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.

Harlow pushed through the terminal doors. The humid night air was a physical blow. Nausea rolled through her again. She stumbled to a concrete pillar, bending over as her stomach convulsed. Empty.

She straightened, wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, and flagged down the first yellow cab she saw. She threw her suitcase into the back and climbed in, needing to be away from here. Away from JFK.

As her taxi pulled away, a line of black Cadillac Escalades slid silently into the space it had just vacated. Doors opened in unison. Men in dark suits and earpieces emerged, creating an immediate, invisible perimeter.

Alistair Sterling-Vanderbilt IV stepped out of the lead vehicle. He was tall, built with the lean, powerful lines of a man who commanded boardrooms. His suit was immaculate, but his tie was slightly loosened. On the knuckles of his right hand, a thin, fresh scratch was beginning to scab.

He glanced up at the terminal, his jaw a hard line. The security lockdown had been a colossal failure. He had been trying to help a woman knocked down in the crush of the crowd, pulling her into the nearest room for safety. But the emergency system had plunged them into darkness. In the confusion, he had lost control.

A grave mistake.

Last night, after eating something unclean, he was chased by people. In his desperation, he ruined a girl's innocence.

After that, fearing that the enemy might pursue him here and put the girl in danger, he left first. He only returned after the danger was removed.

That was a girl's maiden night.

He said last night that he would definitely take responsibility for her and make her the happiest and most respected woman in the world!

He keeps his word.

"Find her," he said to Finn Sullivan, his aide. His voice was a low, dangerous rumble. "Use every resource. I need to make this right."

He slid into the Escalade, rubbing the bridge of his nose. This trip home was supposed to be about an acquisition and dissolving his ridiculous, two-year-old sham of a marriage. Now, there was a third, more urgent priority.

"Sir," Finn said, sliding in opposite him and handing over a tablet. "We have the final report on your wife, Harlow Rowe."

Alistair took it. The screen displayed a series of grainy, long-lens photographs. A woman with a passing resemblance to the file photo he'd once seen, entering and leaving hotels with different men.

"These were taken over the last few years," Finn explained, his tone carefully neutral. "Our investigators report that her personal life has been... active."

The air in the car grew still. Alistair's jaw tightened. He had never felt anything for this stranger.

That wife was forced upon him by the his family two years ago, as a way to suppress his power. He never even met her once. He didn't even return on their wedding day. She was a name on a contract. But the contract had rules.

He needs to take good care of this woman. So over the years, he's done his best to provide her with a comfortable life.

Now that the situation has stabilized and he holds all the power, he's no longer bound by any restrictions. So, the first thing he did upon returning was to divorce his wife.

It's not that he's heartless-it's that there's no affection between them at all!

Divorce was a good thing for her, a relief.

To make up for the two years of her youth that she missed, he gave her plenty in compensation: a mansion, luxury cars, and a check for a billion.

He stared at the photos, his knuckles white against the edge of the tablet. The woman in the pictures wasn't just an opportunist. She was a cheat.

He never thought she'd be such a dishonest and manipulative woman!

In that case, she doesn't deserve his compensation.

This was simple. A clean transaction gone wrong. It was nothing like the messy, unsettling memory of the woman in the lounge-the faint scent of lavender, the feel of her trembling against him. One woman, he had wronged and needed to find. The other, his wife, had wronged him and needed to be erased.

"Inform Martha to proceed," he commanded, his voice flat and cold. "Initiate the divorce protocol. And change the terms."

He swiped to a new screen.

"Cite Article 7. The infidelity clause. She gets nothing."

He needed to be unattached, his life clean, for when he found the woman from the airport. He would offer her anything to atone for what had happened. He couldn't do that while legally bound to a faithless wife.

"Sir," Finn said carefully, "the standard procedure is to offer a small initial sum to ensure a quick signature."

Alistair shook his head, his eyes glinting. "No."

His voice was quiet, final.

"I won't reward a whore with my family's money."

He leaned back and closed his eyes, but the image that came to him was not of the woman in the photographs. It was of a trembling silhouette in the dark.

"The airport security footage was corrupted during the lockdown," Finn reported quietly. "And there were no cameras inside the lounge. Finding her will be difficult."

Alistair's eyes snapped open. "Then make it easy. Check every hotel registry, every flight manifest, every car service record out of this airport for the next twenty-four hours. I don't care what it costs. I will find her."

He repeated it, more to himself than to Finn, a vow spoken into the insulated silence of the car.

"I must find her."

The convoy of black SUVs pulled away, melting into the New York night, chasing two different phantoms of the same woman.

