was the one holding all the cards.

Modern Crime Revenge Kickass Heroine Hidden identities Revenge

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My fiancée smiled as she showed me the "intruder" she had dealt with in the ER.

I looked past her to see my mother beaten unconscious on the floor.

And on the gurney next to her lay my seven-year-old brother, cold, blue, and dead.

Brittnie clung to my arm, beaming with pride.

"I handled it, Cannon," she chirped.

"That gold digger tried to claim this bastard was your son. But I made sure they wouldn't bother us again."

My blood turned to ice.

She was holding my mother' s emerald brooch, a family heirloom, convinced it was her engagement ring.

Because of her delusion, she had refused to give my brother his EpiPen.

She had watched him suffocate to death, thinking she was winning my heart.

I looked at Gabe' s lifeless body, then at the woman I was planning to marry.

I pulled out my phone and shoved a family photo in her face.

"That gold digger is my mother," I whispered, my voice trembling with lethal rage.

"And you just murdered my brother."

Chapter 1

Eleanora Bryan POV:

The world narrowed to a tunnel of fear. Gabe' s small body convulsed in my arms, his face swelling, lips turning blue. Every breath was a rasping battle he was losing, and I knew, with a mother's chilling certainty, that this was it. Anaphylaxis. Again.

"Gabe! Stay with me, baby, stay with me!" My voice was a frantic whisper against the roar of the engine as I sped towards the hospital.

My hands gripped the steering wheel, knuckles white. The emergency kit was empty. I' d given him the last EpiPen minutes ago, but it wasn't enough. His throat was closing.

I tried Cannon's number again. Straight to voicemail. "The neurosurgery wing doesn't allow phones," a cold voice reminded me. Of course. His life-saving work, always more important.

My jaw ached from clenching. I had to focus. Gabe. Just Gabe.

The emergency room entrance of Bryan Medical loomed, a beacon of stark white light against the oppressive night. This was Cannon's hospital, the one he practically lived in. It had to save my son.

I burst through the automatic doors, Gabe a dead weight in my arms, his once bright eyes now glazed and unfocused. My heart hammered against my ribs, each beat a desperate plea.

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