THE WIDOWED CEO'S TRIPLETS.

Chapter 5

POV Adrián

The cold of the morgue sinks into my bones like a rusty knife. The smell of formaldehyde and death suffocates me, but I don’t move. I can’t. Claudia lies there, on the metal table, covered by a white sheet that does nothing to hide the truth. Her pale, motionless face, like a broken statue. Her lips—once curved in smiles that dismantled all my defenses—now still, cold, dead. I touch her hand, frozen like the marble of our mansion. “Claudia…” I whisper, my voice breaking in the oppressive silence. The coroner mutters something about the accident, the instant impact, but his words dissolve into nothingness. There is no comfort. Only this: her lifeless body, the echo of her laughter extinguished forever. I lean down, kiss her icy forehead, and something inside me shatters. Irreparably.

I stumble out, the world blurred beneath the relentless rain. But the guilt… that belongs to me. It all began with that pregnancy. With those children she wanted so desperately. And that I now hate with every fiber of my being.

The mansion, once a place full of light, music, and the smell of sweet bread—because Claudia insisted on baking even though we had five hired chefs—is now frozen in unbearable emptiness. I walk in, and the silence hits me like a punch. Her soft footsteps no longer echo on the marble floors. Her laughter no longer drifts through the hallways like a spell able to dissolve any of my fury. Her voice humming tuneless melodies no longer fills the kitchen, the greenhouse, or my office. Today nothing remains. Only absence. Only the living proof that the world can take away the one thing you love in the blink of an eye.

Claudia is dead. And although the police report blames a driver who ran a red light, I know the truth that no one dares say out loud: it all started with that pregnancy. With those children growing in another woman’s womb. With those triplets she wanted so much… and that I can no longer bear to even see.

I remember the first time I saw Claudia. Not in a bakery, like in cheap romance stories, but at one of those gatherings where millionaire heirs parade around like exotic birds ready to devour one another. I was a Valcourt. She was… unexpected. Among designer dresses and Swiss watches, Claudia appeared in a simple white dress, her hair loosely tied back, holding a glass of champagne she never drank. She smiled with a calm that didn’t fit among the sharks circling her. When our eyes met, I felt something inside me—something I didn’t know existed—fall into place. She approached first. She was always braver than I was.

“You look like you hate this place,” she said, amused.

I frowned. “I despise it.”

“Perfect,” she smiled. “Then we can despise it together.”

That’s how it began. Claudia, with her absurd light. Me, with my shadows. With her, I learned that there is more than contracts, lawsuits, and power struggles. I learned that someone could love me without expecting perfection.

When we married, my father told me: “A child, Adrián. Just one. That’s all that’s missing to secure the inheritance. Your brother is already making moves. Don’t fall behind.” I never wanted children. Claudia did. She dreamed of filling this mansion with little voices and laughter. I agreed—not for the inheritance, at least not only for that—but because seeing her so happy made me feel that my heart would break if I said no.

But nothing worked. Failed treatments. Endless waiting. Tears she hid so I “wouldn’t carry more guilt.” When she proposed surrogacy… when she brought up the subject, I agreed. Because I loved her. Because I wanted to give her what she desired most. And because the inheritance would ensure our family was protected. That she was protected.

What irony. The attempt to save our future ended up killing her.

Her things are still in our room. Her perfume floats like a sweet ghost that follows me everywhere. I can’t enter the walk-in closet without trembling. Three hours ago, at the hospital, when they told me she died instantly, I felt someone rip the soul out of my body. I, who had never cried in front of anyone, broke down in a hallway in front of a stranger. In front of Lucía. With my heart shattered, the world collapsing at my feet.

And when I saw her—with her enormous belly, clutching her abdomen, breathing heavily—something inside me exploded. Pain. Guilt. Rage. A poisonous, irrational rage, but real nonetheless. Those children… those three children she longed for… are now the living proof that Claudia is gone. That the light of my life died alone, in the rain, while shopping for clothes for them.

This mansion, where she planned themed rooms for the babies, now feels like a mausoleum. In the east wing, the boxes of toys remain on the floor. She left them there before she died. And all I have left is the echo of her voice: “Adri, I want our children to grow up surrounded by love, not coldness.” What a cruel irony. I can’t look at those boxes without feeling burned. I can’t think of the triplets without choking. I can’t be their father. Not now. Maybe never.

Hernesto, my brother, has already tried contacting me. He wants to make sure I do the “right thing” for the inheritance. That I meet the requirements. But he can forget about touching a single cent while I breathe. Not him. Not the man who always wanted to see me fall.

Still… none of that matters now. Not the inheritance. Not the companies. Not the legal battles. Everything became irrelevant the day I lost Claudia.

My phone vibrates in my pocket, but I ignore it. Until the butler comes in, his face pale as a ghost.

“Mr. Valcourt… a call from the hospital.”

I glare at him. “Not now.”

“It’s about Lucía,” he insists, voice trembling. “She gave birth tonight. Two boys and a girl. They’re fine, but premature.”

The world stops.

Two boys.

One girl.

Triplets.

Born that same night, after losing Claudia. After the pain pushed her into premature labor. A knot tightens in my stomach, nausea rising like bile.

“No,” I say, my voice hoarse, explosive. “I don’t want them.”

The butler blinks, confused.

“Sir… they’re your children. And the inheritance… your father’s terms were clear. Without descendants, everything goes to Hernesto.”

I stand abruptly, rage blinding me.

“I don’t care!” I roar, slamming my fist on the table, the echo rumbling through the empty mansion. “The inheritance can go to hell! Those children took Claudia from me! Without them she wouldn’t have gone out that night! Without them she’d be alive!”

The butler steps back, but I continue, the pain spilling out like venom.

“Tell them Lucía can keep them. Pay her more. Whatever it takes. But don’t bring them here. I don’t want to see them. Not without her.”

Silence returns, heavier than before.

Sometimes I think about going to see Lucía… but just imagining her belly—now empty—destroys me. Just imagining those tiny bodies, crying in an incubator, makes my stomach turn. Because I know that if I feel that mixture of life and death again… I will break forever.

Lucía thinks I’m a monster. Maybe I am. Maybe losing the woman I loved turned me into something unrecognizable.

For now, the decision is clear: I don’t want those children. I can’t look at them without remembering how Claudia died. How I lost her.

Maybe time will change something.

Maybe not.

The only thing I know is that the world keeps moving, indifferent, while I remain trapped in the exact moment the light went out.

And nothing—absolutely nothing—will bring her back.