Six years later.

A flight from the West Coast touched down at LaGuardia. A woman with tired but determined eyes walked into the terminal. She held the hands of two small boys, while a third trailed closely behind, his small fingers clutching the hem of her coat.

Harlow Rowe was back.

The grand concourse of Grand Central Station was a roaring ocean of sound. Three small boys with identical blond hair and startlingly blue eyes stood close to their mother, a tiny island in the current of commuters.

"Mommy, there are so many people," whispered Julian, the youngest, his hand tightening its grip on Harlow's jeans.

"I know, sweetie." She stroked his hair, her own heart pounding a nervous rhythm against her ribs. Six years.

The marble floor beneath her feet was the same.

Back then, Alistair Sterling's remark about her "immoral behavior" pushed her into the center of controversy.

A month later, she found out she was pregnant, confirming Alistair Sterling's claims. The rumors and gossip almost destroyed her.

She remembered her adoptive parents, the Parkers, standing here, shoving a one-way ticket and a check into her hand. Their faces were tight with disgust. The Sterling-Vanderbilt lawyers had contacted them, accusing Harlow of infidelity.

She had become a liability.

She knew the child was from that strange man. She considered having an abortion, but after thinking it over for a long time, she couldn't bring herself to do it.

That's also her own flesh and blood!

When a child finds her as their mother, it's fate. No matter how difficult it is, she must give birth to the child and raise them.

"Get out of New York," her adoptive father had hissed. "And don't ever come back."

Fearing that her reputation would affect her child's future, she left this city and went to live in the countryside.

When she'd called the Parkers, desperate and scared, they had unleashed a torrent of abuse. She had lost her value. She was nothing to them now but a source of shame.

Alone and pregnant, she had boarded a bus heading west, ending up in Montana.

The pregnancy was difficult.It's really difficult for a pregnant woman to live on her own. Finding a job is the biggest challenge. Many employers refuse to hire her because she's pregnant.

But she has to work; she needs money.

She needs to eat, go to the hospital to give birth, and also pay for formula and school expenses for her child...

Later, she finally managed to get a job at a restaurant. Afraid of getting fired, she worked harder than anyone else and never took time off from work.

This also led to malnutrition and excessive fatigue in her.

In the final trimester, her car broke down in a blizzard. She had tried to walk for help, collapsing in the snow.

She woke up in a small, warm cabin. An old man with kind eyes named Caleb Stone had found her. A recluse who had turned his back on the world, but not on her. In that cabin, with Caleb's steady hands assisting, she had brought three tiny, perfect boys into the world.

For the next five years, that mountain had been their sanctuary. A hard life, but a happy one.

Harlow looked down at her sons. Leo, her serious, watchful eldest. Max, her fiery, protective middle child. And Julian, her sweet, sensitive youngest. They were school-aged now. They deserved a future.

For that, she had to return to the city that had broken her.

She didn't want to go to that city at all. She still hadn't forgotten what happened there six years ago.

Who would have thought that when she went to register the children's births, she'd accidentally discover that she was still married.

Her first stop had been a city office to apply for their social security numbers. The clerk had looked at her paperwork, then at her, with a confused frown. The process was complicated, she was told, because according to the state of New York, Harlow Rowe was still a married woman.

The divorce had never been finalized. Because she had fled, because she had never been served papers, the legal bond to Alistair Sterling-Vanderbilt IV remained.

To give her sons a legal identity, she had to do the one thing she had spent six years avoiding. She had to find her husband.

Her primary mission was clear: find the man who was a myth and sever the tie for good.

The pure, undiluted hatred, she saved for someone else. The anonymous bastard at JFK who had assaulted her. The man who was the biological father of her children.

It's true that men's mouths are full of lies. Not a bit wrong.

Back then, that wild man kept saying that he would make her the happiest and most noble woman in the world. But what happened in reality?

Heh!

She was devastated by him!

Thinking about all those grievances... she just wanted to kill him!For years, she thought he had ruined her life. But then she would look at Leo, Max, and Julian, and a confusing mix of gratitude and rage would war within her.

She made a silent vow. First, the divorce. Then, she would find him. And she would make him pay.

"Mom," Leo's calm voice broke through her reverie. He tugged on her sleeve. "You're thinking about sad things again. We should go."

Harlow blinked and forced a smile. "You're right."

Max puffed out his little chest. "Don't worry, Mom! Leo and I will protect you!"

The chill of her memories receded. She had her three little knights.

"Okay, my brave protectors," she said, her voice firm with renewed purpose. She took their hands. "Let's go find a place to stay."