Secret Triplets: The Billionaire's Second Chance

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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I was fourteen when I saw what the real world was.

Waking up with the sound of screams and pleas, I remembered scrambling towards my door to see what was happening. But before I could even touch the knob, the door slammed open, revealing a man so tall and big that I immediately trembled in intimidation and fear.

“You’re coming with us, girl,” he said.

I could never forget the huge scar across his face. It started on his left brow towards the right side of his neck. I wondered what kind of creature could still live through what seemed like a deep wound in his body. Then I realized he wasn’t just any other man. He was some sort of a creature that could withstand what a weak person like me couldn’t.

Seeing that I was staring at his scar, the man growled at me that had me whimpering. His large hand grasped my arm. “Get inside that truck and do not make a sound.”

Scared, I swallowed whatever screams I was about to get out of my throat. He pushed me, and with shaking legs, I walked out of our house.

And that’s when I saw my Dad, on the patio. Bloody. Dead.

The trembling on my legs reverberated towards my stomach, towards my chest, traveling all around my body.

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