The Billionaire's Secret Triplets: Mom's Revenge

Inside the Rolls Royce Phantom parked at the curb, Archibald Sanders watched the chaos unfold on the tablet in his lap. The screen showed a live feed from Casimiro's hidden body camera. His face was a mask of thunderous fury.

He had heard the commotion through Casimiro's earpiece. He had heard Jenelle's scream.

He stopped breathing.

The scene before him was chaos. Jenelle was on the floor, weeping and clutching her knee. Her two hired goons were blind, sneezing and stumbling into the walls.

And standing in the center of the storm were three children.

Archibald's eyes locked onto the boy in the front. The one with the messy dark hair and the defiant stance.

The boy looked up, straight at Casimiro's camera.

Archibald felt like he had been punched in the gut. The air left his lungs in a rush.

Those eyes.

They were his eyes. The exact shade of stormy gray-blue that stared back at him from the mirror every morning. The shape of the brow, the stubborn set of the jaw... it was like looking at a photograph of himself at age five.

Time seemed to warp, slowing down to a crawl.

Jenelle saw Casimiro and let out a wail. "Casimiro! Help me! These monsters attacked me! They're crazy! Where is Archie?"

Archibald ignored her voice crackling through the feed. He leaned closer to the screen, his knuckles white as he gripped the tablet. He watched as Casimiro, following silent orders, stepped over Jenelle's legs as if she were a piece of furniture and walked straight toward the boy.

Blace didn't flinch. He held his ground, chin up, fists clenched.

Casimiro stopped two feet away. He towered over the child, but the boy didn't look scared. He looked... assessing.

Did you do this? Casimiro asked, his voice a neutral vessel for the question Archibald was burning to ask.

She stomped on my sister's bear, Blace said. His voice was steady. "Self-defense."

Archibald watched as the camera panned to the little girl. She was clutching a dirty bear, tears making tracks in the dust on her cheeks.

Something twisted in Archibald's chest. A sharp, unfamiliar pain.

What is wrong with me?

Then, the restroom door banged open.

Get away from them!

The scream tore through the air. Annelise burst out, her hair wild, water dripping from her chin. She saw the tall, dark figure of Casimiro looming over her children.

But her eyes shot past him, through the glass doors of the terminal, and locked onto the imposing, dark silhouette of the Rolls Royce Phantom waiting at the curb. The windows were tinted black, but she knew whose car that was. She knew the emblem. Archibald Sanders. The ruthless billionaire who had discarded her like trash six years ago.

Terror, cold and absolute, flooded her veins.

No, she gasped. She threw herself between Casimiro and the kids, spreading her arms wide. "Tell your boss to stay away! Don't you dare touch them!"

Archibald recoiled in his seat as if she had screamed directly at him. He looked at her face on the screen.

It was Annelise Parker. But she looked different. The photos in the file showed a soft, pampered socialite. This woman was thin, her clothes were worn, and her eyes were filled with a raw, primal terror that unsettled him.

Annelise Parker, he murmured to the empty car, the name tasting like ash. Why did she look at his car with such fear? And why did her terrified face stir a memory he couldn't place... the memory of his Angel? He shook his head. Impossible.

You, she whispered, her pupils dilated, her breathing shallow and fast. She was looking at Casimiro, but her words were for the man in the car. "It's you."

Ma'am, Casimiro said calmly, trying to de-escalate. "Mr. Sanders just wants to talk."

Monster, she breathed. The word was so quiet Casimiro didn't hear it, but the microphone on his lapel picked it up and transmitted it directly to Archibald's earpiece.

Archibald froze. Why did she call him a monster with such visceral fear? He was the one who was wronged. She was the one who cheated.

Jenelle pulled herself up against the wall. "She's insane! Look at her! Arrest her!"

Casimiro took a step forward, his hand outstretched. "Ma'am, please. Let's not make a scene."

Blace saw his mother shaking. He saw the fear in her eyes. He decided the talking was over.

His hand went into his pocket again. He pressed a button on a small, crude remote control he had assembled from a garage door opener. It sent a high-frequency pulse toward the target he'd tagged earlier.

Outside, at the curb, the Rolls Royce Phantom sat idling. A device Blace had slapped onto the front tire's valve stem during the fire panic-a device containing a small, pressurized canister of a fast-acting corrosive agent-activated.

There was no boom. Just a sudden, violent HIIISSSSSSSSS!

The sound was deafening. The front tires of the Rolls Royce deflated simultaneously in under a second, the heavy car slamming down onto its rims with a metallic crunch. The car alarm began to shriek, echoing through the cavernous airport entrance.

Glass didn't shatter. But people screamed at the sudden, violent noise and the sight of the crippled luxury car.

Archibald was thrown forward in his seat by the sudden drop. "What the hell?"

For a second, everyone was distracted.

Annelise didn't hesitate. She grabbed Clemie.

Run! she screamed to the boys. "Run!"

The feed on Archibald's tablet cut out as Casimiro was shoved aside in the ensuing panic. He stared at the black screen. The car alarm was a shrill, incessant counterpoint to the thunderous pounding in his own chest.

Sir, Casimiro's voice crackled through the car's speakers, breathless. "They're gone. Headed for the parking garage. The woman... she looks terrified of you. Truly terrified. And the children... they're not normal kids. They're resourceful. Organized."

Archibald leaned his head back against the cool leather. He could still see the boy's eyes. His eyes. And he could still hear Annelise's whispered word: Monster.

The direct approach had failed catastrophically. He had arrived as a king, intending to sweep her up, force a signature, and banish her. Instead, his car was disabled, his name had been cursed, and his target had vanished, spirited away by a five-year-old saboteur.

"What are your orders, sir?"

"Find them," Archibald said, his voice dropping to a low, determined growl. "I want to know where she's hiding. I want to know who those children are. I will get to the bottom of this myself."