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1513 Words
I stared at the guest house through the rain-streaked window of the SUV, the wipers thumping like a heartbeat I couldn’t slow. The estate’s back property—far enough from the main house to feel separate, close enough to remind me I wasn’t free. Markus had arranged it years ago as overflow for guests, a tidy two-story cottage with ivy on the brick and a small fenced yard. Now it was ours. For two years. Or until the project was done. Or until I broke and ran again.
The triplets pressed their faces to the glass, eyes wide.
“Is this a castle?” Jasmine whispered.
“More like a fancy dollhouse,” Jamin said, already unimpressed.
Jaden just watched quietly, gray eyes taking in everything.
Mrs. Juliet’s sitter had driven us here straight from the funeral. I’d told the kids we were staying for a while to help fix up Grandpa Markus’s old house. They didn’t know the rest. They didn’t know about Chase. They didn’t know why my hands shook when I unpacked their suitcases that first night.
The next morning, the project began.
Chase knocked at eight sharp. I opened the door in jeans and a loose sweater, hair in a messy knot. He stood there in a gray Henley and workout pants, looking too big for the porch, holding a cardboard box of design supplies like it was a peace offering.
“Morning,” he said. His voice was careful. “Thought we could start with the main rooms today. Walk the estate, take notes.”
I nodded once. “The kids are inside. They’ll stay out of the way.”
He glanced past me. The triplets were already at the living-room window, noses smudged against the glass. Three sets of gray eyes staring back at him.
Chase froze for half a second. Then he crouched to their level through the screen door.
“Hey,” he said softly. “I’m Chase.”
Jaden stepped forward first—the bold one. “You’re the hockey guy from Mommy’s magazine.”
Chase’s mouth twitched. Not quite a smile. “Yeah. That’s me.”
Jasmine peeked around Jaden. “Do you fight on the ice?”
“Sometimes. When someone deserves it.”
Jamin crossed his arms. “Can you teach us?”
I tensed. “Guys, he’s busy—”
“I’ve got time,” Chase cut in, eyes flicking to me. Asking permission without asking.
I sighed. “Fine. But only for a little while. We have work.”
He took them to the back lawn. I watched from the kitchen window while I made coffee I didn’t drink. He pulled three tiny hockey sticks from the box—plastic, kid-sized, bright colors. He showed them how to hold the stick, how to stand on pretend skates. His movements were clumsy at first—too big, too careful—but the kids didn’t care. They laughed when he let Jaden “check” him and he fell dramatically onto the grass. Jasmine scored a goal between two garden chairs; he cheered like she’d won the Cup. Jamin just watched at first, then stepped up and tapped the puck perfectly into the makeshift net.
They warmed to him fast. Too fast. I saw it—the way their shoulders relaxed, the way they leaned toward him like flowers to sun. The paternal pull. The bond they didn’t even know existed. My stomach twisted. I wanted to drag them inside, lock the door, keep them safe from the man who’d already broken me once.
But I didn’t. I let it happen. Because part of me—the stupid, stubborn part—wanted to see what he’d do with this chance.
The days blurred into routine. Mornings: design meetings in the main house library. Afternoons: measuring rooms, sketching layouts, arguing over color palettes. Evenings: the triplets playing outside while Chase lingered longer than necessary. He brought them snacks. Read them stories when I was on calls. Taught them slap-shot form with rolled-up socks in the hallway. He was gentle with them. Patient. Like he was trying to prove something.
I resisted every second. The mate bond hummed whenever he was near—warmth in my chest, heat between my thighs, memories of moonlight and grass. I shoved it down. Hard. I’d survived without him. I would keep surviving.
Then came the full moon.
It rose fat and silver over the estate. I felt it in my bones first—the restless itch, the pull. The triplets were asleep early, worn out from the day. I couldn’t settle. I slipped out the back door in a hoodie and sneakers, needing air, needing space.
Rain had started, soft and steady. I walked the garden paths, hood up, letting the drops soak through. The estate smelled of wet earth and roses. I stopped under the big oak where we’d once—
Footsteps behind me.
I turned. Chase. No coat, shirt already clinging to his chest from the rain. His hair dark and dripping. Eyes glowing faintly—the wolf close to the surface.
“You shouldn’t be out here alone,” he said. Echo of that first night.
I laughed, sharp. “I’m not the naive girl anymore, Chase. I can handle a walk.”
He stepped closer. Water streamed down his face. “I know you can. That’s what kills me.”
“Don’t.”
“Don’t what? Tell you I’ve spent seven years hating myself for what I did?”
“You made your choice.”
“I made the wrong one.” His voice cracked. “I let Samantha’s lies in because it was easier than admitting I wanted you more than anything. More than control. More than the empire. I was scared.”
Rain pounded harder. My hoodie stuck to my skin. “You humiliated me. You let them tear me apart. And now you want forgiveness because Dad’s will tied us together?”
“I want you,” he said rawly. “Not forgiveness. Not obligation. You.”
The bond flared hot. My wolf whined, clawing toward him. I took a step back. He followed.
“Amelia.”
He reached for me. I should have run. Instead I let him catch my wrist, pull me under the oak’s shelter. Rain drummed around us, cocooning the space.
His mouth crashed into mine.
I kissed him back—fierce, angry, starving. His hands slid under my hoodie, palms hot against my wet skin. I gasped into his mouth as he pressed me against the trunk, body pinning me there. His tongue swept mine, claiming. I bit his lip hard enough to taste copper; he groaned and deepened the kiss.
His fingers found the hem of my shirt, pushed it up. Cool air hit my stomach, then his mouth—kissing down my neck, sucking at the spot where he’d once marked me. My head fell back. His hand cupped my breast through my bra, thumb circling the peak until I arched. Heat pooled low, aching.
I shoved at his shirt, needing skin. My nails raked down his back; he hissed and rocked against me, hardness pressing insistently between my legs. I hooked one thigh around his hip. His hand slid down, cupping me through my leggings, fingers rubbing slow circles that made me whimper.
“Chase—”
He swallowed the sound, kissing me harder. Rain soaked us both, clothes heavy and clinging. His fingers slipped under the waistband, brushing bare skin, teasing the edge of my panties. I was wet—had been since the moment I smelled him. One more inch and he’d find out.
I froze.
Fear slammed through me—sharp, cold. The memory of the gala. The motel room. The years alone. The triplets.
I shoved him back. Hard.
He stumbled, breathing ragged. Eyes wild.
“No,” I said, voice shaking. “I can’t. Not again.”
“Amelia—”
“I won’t survive it twice.” Tears mixed with rain on my cheeks. “You broke me once. I rebuilt myself. I won’t let you near enough to do it again.”
He stared at me, chest heaving. The wolf in his eyes receded slowly. Regret flooded in.
I turned and ran—back through the rain, into the guest house, locking the door behind me. I leaned against it, sliding to the floor, soaked and trembling.
The next morning I woke to the sound of the triplets laughing outside. I looked out the window.
Samantha stood on the path, arms crossed, watching them play. She saw me. Her lips curved into a smile that didn’t reach her eyes.
She waited until Chase left for a meeting, then knocked on my door.
I opened it just enough.
She didn’t wait for an invitation. She stepped close, voice low and venomous.
“He’s still mine,” she said. “And I’ll make sure you lose everything again.”
She turned on her heel and walked away, leaving the threat hanging in the air like smoke.
- Writer
