The Billionaires regret Ex returns

The Billionaire's Secret Triplets: Mom's Revenge

HONEY MULLINS

Six years ago, I was a naive girl sold by my father to the powerful Sanders estate, only to be tossed onto the streets after a brutal assault they labeled "marital infidelity." I fled the country pregnant and broken, hiding from the shadow of a husband I had never even met. Now, I’ve returned to New York with my triplets to sign the final divorce papers and disappear forever. But Archibald Sanders—the man I was told was a crippled recluse—intercepted us with the cold precision of a predator. He didn't see the woman his family destroyed; he saw a gold-digger who had shamed his name. His security team hunted us to a grimy motel, using tactical force to snatch my children away and drag me to his glass-walled empire. In his office, he loomed over me, demanding a DNA test and threatening to throw me in prison while my babies were lost to the foster system. He was convinced I’d cheated, yet he stared at my sons with a haunting confusion, unable to ignore the stormy blue eyes that were a perfect mirror of his own. I stood there, paralyzed by his scent—the sharp tang of rain and expensive leather that triggered the icy dread of my worst nightmares. How could he accuse me of betrayal when he felt exactly like the monster who had shattered my life in that dark hotel room? "I'll sign anything," I sobbed, "just give me my kids." But the game changed when my five-year-old son hacked the tower’s security, holding the skyscraper hostage to save me. In the chaos, a fragile, silent boy—Archibald’s secret son—wandered into the room and reached for me as if I were his missing soul. Archibald’s face turned to stone as he tore up the agreement and locked the doors. "Until I find out why my son is looking at you like that," he growled, "you aren't going anywhere."

Modern Mystery Revenge

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MELLOW.

"We're eleven weeks pregnant!" the bitch squeals, exalted by cheers from everyone.

Zeath showing up at the Lupin family's fucking dinner with his ex-girlfriend is insulting. And I can't believe my eyes as I gaze at them standing at the table's head.

He doesn't explain himself. Nobody does. But they know what the heck's going on and are hell-bent to leave me in the dark.

A thought knocks on my head, urging me to remove myself from this situation. Yet, I don't listen.

Instead, I blurt out, "Zeath, babe, what's going on?"

Zeath ignores me. Now I'm just sat where I am, eyes stuck on him as he pulls out a seat for his ex before sitting beside her.

She softly bumps her shoulder on his then watches as he dishes food for her.

I want to believe it's a prank. And I'm waiting for someone to say, 'Got ya!'

Like, can someone please tell me what is going on? I can't be the only one who's curious, right?

Except, I am. No one seems to mind. They're all absorbed in the moment, acting like it's normal.

And the more their silence stretches, the more it feels like I could choke on my food.

Mama Tia, Zeath's grandma, has been watching me for some time now. She was always the best comfort: soft-spoken, never hesitated to mention her love for me.

But her next words drive a spike through my heart.

"Whoever feels uncomfortable should leave."

No one else feels uncomfortable, at least not the way I see it, which means those words are for me.

If only she knew I'm not leaving until I'm done with my dinner.

Zeath's brother raises a champagne glass. "A toast to my brother, Yolie, and their blessed unborn."

Everyone raises their glasses with a cheer. I do too, but I'm rather quiet. I only now observe the toaster, East, from beneath my lashes while sipping my wine.

He meets my gaze and smirks, then relaxes in his seat.

"Sorry, I forgot you, Melon," he says. He's mocking me. "Shall we toast to your twenty-six years of abstinence, then?"

I scoff.

Fuck East and his rotten toast. I could squash his glass on his head and force the pieces into his mouth. Pray that it cuts the bloody fucker's tongue.

"I'm sorry, East, but... to hell with you," I snap, right before Zeath gets up noisily and heads toward the restroom. And despite the eyes on me, I follow him.

Male toilet or not, I stand behind him as he relieves himself. He doesn't even act like I'm there, going as far as trying to leave when he's done.

Only I'm faster.

I push myself to his front before resting against the door to block his way out.

"This is about the child, isn't it?" I rap, taking a breath and a moment of silence before adding, "Or sex."

Zeath chose not to reply. He slowly walks to stand near the sink, resting his hands on it while looking himself in the mirror.

His side face is what I get-a fucking smoking beauty, but mostly the center of enthrallment that flaunts a crown in the wake of its glory.

I want to hold him like I always did: jump on his massive form and stick my arms and legs around him like a koala while reveling in the feel of his bulging crotch against me.

He's way past six feet, while I'm just some inch over half of him. The courage to measure my height hasn't really found me yet.

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