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Hiding His Genius Twins From The Billionaire

Chapter 7 

Word Count: 888    |    Released on: Today at 14:11

sat calmly in the makeup chair, a portrait of serenity. The face staring back at

ried man named Ben, said, handing her a bo

reassuring smile. "I

etwork was the fastest way to solidify Anya's identity, to build a public hi

uarterly earnings report, but the words swam before his eyes. The te

placing a thin file on the cor

information you requ

picked

an, adopted by a reclusive European family. Graduated with honors from the Royal Academy

e. The first page was

anged. The same wide, intelligent eyes. The same curve of her lips. The five years of his gr

e muted ticker tape of the stock market was replaced by

ld. "And we're back! My next guest is the breakout star of the new blockbuster

hite dress, the fabric flowing around her as she moved. She smiled at the cheering audience, a

numb fingers, scattering

moved, the way she tilted her head when she listened, the familiar cad

was

ime studying Shakespeare in London. Each laugh, each graceful gesture, was a moc

celebrated. And he had been mourning a

is gut and rose up his throat, choking him. It was rage. A pure, volcanic rage born

d let him believe he was responsibl

shrill and intrusiv

ndication. "Fremont, are you watching? Did you s

s a low, terrifying growl, a so

lanned it all along, faking her death just to get away from you. And now she comes back, with some other man's chi

fire of his rage. Betrayal. Hum

d, his breathing growing loud and ragge

his desk. The lamp, the computer monitor, the stacks of papers-everything went

nched at the sound. He had never, in all his years

ge of his office, his chest

e a raw command. "Get the jet.

. She was unaware that a storm of a magnitude she had anticipated, but with a fury

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Hiding His Genius Twins From The Billionaire
Hiding His Genius Twins From The Billionaire
“I was six months pregnant with twins, excitedly waiting for my husband to come home. But instead of sharing my joy, he threw a divorce agreement on the coffee table. He coldly called our marriage a mere transaction, mocking my trailer-park origins and claiming my children didn't deserve his wealthy family's name. Before I could even process the heartbreak, his mistress walked into our home. She deliberately threw herself backward down the stairs, screaming that I had pushed her. My husband didn't hesitate. He rushed to her side, looking at me with pure, murderous loathing. "You are the most vicious creature I have ever met." The sheer cruelty of his betrayal struck me like a physical blow, and a massive hemorrhage buckled my knees. As a pool of crimson blood spread across the pristine marble, I reached out, begging him to save our babies. But he just scooped up his mistress-who only had a sprained ankle-and walked right past my bleeding body without looking back. I was pronounced dead in that cold hospital, taking my unborn children with me. Why was my devotion repaid with such callous abandonment? How could he let his own flesh and blood die for a liar's fake tears? Five years later, I returned, no longer the helpless, discarded wife. I was now a legendary hacker, a miracle surgeon, and a rising Hollywood star, with my two genius sons alive and thriving by my side. When my ex-husband finally tracked me down, pinning me against a wall with desperate, bloodshot eyes, I simply offered a polite smile. "Sir, I believe you have mistaken me for someone else."”