His Unwanted Wife's Return With Triplets

A groan slipped past Harlow Rowe’s lips before her eyes opened.

Her head throbbed, a dull, heavy pulse against her skull. The voice of an airport announcer was a distant, muffled sound, the words melting before she could catch them.

She forced her eyes open.

Plush leather. Dark wood paneling. A bar lined with single malt whiskeys.

A VIP lounge. She didn't recognize it.

Bile rose in her throat. She sat up, and the room spun.That’s when she saw it.

The white silk of her blouse was torn at the shoulder. A button was missing, exposing the thin strap of her bra. Dark, finger—shaped bruises marred the skin of her upper arm.

The throb in her head vanished. Her breath caught.

She scrambled off the sofa, every muscle screaming in protest. The soreness was deep, unfamiliar.

A memory from last night suddenly flooded her mind. She remembered that there was a sudden riot at the airport at that time.

In the chaos, she heard that criminals were armed and causing havoc around the airport, in pursuit of a prominent figure.

Amid the shrill security alarms and the screams of panicked people, she was suddenly pushed into a dark space by some powerful force.

The silhouette of a tall man against the dim light of the doorway. The scent of expensive whiskey, thick and overwhelming. A crushing weight.

"Trust me. I will take care of you and make you the happiest and most honored woman in the world," the man declared firmly.

Harlow Rowe shook her head wildly and cried out, "No... please, no—"

But the man thrust hard. She let out a scream and then fainted from the pain.

Then, nothing.

The toilet paper rolls and messy clothes scattered everywhere on the floor reveal the chaos that occurred not long ago.

Harlow Rowe bit her lip and clutched the sheets tightly, her vision growing blurry…

She’s a married woman. Today, she came to the airport to pick up her husband. But since she still hasn’t picked him up, she’s already lost her chastity!

What’s this supposed to be?

Cheating during marriage?

What should she do from now on? How should she face her husband?

If she told him that she had come to the airport to pick him up, but then there was chaos at the airport. In the panic, a man dragged her into a dark lounge, and something horrible happened…

Will he believe her?Will he still accept her?Can their marriage go on?

Harlow Rowe couldn’t control herself; tears streamed down her face.

She didn’t know what she had done wrong in her past life, to deserve such treatment from fate.

Without fatherly or motherly love from a young age, life was complete chaos.

She wanted to change her fate through education. After much effort, she was admitted to her dream university. But her adoptive parents, forcing her to take her sister Chloe’s place, marrying the unseen heir to save their reputation. That person was also a paralyzed cripple.She had given up her acceptance to Johns Hopkins to become a ghost bride, bound by contract to a myth.

No one ever asked for her opinion.No one even asked if she wanted to.They acted on their own, completely ruining her education and future.

She cried and complained, but in the end, she compromised with reality.

It’s said that when a woman gets married, it’s like being reborn. It’s good to be freed from that cold and indifferent family. Since she’s married now, she should be a good wife.

For the past two years, her husband has been abroad receiving treatment for a leg injury. She’s stayed alone in the house all this time, behaving properly and with no ulterior motives.

This marriage was achieved at the cost of her education and future prospects. It represents her new beginning, and she cherishes it deeply.

But now…

This happened on the very day her husband returned. What should she do?

Harlow stumbled toward the lounge’s private restroom, her hand clamped over her mouth. She leaned over the pristine porcelain sink, dry—heaving. Nothing came up. Her stomach was a tight, painful knot.

She looked up.

In the mirror, her lips were swollen. A dark, angry mark bloomed on the side of her neck.

Confirmation.

A single, hot tear traced a path down her cheek. She scrubbed at her skin, a desperate, useless motion.

Her phone buzzed in her pocket, a jarring sound in the silence. A number she didn't recognize. She answered, her voice a raw whisper.

"Hello?"

"Is this Harlow Rowe?"

The voice on the other end was female, older, crisp with an impersonal authority.

"Yes," Harlow managed, her throat tight.

"This is Martha Reynolds, the household manager for the Sterling—Vanderbilt estate. I am calling to inform you that Mr. Alistair Sterling—Vanderbilt IV has returned to the United States. He has decided to initiate divorce proceedings immediately."

Sterling—Vanderbilt.

The name hit her like a physical blow. She was married. Her husband.

Alistair Sterling wants to divorce her?!

She knew that Alistair Sterling was dissatisfied with this marriage. He completely skipped the wedding day, and never appeared again afterwards.

They’ve been married for two years, yet they’ve never even met each other. They don’t even know what the other person looks like.

But in these past two years, he’s been very generous to her!

He never scrimped on her needs for food, clothing, and daily necessities. When she was sick, he would instruct the servants to take good care of her.

Though they were thousands of miles apart, she could still feel his care for her.

She thought that Alistair Sterling simply didn’t want to enter into a marriage arranged by the family, not that he didn’t like her. As long as she was a good wife, they could be like any other loving couple, caring for each other and spending the rest of their lives together.

She never expected…

The news landed on the heels of the assault, and her knees went weak. She slid down the cool tile wall to the floor, the phone still pressed to her ear.

"The family lawyers will be in contact with you regarding the terms," Martha continued, her tone clipped and impersonal. "As per the prenuptial agreement..."

The agreement. A strict fidelity clause. If she were found unfaithful, she would get nothing.

What had just happened to her? How could she explain the bruises? The mark on her neck?

They would think...

"The agreement stipulates a one—time settlement, provided you sign the papers without contest and agree to a permanent non—disclosure agreement," Martha's voice cut through her thoughts.

A settlement. The word soured in her mouth. She had never wanted their money. Only her freedom.

Now, she had no right to negotiate. She was damaged goods.

"I agree," she heard herself say. The voice was hollow, broken.

She ended the call. The phone slipped from her numb fingers and clattered onto the floor. The tears she had been holding back finally came, silent, scalding tracks down her cheeks. She curled into a ball, wrapping her arms around her aching body.

A soft knock came at the lounge door. An airport employee peeked in.

"Ma'am? So sorry about that. A false alarm with the security system. Everything's clear now."

Harlow didn't respond. Her movements were stiff, robotic as she pushed herself to her feet.

How could it possibly be normal? She’s almost brokenhearted.

Her damned life is absolutely terrible. It couldn’t be any worse.

Leaving the lounge, she stepped back into the flow of travelers. The noise of the concourse washed over her, a welcome buffer from her own thoughts.

She forced her shoulders back, took a deep, shuddering breath, and walked towards the exit. Outside the glass walls, the New York City skyline glittered, a cold and indifferent witness.