Page 65 of The Billionaire's Most Unexpected Triplets

According to my doctor, I need to take my maternity leave as early as possible. With the risks that come with triplets and the fact that they will no doubt be born early, she doesn’t want me working through my third trimester.

And I know she’s right. I’m just struggling with it, though. Without my work, I’m not sure what to do with myself.

Waddling up to the front door, I ring the doorbell. A minute passes. Then another. No one answers.

This is getting stranger by the minute. First, there was the cryptic text from Jack, asking me to meet him at this address but not saying why.

And now here I am, standing in front of this strange house next to an empty driveway, not knowing what to do with myself.

Why I even showed up, I don’t know. A few months ago I would have told Jack to go screw himself. Things have been amicable between us lately, though, even… good.

Work has been nice, and he’s been friendly whenever we do speak. It always has to do with work, though. Never the triplets.

I pull out my phone, about to call Jack when his car pulls up.

He gets out of the car, dressed in a tailored suit and looking as handsome as ever. I watch him with a mix of emotions as he walks towards me, trying to keep my thoughts and feelings in check. Even now, after all these months, every once in a while he does something unexpected to me.

He makes my heart flutter. Makes me feel like I’m walking on air.

I should love it, but I hate it.

“Hey there,” he says, his voice low and husky. “I’m sorry I made you wait. Come on in.”

“What’s going on?” I ask.

But he doesn’t answer. Instead, he punches a code into the pad by the front door.

“What’s going on, Jack? Why did you ask me to meet you here?” I ask, trying to hold back my frustration.

“Come inside,” he says, gesturing towards the door.

I follow him into the house, which is absolutely beautiful. The decor is modern and chic, with a hint of rustic charm.

“Why are we here?” I keep looking around. Despite the fact that the home is furnished, it doesn’t seem lived in. It’s more like it’s set up for showings.

“I bought you this place,” he says, like it’s the simplest thing in the world, like it’s the same as him bringing me a cup of coffee.

I stare at him. “You… what?”

He bought me a house? What the hell? Is this some kind of sick joke?

I can’t deny that the house is gorgeous. It’s spacious and airy, with large windows that let in plenty of natural light. There’s a cozy fireplace in the living room and a spacious kitchen that any cook would love.

It’s exactly the type of house I would want to raise my children in.

But the idea of accepting such a grand gift from Jack makes me uncomfortable. What are his motives? Is he trying to buy my forgiveness for something?

“I know it’s a lot to take in,” Jack says, reading my expression. “But I wanted to do something nice for you and the babies. This house has plenty of room for you and your family, and it’s in a great neighborhood. You’ll love it.”

My family. That’s right. Not “our family.”

Of course, I know he’s not in my family. He’s denied any parenting relationship with the triplets.

But that doesn’t mean his choice of words isn’t salt in the wound.

“You can’t buy me a house,” I say when I finally find my voice.

He frowns. “Why not?”

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