My Hockey Alpha Stepbrother’s Secret Triplet

2

7 years ago

I stood in front of the full-length mirror in the guest room of the Hudson estate, smoothing down the light purple bridesmaid dress. It was silk, flowing softly over my curves, but I felt like a doll dressed up for someone else’s game.

At eighteen, I should have been excited about a wedding like this—lavish, with crystal chandeliers and flowers everywhere—but all I felt was out of place. The Hudson estate sprawled like a palace, manicured lawns and marble fountains under the summer sun. Guests in designer suits and gowns milled about outside, their laughter floating up to my window.

My mother, Lucy, bustled in, her white gown trailing like a cloud. She looked perfect, as always—elegant, with her hair pinned up and diamonds sparkling at her throat. “Oh, Amelia, you look darling,” she cooed, adjusting my strap. She pulled me into a hug that felt staged, her perfume overwhelming.

People around us—maids, florists—smiled and praised how close we seemed. “Mother and daughter, what a pair,” one said.

I forced a smile back. Deep down, I had no real feelings for her. Lucy had always been more performance than parent. Growing up, she dragged me to parties or left me alone while she chased her social dreams. I learned early to fend for myself, painting in my room to escape the emptiness. Today was no different. She was marrying Markus Hudson, Alpha of the North Pack and a wealthy businessman, and I was just part of the show.

What really made my pulse quicken was the thought of Chase—my soon-to-be stepbrother. I had met him a few times during Mom and Markus’s courtship, and each encounter left me breathless.

The first time was at a dinner in their city penthouse, months ago. Markus had invited us over to “get to know the family.” Chase walked in late from hockey practice, his dark hair tousled, wearing a simple black shirt that clung to his athletic build. He was twenty-three, already a rising star in the league, with that alpha presence that made rooms go quiet.

Our eyes met across the table, and something sparked. He smiled politely, but his gray eyes lingered on me a second too long. “Amelia, right?” he said, his voice deep and smooth. As we ate, our hands brushed as we passed the bread basket. Heat shot through me, like electricity. I pulled back, blushing, but I caught him watching me later, his gaze intense, as he felt it too.

Another time, during a weekend at the estate, Mom and Markus were out touring vineyards. Chase and I ended up alone in the library. I was sketching a landscape from the window, lost in my lines. He came in for a book, but he stopped behind me. “That’s good,” he murmured, close enough that I felt his breath on my neck. I turned, our faces inches apart. His scent—clean, masculine, with a hint of wildness—made my heart race.

“Thanks,” I whispered. For a moment, neither of us moved. Then he stepped back, clearing his throat.

“You’re talented.” But his eyes said more, a pull I couldn’t name.

The last encounter was at a charity event. Mom insisted I come. Chase was there with his team, looking sharp in a tux. We danced once—Markus encouraged it, calling us “siblings bonding.”

Chase’s hand on my waist was firm, guiding me across the floor. Our bodies pressed close in the crowd, and I felt his heartbeat match mine, fast and unsteady. “You smell like vanilla,” he said softly, his lips near my ear. I shivered, my skin heating under his touch. When the song ended, he held on a beat too long before letting go.

But nothing could happen. Mom and Markus’s relationship made it impossible. They were building a family, and I couldn’t shatter that. Markus often talked about his daughter, who died as a baby.

“She’d be your age now, Amelia,” he’d say with a sad smile. “I’m glad to have you here.” He treated me like his own—kind, attentive. He even framed one of my paintings in his study, praising my “eye for beauty.” I couldn’t disappoint him. And Mom?

She pushed the “brother” label from day one. “Call him brother, dear. We’re all family now.” It felt like a chain.

I shook off the thoughts and headed downstairs. The ceremony was in the grand ballroom, transformed with white roses and golden lights. Markus stood at the altar, tall and distinguished in his suit, his silver hair neat. He was in his fifties, a business tycoon who built empires, but with me, he was gentle. “You look beautiful, kiddo,” he said as I approached, squeezing my hand. No one had ever called me that before.

Lucy walked down the aisle on cue, beaming. Vows were exchanged, rings slipped on. Guests clapped. I scanned the crowd and spotted Chase in the front row. God, he looked handsome. His tux fit perfectly, accentuating his broad shoulders and trim waist. His dark hair was styled, but a strand fell over his forehead, giving him that rugged edge. Those gray eyes found mine during the kiss, and my stomach flipped.

Next to him sat Samantha, his fiancée. She was pretty in a polished way—blonde hair, red lips, a green gown that screamed money. Her family was a high-ranking werewolf family, which put them in the upper class and connected enough to mingle with the Hudsons.

She clung to Chase’s arm, whispering something that made him nod. I looked away, jealousy twisting in my gut. They were engaged for business reasons, or so rumors said. But she was there, and I was the outsider.

The reception spilled into the gardens, tents with flowing champagne and gourmet food. Live music played, couples dancing under string lights. I mingled as best I could, accepting compliments on my dress. “Such a lovely girl,” an older woman said. “Your mother must be proud.” I nodded, but inside, I was tired of the act.

Markus found me by the buffet. “Enjoying yourself?” he asked, handing me a glass of wine.

I took a sip, the red liquid warming me. “It’s beautiful. Congratulations.”

He chuckled. “Thanks. Lucy’s over the moon. And Chase… well, he’s Chase.” He glanced at his son, who was talking to guests. “Proud of him, though. Hockey star, heir to the business. He’ll make a fine husband someday.” He nodded toward Samantha.

I forced a smile. “Yeah.”

As the night wore on, I had more wine—two glasses, then three. It loosened the tension in my shoulders. The full moon rose high, bright and round. I knew what that meant. Werewolves like us struggled more under its pull. Instincts sharpened, desires harder to control. Mom never talked about our heritage, but I felt it—the wolf inside, restless.

I spotted Chase across the lawn. He had wine too, his cheeks flushed. Our eyes met, and heat flooded me. My skin tingled, like fire under the surface. He held my gaze, unblinking, something raw in his expression. Samantha noticed, her smile tightening. She tugged his arm, pulling him toward the dance floor. But his eyes flicked back to me, lingering.

To avoid trouble, I slipped away. The crowd was too much, the air thick with perfumes and expectations. I wandered toward the edge of the gardens, where hedges formed quiet paths. The moon bathed everything in silver light. I breathed deep, trying to calm my racing heart.

Hours passed. The party wound down, guests leaving in limos. I retreated to my room, but sleep wouldn’t come. The wine buzzed in my veins, and thoughts of Chase swirled—his touch from that dance, his scent, those eyes. The full moon called to my wolf, making everything feel urgent, alive.

I threw on a robe over my nightgown and slipped out. The house was quiet. I headed to the garden for fresh air, the cool grass under my feet. Crickets chirped, the air scented with night-blooming flowers. I walked deeper, away from the lights.

A voice came from behind. “You shouldn’t be here alone.”

I turned. Chase stood in the moonlight.