angels and demons dan brown

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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Rick

"Come on Ricky, pleaaaase!" She begged for the millionth time, clutching on my arm, her big green puppy eyes staring up into mine.

Hmm, like this would ever work...

I mentally rolled my eyes, before I gave her my final decision, "No, Blake, I said no, it remains no! You're not going, and it's final!"

"B-but why? Leila is also going, and she will be with me the whole time, I swear!" She tried again, annoyance and frustration resonating loud and clear in her tone.

"No. I don't care, not even if the friggin' pope shows up at that stupid party, I said you're not going, and it's final, so stop trying!" I coldly replied, quickly returning behind my desk, definitely knowing that she will stop talking to me for at least a week for doing this.

But the truth is, I had to. I really had to. Who knows what kind of maniacs and freaks would be also attending that frat party, waiting for the perfect moment to hurt her. I simply can't allow that to happen.

"Ugh, I hate you, you're the worst brother ever!" She spat, then stormed out and loudly slammed my office door behind her, just like she always does when she tries to make a point.

I knew she would say that, she always does, everytime I deny her the freedom of going out on her own, outside this house...

And though it pained me to see her like that, I still, made a promise...and I definitely intent to keep it.

"Ricky...

My sweet, sweet strong boy..."

She whispered, tears flowing down her cheeks, holding my small hands in hers, pain and sorrow glinting in her eyes, as she took a few deep breaths, trying to regain composure.

"I want you to promise you'll take care of your little sister, no matter what, do you understand?"

"Yes mommy, I promise."

I nodded, holding back the tears threatening to fall over my cheeks. I knew it...I somehow knew that would be the last time I ever saw her...

"Good child. Now go."

She whispered, kissing my forehead, right before I craddled little Blake in my arms, and with a single last glance, I turned around and ran away on the dark alley, as fast as I could.

I sighed, closing my eyes for a brief moment, trying to clear my mind, that specific memory always bringing nothing but pain...

The sound of my phone buzzing suddenly pulled me out of my thoughts, glancing down on my desk where it layed.

Caller ID: unknown

I swiped the screen and answered in a rather bored tone, not really caring who the fuck was on the other end.

"What..."

"Mr. Summers..." a thick italian accent greeted, and I quickly recognised the owner.

"Gio." I replied in the same bored tone, inviting him to speak further.

"Indeed, my friend."

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