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1314 Words
I sat on the edge of the guest-house porch steps, staring at the crumpled lawsuit papers in my lap. Lucy’s signature stared back at me—sharp, elegant, accusing. Undue influence. Coercion. She claimed I’d manipulated Markus in his final months, that the will was invalid because I’d “preyed on his grief.” The shares—the future I’d started to let myself imagine for the triplets—hung by a thread.
Forgiveness felt impossible. Chase had danced with me last night, held me like I was the only thing that mattered, knotted inside me until the bond sang again. But the photos were everywhere now. Tabloids screaming about our “reunion affair.” Clients canceling meetings. Whispers following me even here on the estate. And Lucy—my own mother—turning the knife.
I wanted to hate him for letting this start all over again. I wanted to run.
The gate buzzer sounded. Mrs. Juliet.
She stepped out of the car in her signature black coat, silver hair pulled into a low bun, eyes sharp behind her glasses. She didn’t hug me—just took my face in her hands, studied me like I was one of her unfinished sketches.
“You look like hell, darling,” she said.
I laughed, watery. “Thanks.”
Inside, I poured tea with shaking hands. The triplets were at school; the house felt too quiet. She waited until I sat across from her.
“Tell me.”
I spilled it all—the lawsuit, the leaked photos, the paternity threat, Chase’s quiet proposal to co-parent, the way my body still ached from him last night even as my heart screamed caution.
She listened without interrupting. When I finished, she set her cup down.
“You’re waiting for permission to forgive him,” she said flatly.
I flinched. “I’m not—”
“You are. You’re waiting for someone to tell you it’s okay to let him back in. That you won’t be weak if you do.”
Tears burned. “He broke me once. What if he does it again?”
“Then you walk away with your head high and your children safe. But listen to me, Amelia.” She leaned forward, voice steel wrapped in velvet. “You are not that scared nineteen-year-old anymore. You built a life from nothing. You raised three extraordinary children alone. You stared down a room full of wolves and walked out alive. Their games—Lucy’s, Samantha’s, even Chase’s past mistakes—are just noise. You’re stronger than their noise.”
I swallowed. “What if forgiving him means losing myself?”
“It won’t. Forgiving doesn’t mean forgetting. It means choosing your future over your scars.” She reached across the table, squeezed my hand. “And those children? They deserve to see their mother love without fear. They deserve to see a man try to earn it.”
I nodded slowly. The knot in my chest loosened—just a fraction.
That evening the triplets came home buzzing from school. They piled onto the couch with me, sticky from after-school snacks.
Jasmine curled into my side. “Mommy?”
“Hmm?”
She traced circles on my arm. “Can Mr. Chase be our dad?”
My heart stopped. Jaden and Jamin looked up too—serious, waiting.
I forced my voice steady. “Why do you ask, baby?”
Jaden shrugged. “He teaches us hockey. He reads stories funny. He looks at us like… like he’s happy we’re here.”
Jamin added quietly, “And he smells like us. Like family.”
The mate bond. The blood tie. They felt it even if they didn’t have words for it.
I pulled them close. “I’m thinking about it,” I whispered. “I promise I’m thinking about it.”
They nodded, satisfied for now. But the question hung between us like a promise.
The next day the escalation came.
I’d taken the kids to the nearby park for a picnic—something normal, something away from the estate’s walls. Chase had a meeting with lawyers; I needed air.
The triplets ran ahead to the swings. I watched them laugh, chasing each other across the grass. A man in a dark jacket lingered near the playground fence—phone out, pretending to talk. I tensed.
Then a woman approached—mid-thirties, friendly smile, clipboard in hand. “Hi! I’m from the community art program. We’re doing free face painting for kids today. Would yours like to join?”
Jasmine’s eyes lit up. “Mommy, can we?”
I hesitated. Something felt off. The woman’s smile didn’t reach her eyes.
Before I could answer, tires screeched behind me. Chase’s black SUV pulled up hard. He was out in seconds, striding across the grass like a storm.
“Amelia,” he barked. “Get them in the car. Now.”
The woman froze. The man by the fence started walking fast—too fast—toward the parking lot.
Chase didn’t hesitate. He scooped Jasmine up with one arm, grabbed Jaden’s hand, and nodded at Jamin. “With me, bud.”
I herded them toward the SUV. Chase’s eyes scanned the area—alpha senses on full alert. He growled low, barely audible. “They’re not touching them.”
The woman backed away. The man disappeared around a van. Chase bundled the kids into the back seat, buckled them in with shaking hands that only I could see.
Once we were moving, he glanced at me. “Lucy hired a PI. I got a tip from a contact. They were going to lure the kids—‘art program,’ then a quick grab. Make it look like a custody play gone wrong.”
My blood ran cold. “She tried to kidnap them?”
“Subtly. Enough to scare us. Enough to force a negotiation.” His knuckles whitened on the wheel. “She won’t get near them again. I’ve already doubled security. Private detail starts tonight.”
The kids were quiet in the back—sensing the tension. Jasmine clutched her stuffed wolf. Jaden stared out the window. Jamin whispered, “Is Mr. Chase mad?”
I reached back, squeezed his knee. “He’s protecting us, baby. Like daddies do.”
Chase’s eyes flicked to the rearview mirror. Something raw passed over his face.
Back at the estate, he carried Jasmine inside while I settled the boys with cartoons. When I found him in the hallway, he pulled me into his arms without a word. I let him. For the first time in years, the embrace felt like safety instead of danger.
Family. It was forming—fragile, fierce, real.
That night, while the kids slept and Chase patrolled the grounds like a sentinel, my phone lit up with a private number.
Samantha’s voice—smooth, venomous.
“Amelia.”
“What do you want?”
A soft laugh. “I know your little secret. The wolf thing. The mate bond. The full-moon frenzy that started all this. I have proof—old security footage from the estate garden, audio from staff who heard… interesting sounds. I’ve kept it quiet. But if you don’t back off—if you don’t convince Chase to drop the project, drop the inheritance fight, drop everything and let me have him—the pack council gets it all. Every dirty detail. Your children’s lives dragged through shifter courts. Imagine that headline: ‘Hudson Heir’s Bastard Triplets—Illegitimate Wolf Pups.’”
My hand tightened on the phone. “You’re bluffing.”
“Am I?” She paused. “You have forty-eight hours. Walk away. Or I burn it all down.”
The line went dead.
I stared at the dark screen, heart pounding.
She knew. About the wolves. About us.
And now the real war had begun.
- Writer
