Erebus Unveiling the Secrets of the Ancient Technology

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.

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Roselle instinctively tightened the towel on her body, wrapping her hands around herself, in a pathetic attempt to hide however much she could. Nicholas looked unfazed, and tore his eyes away from her.

His tie hung loosely down his shirt, with the first two buttons undone. His hair was a disheveled mess, and Roselle wondered where he had been.

“You're coming with me to a show at five.”

His words were brief and his tone, neutral, yet commanding. Roselle was very familiar with the tone, and from her years of experience with her father, she was naturally submissive.

“O..okay,” she stuttered.

She wondered why they had separate rooms in his house, but decided against dwelling on the thought.

“Make yourself comfortable,” he said, before leaving and closing the door behind him.

She stepped into the shower and had a long warm bath, settled into a loose pair of sweats she found in her walk-in closet, and internally debated between taking a long nap and surveying the house.

Stepping outside of her room felt like a crime, but she took her chances. She was scared as she was not accustomed to the building yet, and made her way across the hall and into a maze of passages.

When she realized she was lost, she sat on the ground, knees to her chest and before she knew anything, she found herself sobbing uncontrollably, the reality of things settling heavily.

She had been forced by her father, to marry Nicholas on a whim, earlier that day, and couldn't stand a chance against him, whose authority she was under.

Roselle wondered what life would have been like, if she had a mother. She never saw her. Her father said she had passed, after giving birth to her. She never saw any photos of her, either. She was just an imagination, to her.

Roselle believed her mom would not have let her get married, against her will.

Nicholas Wilson was exactly what the books said. He was the standard of most girls. He stood tall and imposing. His athletic build fit perfectly into the black turtleneck top he had tucked into a black pair of trousers, with a vintage trench coat over it, earlier at the courthouse.

Roselle mind wandered back, when he spared her only but a split second glance, unimpressed. He had seen more beautiful girls, she was sure.

She felt a tap on her shoulder, and lifted her eyes, expecting to see either one of the workers, Miss Cherry the friendly maid, or at the very least, Nicholas. But she was wrong.

She wiped my eyes with the back of her hand, sniffling. He looked so full of concern, as he offered her a hand, but she humbly refused, with a curt nod and a small smile.

This man before her was devastating…handsome. His chiselled features and warm brown eyes stood out. He radiated warmth and a sense of calmness, which was strange.

He had a small scar above his left eyebrow, which gave him a rugged charm. Roselle looked away, catching herself midway. She couldn't acknowledge his looks. She wouldn't. She had a husband.

So she picked herself up, and wiped her back, although there was nothing to wipe. The marble floor was spotless.

“I'll take it that you're my brother's new little wife.” He cocked his head to the side, examining her. She suddenly became self conscious, although fully clothed.

Nicholas had a brother?

“Yes, I am,” Roselle managed to respond.

He exhaled, lifting his head. “You shouldn't be seen lurking around the corners, don't you think?”

“I was just trying to find my way, I'm sorry,” she lowered her gaze to the ground and flinched when she felt his hand slowly lift her chin.

“If there's one thing Nicholas hates, it's a girl who is unsure of what she's worth. Keep your head up,” he simply said. “I'm Austin, he said, before walking away.”

Roselle stood there, confused and lost, before trying to find her way around, again.

A young worker approached her, she was dressed in a similar uniform as Miss Cherry, the friendly maid she had met on arrival.

“Mr Austin told me you were lost, miss. I'm here to show you around, if you don't mind,” she smiled. Roselle nodded, “thank you.”

She settled in her bed after the little house tour with the maid, who she got to know was Carla.

The door chimed softly and cracked open as Miss Cherry poked her head through.

“Family lunch in thirty minutes, ma'am. Please put on something — beautiful,” she smiled, a nervous look flashing across her sunken eyes.

Quickly, Roselle settled on a sleeveless black dress, which hugged her body, revealing her curves. It was the most decent dress she could find. She put her hair in a ponytail and once she figured she was ready, she gave Miss Cherry a call.

“You look ravishing. They'll love you, I'm sure.” Roselle smiled nervously.

“What are they like?” she asked genuinely, fear creeping up her voice. She wasn't sure what she was expecting, and how many people were in Nicholas’ family.

“Be careful, not everything is as it seems in this house,” Miss Cherry answered in a monotone, leaving the room and instantly filling Roselle with foreboding.

She sat for the next few minutes, waiting for Miss Cherry to come back in and lead her out.

“Are you set?” She asked as she came in, her expression blank.

“I can't say, for sure,” Roselle mumbled under her breath.

“You'll be just fine,” Miss Cherry smiled, as she led Roselle out, and into the large dining hall.

The table was set with a variety of dishes, and Roselle walked in, realizing that she was the last to take a seat. Her breath caught in her throat as she took in the sight of everyone who sat around.

On the adjacent ends of the table were a man and woman who Roselle figured were her parents in-laws. Roselle's eyes met the imposing figures of her hosts.

Nicholas' mother, sat at the head of the table, her piercing gaze scrutinizing Roselle from head to toe. Her expression was expert in restrained disdain, her lips pursed into a line and her eyebrows arched. She seemed to be sizing Roselle up, finding her lacking.

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