HIs SeCreT

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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Scarlett's POV:

I checked the time again and sighed. It had been one and a half hours since I flew in, and I had lost count of the times I had glanced at my watch. My husband, Charles Moore, was nowhere to be found. He was supposed to pick me up from the airport. But he must be with his girlfriend right now. I shook my head and smiled bitterly at the thought, stood up, and dragged myself and my luggage out of the airport.

I married Charles three years ago. But shortly after our wedding, I received some good news from my dream university abroad. I was accepted to one of their programs, so I left to study there. Charles and I had not seen each other for three years. While I was away, he was spending all his time with the woman he truly loved.

Now, I was finally finished with my studies and I came back home. I wanted to end our nominal marriage. I decided it was time for me to stop hoping for things that would never happen.

On my way home in a cab, I sent Charles a message that read, "We need to talk."

Before long, I was standing inside our empty house. I set my luggage aside and headed to the living room. I sat on the sofa and waited. The house looked and smelled like no one had lived in it for years. Our wedding photo was still hanging on the wall. It offended and saddened me at the same time.

I glanced at my phone. Charles still had not replied. I guessed that maybe he would not be home tonight.

But I just sat there for a long time and immersed myself in my thoughts. Then, I heard a car pull over outside. I shot up from my seat, feeling my heart break into a gallop. Did I still expect anything of my stone-hearted husband? Maybe. Maybe not. But at the last moment, I gnashed my teeth together and clasped my trembling hands. I reminded myself, 'I'm here to end this.'

The doorknob turned, and the door swung open. Charles turned on the lights, and they cast a tall shadow of him down the hall. He walked in. He was clad in a charcoal black suit and immaculate white shirt. His expression showed exhaustion, but it did nothing to overshadow his angular face and prominent cheekbones. Everything was still the same. He still exuded that icy aura that I could feel from a few feet away.

As he walked closer, my heart beat faster, and my breath started coming in short bursts. I could not believe I forgot how handsome he was. He was like a god who did not belong in the mortal world. He had the kind of charm that just made people surrender.

Time had made him into a more mature-looking, head-turning man. I averted my gaze as I felt my cheeks burn.

He walked to the sofa and sat down. I took the seat across from him.

Then, he stared at me with his cold, sharp eyes. My first thought was to lower my head and avoid looking directly at him, but I forced my chin up. I saw my reflection in his dark eyes.

"You're back." He spoke in his usual monotone, which would have made me bristle had I not known it so completely.

"Yes," I answered, keeping my voice as nonchalant as his.

"My lawyer just sent you an email." As Charles spoke, he loosened his tie. His muscular chest poked through his shirt.

"Okay, let me check." I swallowed and schooled my features into neutrality.

I took out my phone and pulled up my email, and the subject line of the latest email in my inbox jumped right at me—divorce agreement. Although I was expecting it, I still felt like somebody drove a knife through my chest. The pain was swift and startling, and the only reason I was thankful for it was that it blinded me from Charles's charm for a second.

"All right. I'll sign it." I put my phone away and looked back at my soon-to-be ex-husband. Soon, he would no longer belong to me. I had a good run pretending to be Mrs. Moore. But it had to come to an end now, and I had to kick Mr. Moore out of my world.

"Don't you want to read the agreement first?"

"No need. I'm sure Mr. Moore will treat his ex-wife well." I forced a smile. Ex-wife. I was going to be his ex-wife pretty soon, but I was not sure I was okay with such a blunt term.

"You will get this Garden Street house. And the apartment downtown..."

"When?" I interrupted Charles.

"What?" He frowned and looked at me with probing eyes.

"When are we signing the papers?" I asked softly.

"I'll make an appointment with my lawyer," Charles replied, slightly dipping his chin.

"Very well. I'll wait for your call."

After a moment of silence, he looked up at me again.

"Rita is not in good health. I just want to fulfill her last wish," he explained.

I clenched my fist as I swallowed the lump in my throat. Fulfill her last wish? What a great man. But did he have to do it at my expense? Well, I supposed I had no right to be hurt here. After all, I was just a fake Mrs. Moore. A substitute.

"I understand." I just nodded, even though deep inside, I was brimming with so many things I wanted to say to his face.

"If you need anything else, I'll have my lawyer put it in the agreement."

"No, I'm good. Whatever's in there, it's enough." Once again, I curled my lips into a weak smile.

"Come see Rita tomorrow." Charles stood up and started pacing in front of me.

He said his last remark firmly. He was not asking me to come see his girlfriend. He was commanding me. What did he think of me? And why should I go meet that woman? Did he just want to rub salt into my wound?

"And why would I do that?" I asked him with a straight face.

"I don't want her to feel guilty about our divorce. Tell her that you're in love with someone else. Assure her that our decision to end our marriage has nothing to do with her." He stopped in front of me and looked into my eyes once again.

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