The Black Chinese King

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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♱ •⋅ 1750 A.C. ⋅• ♱

There was much to be said regarding history, but nothing left me as stunned as this. The strong and warm arms of the man I had always dreamt of were around me, and he looked at me with a smile in his violet eyes that I admired so much.

He seemed real.

"What's wrong?" he asked me with a rough and gentle voice.

"Uh... nothing," I replied, questioning whether all of this was a dream or not. But he was still there, his eyes now closed as he held me in his embrace.

Indeed, this was one of the best dreams I had ever had.

"Sir," a masculine voice called out to him, and I saw Calisto raise his face with displeasure.

"What the hell do you want?" he grumbled.

"We've learned something that might interest you, sir," the man said, and a shiver ran down my spine.

"I'm busy," he said, burying his face in my back. I could feel his breath on my bare skin, and it made my face warm.

"Sir," the man persisted, and by this point, I already knew what would happen. I had read and reread that scene thousands of times, so I mentally repeated it as he spoke in perfect synchrony: "A girl has emerged in front of the Cathedral of Samael."

Calisto growled, and I could feel his fangs against my skin, but he hadn't bitten me. He was displeased.

"Then kill her already," he snarled.

"We couldn't, sir," the man said, and I involuntarily smiled.

Whether it was a dream or not, he was staying true to the book I had read so many times. And if it was him, if it was that scene... then I was...

My gaze wandered around the room, searching for a mirror, and when I found one, I bit my lip hard enough to draw blood.

Red hair like blood, ruby eyes without pupils, and skin pale as a corpse. There was no doubt I was Asra.

The king's concubine, who attempted to go against the saint sent by God, would not only heal the king's son but also win his heart and make him good again, as well as the cause of his death.

Calisto seemed irritated as he let go of me and sat on the bed.

"They need your king to handle something so stupid? What good are the princes?" he was bothered, but my eyes were occupied with his sculpted body, with every feature of his face.

No matter how many fanatics I had seen or how many times I had imagined it, I would never come close to the true beauty of Calisto.

Black hair cascaded down his back in messy waves, thanks to what we had done before. But, to my unfortunate luck, I wasn't even dreaming of this beautiful moment. His eyes were rose quartz.

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