Game of Love

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

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For five years, I poured my soul into my career and my secret lover, my boss Hudson. But for the fifth time, he gave the promotion I bled for to my incompetent rival, Kaitlyn.

My world shattered when I overheard him callously admitting our entire relationship was just a "cost-effective strategy" to keep me motivated without the director's salary.

The humiliation didn't end there. He physically forced me into a deeper bow before Kaitlyn, re-injuring my back. When I finally quit, his revenge was swift: an assignment to a notoriously dangerous remote site.

That night, I was brutally attacked. My desperate emergency call to Hudson went straight to voicemail. A notification later revealed why: he was on stage at a company party, singing a love duet with Kaitlyn while I was fighting for my life.

The man I loved had left me to die.

After I cut all ties and finally started to heal, he showed up at my parents' door, begging for forgiveness.

This time, I wouldn't just walk away. I would make him face every lie he ever told.

Chapter 1

Alex Evans POV:

The email landed in my inbox like a lead weight, crushing the last sliver of hope I had left. "Director of Digital Strategy – Kaitlyn Chen." For the fifth time. Five times I' d poured my soul into this company, into this role, only to be passed over for someone less competent, less deserving. My fingers shook as I reread the name, the words blurring through a sudden, hot haze in my eyes.

The frustration tasted like ash in my mouth.

My phone vibrated, an incoming call from my mother. I almost ignored it. Lately, her calls were just reminders of everything I wasn't doing right – not married, not settled, still chasing a career that clearly wasn't chasing me back. But today, something shifted. A weariness settled deep in my bones, a kind of surrender I hadn't felt before. I answered.

"Honey, still no news about the promotion?" Her voice was soft, laced with that familiar maternal concern. "You know, if San Francisco isn't working out, Portland always has a place for you. And maybe it's time to think about settling down, you know? A nice architect, a family…"

Normally, I'd bristle. I'd launch into a fierce defense of my choices, my ambition. But today, the fight had drained out of me.

"Maybe, Mom," I whispered, the words surprising even myself. "Maybe you're right."

A beat of stunned silence on the other end. My mother knew this wasn't like me. I hung up before she could probe, the unexpected admission hanging in the air between us.

I needed to talk to Hudson. He was the only one who truly understood, or so I thought. My boss, my secret lover of five years, the Vice President who had always promised me the world, just not yet. I composed a text, my thumbs hovering over the keyboard. "Can we talk? Urgent."

Then, a flicker of movement in the reflection of my office window caught my eye. Hudson's door, usually closed, was ajar. And I heard voices. His voice. And another, deeper, male voice. Greg Ashley, his colleague.

I leaned closer, my heart thumping a nervous rhythm against my ribs.

"So, Alex was passed over again," Greg said, his tone sympathetic. "Harsh, man. She's been gunning for that director role for years. And after all she's done for you, for the company…"

A cold dread began to seep into my veins. This was about me.

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