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1379 Words
I couldn’t stop watching them.
The triplets had been in the guest house for two weeks, and every day felt like walking a tightrope between restraint and instinct. My wolf knew the second I saw that photo. Now, every time I stepped onto the lawn or passed the cottage windows, the certainty grew sharper. Those gray eyes. The way Jaden’s brow furrowed when he concentrated, just like mine when I was studying game tape. Jasmine’s quiet laugh that turned into a full giggle when she won at anything. Jamin’s stubborn silence until he decided to trust you—then the flood of questions. They were mine. I felt it in my bones, in the pull that went beyond the mate bond with Amelia. This was paternal. Primal.
I started small. Storytime after dinner one evening when Amelia was on a client call. She’d hesitated at the door, eyes wary, but she let me in. The kids were already in pajamas, sprawled on the living-room rug with blankets. I sat cross-legged like I belonged there, pulled out the worn copy of The Three Little Pigs they’d handed me.
“Mommy says the wolf isn’t always bad,” Jasmine said solemnly, hugging her stuffed wolf tighter.
I swallowed. “Sometimes he just wants to be part of the family.”
Jaden tilted his head. “Like you?”
My throat tightened. “Yeah. Like me.”
I read slowly, letting them interrupt with questions. Jamin asked why the wolf huffed and puffed. I told him maybe he was lonely and didn’t know how to ask to come inside. Jasmine patted my arm like she was comforting me. Jaden just watched, gray eyes steady and searching.
After they fell asleep, Amelia came down the stairs in socks, arms crossed.
“You don’t have to do this,” she said quietly.
“I want to.”
She didn’t argue. Just watched me leave with that guarded look that broke my heart a little more each time.
The ice rink was next. I rented the private one downtown early on a Saturday—no crowds, no press. Amelia came along, silent in the passenger seat, kids chattering in the back. I laced their tiny skates, showed them how to stand without falling. Jaden took to it fastest—natural balance, fearless strides. Jasmine held my hand the whole time, giggling when I spun her slowly. Jamin clung to the boards until I knelt beside him.
“You don’t have to go fast,” I told him. “Just one step.”
He looked at me, then pushed off. Wobbly, but forward. When he made it to the other side without falling, his grin lit up the whole rink.
My wolf howled inside—mine, mine, mine.
Amelia stood at the boards, arms folded, but her eyes softened when Jamin skated back to her. For one second, she almost smiled at me. Almost.
That night I couldn’t sleep. The estate felt too quiet. I walked the halls until I ended up in the library, staring at the portrait of my mother that Dad had kept covered for years after she died. I pulled the cloth off. She looked young, laughing, eyes the same gray as mine. As theirs.
I heard footsteps. Amelia, in an oversized sweater, hair loose.
“You’re up late,” she said.
“Couldn’t sleep. You?”
“Same.”
We ended up on the couch with project sketches spread between us—fabric samples, floor plans, lighting mockups. Safe topics. But the silence stretched, and something cracked.
“I was eight when Mom died,” I said, not looking at her. “Dad buried himself in work after that. Board meetings, acquisitions, trips. I saw him maybe once a month. Nannies raised me. Tutors. Coaches. Everyone making sure I’d be ready to take over.”
She listened, quiet.
“I learned early that emotions were liabilities. If I cried, I was weak. If I wanted something that didn’t fit the plan, I was selfish. Hockey was the only place I could feel anything without apology. On the ice, I could hit, fight, win. Off it… nothing.”
I rubbed my jaw. “When you came along, it scared the hell out of me. You made me feel things I wasn’t supposed to. Desire. Need. Vulnerability. I told myself it was wrong—stepsiblings, Lucy’s daughter, a distraction from duty. And when Samantha showed those photos… I wanted to believe them. Because believing them meant I could stay in control. Stay safe.”
Amelia’s voice was soft. “You hurt me.”
“I know.” I met her eyes. “I wake up every day knowing it. I ended things with Samantha years ago because I couldn’t look at her without seeing what she’d done. But I still let it happen. I still chose wrong.”
She looked away, fingers tracing a fabric swatch. “I can’t just forget.”
“I’m not asking you to forget. I’m asking you to let me prove I’ve changed.”
She didn’t answer. Just gathered the sketches and stood.
I watched her go, defenses crumbling. For the first time in years, the walls I’d built felt thin.
The confrontation with Samantha came two days later.
I found her in the sunroom of the main house, sipping coffee like she still belonged there. She’d been showing up more often—claiming “old times’ sake,” offering “help” with the project. I knew better.
I closed the door behind me.
“The gala,” I said. No preamble. “The photos. The witnesses. You fabricated it all.”
Her cup paused halfway to her lips. Then she set it down, smile tight.
“Chase, darling. Ancient history.”
“Not to me.” I stepped closer. “You bribed staff. Doctored images. You destroyed her. And I let you.”
She stood, smoothing her dress. “I protected us. Protected the family image. Amelia was a liability—pregnant, unwed, chasing you like her mother chased Markus. I did what needed doing.”
My wolf snarled. “You lied to keep your place. And now you’re back, sniffing around like you still have a claim.”
“I do have a claim,” she said coolly. “Memories. Evidence. Old photos that never made it to the gala slideshow. Proof of your little moonlit indiscretion. One word to the press, and your perfect heir reputation crumbles. Amelia’s too. And those… children she’s hiding? They’ll be dragged into it.”
My blood went cold. “Stay away from them.”
She laughed softly. “Too late. I’ve already spoken to Lucy. She’s… motivated. We’ve agreed to work together. If you don’t fulfill your old promises—marry me, secure the alliance—those photos go public. The triplets become tabloid fodder. Amelia loses the inheritance. You lose everything.”
I stared at her. “You’re blackmailing me.”
“Call it leverage.” She stepped close, voice a whisper. “You threw me away once. Don’t make me ruin you.”
I walked out without another word. My hands shook with rage. But underneath it, fear—for Amelia, for the kids. I had to end this. Protect them.
I didn’t tell Amelia. Not yet. She had enough walls up without me dumping more on her.
Then Lucy came.
She arrived unannounced the next afternoon, heels clicking across the guest-house porch like she owned the place. I was there—helping the kids build a fort in the living room with couch cushions—when the knock came.
Amelia opened the door. Her face went pale.
“Mother.”
Lucy pushed past her without a word, eyes scanning the room. The triplets froze mid-laugh. Jaden stepped in front of his siblings instinctively.
Lucy’s gaze locked on them. She studied their faces—dark hair, gray eyes, the unmistakable Hudson features. Her lips parted.
“They’re Hudsons?” she breathed. Then her expression shifted—calculation, greed, something darker. “This changes everything.”
Amelia moved fast, putting herself between Lucy and the kids.
“Get out,” she said, voice steel.
Lucy smiled, thin and cold. “Oh, darling. We’re just getting started.”
- Writer
