The Billionaire's Secret Triplets: Mom's Revenge

She gripped Algernon's hand tighter. She was walking back into the lion's den, back to the city where her life had been destroyed. But this time, she wasn't the naive twenty-year-old girl who had been sold by her father.

She was a mother. And she would burn this entire city to the ground if anyone tried to touch her children.

The thought was a fire in her chest, a stark contrast to the icy dread that always accompanied the dream. And the dream always began with thunder.

Thunder cracked like a whip against the glass, shaking the very foundation of the hotel suite. Or maybe it was just inside her head.

Annelise Parker couldn't tell the difference anymore.

In the dream, the darkness was absolute. The power had cut out hours ago, leaving the presidential suite of the JFK Hilton submerged in a thick, suffocating black ink. She was feeling her way along the wall, her fingers brushing against the cold silk of the wallpaper, trying to find the door, trying to find a way out.

Then came the sound. The heavy thud of the door being forced open.

A draft of cold air swept in, carrying the metallic tang of rain and something else—something sharp and coppery. Blood.

She tried to scream, but a hand clamped over her mouth before the sound could leave her throat. The palm was calloused, scorching hot against her skin, smelling of expensive leather and rain.

Weight. Crushing weight.

He pinned her to the plush carpet. She couldn't see his face, only the outline of broad shoulders blocking out the faint gray light from the window. He wasn't moving like a man in his right mind. He was heavy, uncoordinated, groaning low in his throat like a wounded animal.

Help, she tried to say against his palm, but it came out as a muffled whimper.

Pain exploded.

She fought. God, she fought. Her fingernails dug into the meat of his shoulder, scraping down, tearing skin. She wanted to hurt him. She wanted to kill him.

He whispered something then. A rough, jagged sound against the shell of her ear. It sounded like a plea, or maybe a curse.

Then the world shattered into white jagged edges of agony.

Annelise gasped, her body jerking violently in the narrow seat. Her eyes flew open, but for a second, she was still in that hotel room, her heart hammering a frantic rhythm against her ribs.

Ma'am? Are you alright?

The soft voice of the flight attendant broke through the haze. Annelise blinked, the cabin of the plane coming into focus. The hum of the engines replaced the thunder. The scent of recycled air replaced the smell of rain and blood.

She was safe. She was on a plane. It was six years later.

Water, Annelise managed to croak. Her throat felt like she had swallowed glass.

The attendant nodded sympathetically and handed her a plastic cup of ice water. Annelise gripped it with trembling hands, the cold