The Runaway Heiress And Her Secret Triplets

I opened the door to my penthouse, only to see my stepsister's limited-edition Louboutins discarded on the foyer rug.

Walking into the master bedroom, I caught my fiancé and my stepsister tangled naked in my bed.

When I went back to the family estate to settle the score, my father didn't even care.

Instead, he and my stepmother demanded I take my stepsister's place to save the family's reputation.

"You will marry the seventy-year-old billionaire next month. We can't ruin your sister's life," my father ordered.

Looking at their hypocritical faces, the last shred of my family affection died completely.

They really thought I would just accept being their sacrificial pawn while they stole my mother's legacy.

So, I pinned them down with a blackmail video of the affair, extorted my father for my shares, and walked out into the freezing night.

To numb the betrayal, I went to an underground club, slept with a terrifyingly powerful stranger, and left a red lipstick note on his forehead.

"Your technique sucks. Keep the change."

Then, I vanished abroad without a trace.

Five years later, I returned to New York with my three children, ready to take back everything that was mine.

But I didn't expect that the "cheap gigolo" from that night was actually Kendall James, the most ruthless corporate titan in the city.

And he had just spotted my five-year-old son—his exact miniature replica—standing right beside me.