Winning Back My Genius Wife And Triplets

t. Triplets, two boys and a girl,

hind a shore of pain. Every muscle in Alicia Barnett's body screamed as if it had been torn apa

n was a dis

illed the space inside her. It was a tend

ad, the movement

Two tiny, perfect forms, swaddled in white blankets. So small. Like kit

ba

e touched her lips. The

ped, her voice unfamiliar. "Has

or being ruthless and decisive, he was one of the most influential and feared figures in Seacrest City. Their marriage had alwa

esitated for a fraction of a second. A flicker of somet

usiness," she said, her tone a little t

oft knock soun

surged, a painful, beautifu

or swu

asn'

fectly tailored Armani suit, his face a mask of detached professionalism. Gold-rim

s. Barnett. My name is Mark Reynolds.

led. She tried to push herself up, a wa

but firm, stopping her with a gesture. "I'm only h

ope. He placed it on the bedside table with a precise, quiet

stomach. She stared at the enve

documents," Mark stated, his tone devoid

e. Agr

an to spin, a high-pitched ringing in her

rring the perfect, tiny faces. Her voice trembled, thick w

t provides a detailed explanation. Mr. Rivera has

terms like a

, five million dollars in

es, slicing into her. She wasn'

emples and soaking into the pillow. "I don't want the money. I do

custody of the children, Mr. Rivera will assume full responsibility. They

ence shat

aving her. He was

ket, ignoring the searing pain, and tried to get out of bed.

her side. She glared at Mark. "Can't you see s

emotional outburst. He took a

cia, a heap of broken

voice a blade of ice. "After that, he expects to see the sig

the door softly behind him, as i

for Alicia's ragged breaths. Her

She pulled out the sheaf of cold, heavy paper. Her eyes scanned the pages, the l

lue was to be transferred upon

iary: Desti

emia-stricken artist with big, innocent eyes, her cousin was a ruthless,

, secretive messages on his phone from Destiny. His utter indifference toward her and the countless nights he hadn

pital floor, shot up her spi

tarted to cry, a soft, mewling soun

d was an

y with the back of her hand. Her expression shifted, the shatte

dren, she co

as dead, killed by the stroke of his pen. In

back onto the bed. She would survive this. And one day, she swore, she would make eve

burning, were fixed