The family rivalry

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.

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The ballroom glittered with the kind of excess only the elite could afford. Crystal chandeliers hung like frozen waterfalls, their light casting a golden sheen over the crowd. Celina Monroe took a steadying breath as she adjusted the sleek black dress hugging her curves. The air buzzed with conversation, but beneath the refined elegance was the ever-present pulse of competition.

She wasn't here for the champagne or the meaningless small talk. Tonight was about business-and about proving she could hold her own against Montgomery's wealthiest power players.

"Deep breaths, Celina," she murmured to herself, smoothing an imaginary wrinkle from her dress. This gala marked her first major step toward securing a partnership that could elevate her boutique marketing firm into the upper echelons of corporate influence.

The last thing she needed was a distraction.

Which meant the universe was clearly out to get her.

"Didn't think I'd see you here, Monroe."

That voice. Low, smooth, and instantly recognizable. The sound scraped against her nerves like it always had.

Celina turned slowly, already regretting it. And there he was-Jake Hawthorne. Looking just as insufferably polished as he had in college. His tailored charcoal-gray suit fit his frame with casual perfection, and his dark hair was styled in a way that made it seem as if he hadn't tried at all. But his piercing green eyes still held the same cocky glint that set her teeth on edge.

"Jake," she said coolly, tilting her chin upward. "I figured you'd still be busy coasting on your father's legacy."

His smirk deepened. "And I figured you'd still be bitter about coming in second."

Her blood heated. Of course, he had to mention it. Their rivalry in college had been the stuff of legend-a never-ending battle of wits and ambition. She had worked harder than anyone, fought for every opportunity. And he had still beaten her for the valedictorian title by a razor-thin margin.

"I've been doing just fine on my own," she said, keeping her voice even. "Unlike some people, I don't need my last name to open doors."

Jake chuckled softly, the sound far too pleased. "Still scrappy. I always liked that about you."

She should walk away. Engaging him never ended well. But there was something about his calm arrogance that made her want to prove him wrong all over again.

"What are you even doing here?" she asked. "I didn't realize real estate tycoons had time for charity events."

"We do when the right partnerships are at stake," he said, his gaze flicking over her with unsettling focus. "I hear Monroe Marketing is in the running for the Kingsley contract. Ambitious of you."

Her pulse quickened. The Kingsley Group was one of the most sought-after clients in the region, and landing their account would be a game-changer. Of course, Jake knew. He always knew how to find the weak spot and press it.

"Let me guess," she said. "Your family wants it, too."

"Naturally," he said, as if the outcome was already decided. "And you should know by now-I don't lose."

Celina stepped closer, her voice a near whisper. "You might want to prepare for disappointment. I'm not that girl you could outmaneuver anymore."

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