Who's My Triplet's Alpha Daddy? Novel

Chapter 189 Jan 15, 2026 POV: Thalia The vision shifts to Lia and honestly, watching my sister's descent into bitter irrelevance is the kind of schadenfreude that should probably make me a worse person but actually just makes me feel vindicated. Sometimes karma isn't a bitch-she's just accurate. Lia lives in Portland now. Not the trendy neighborhoods with artisan coffee shops and overpriced vintage stores.

The other Portland-the part where studio apartments smell like previous tenants' life choices and the walls are so thin you become involuntarily intimate with your neighbors' arguments, sex lives, and questionable music taste. She's working at a Starbucks. Not managing one, which would at least come with health insurance and the illusion of upward mobility. Just working there, wearing the green apron that screams I peaked in high school and never recovered , making lattes for people who don't recognize pack royalty when it's operating the espresso machine. Pack society was all she knew.

Being Magnus Fenris's preferred future daughter-in-law, wielding social power like a weapon, crushing people for entertainment because consequences were for regular wolves. Then exile happened and suddenly she's discovering that the real world doesn't give a fuck about your pack ranking or your designer wardrobe or the fact that you were really good at psychological warfare against teenage girls. The studio apartment is aggressively depressing.

Ikea furniture that looks exactly like the showroom because she has no personal touches left-everything that made her her was stripped away with pack membership. One window overlooking a parking lot. Neighbors who blast bass-heavy music at 2 AM. The kind of space that's technically shelter but feels more like existing in a waiting room for a better life that's never coming.

I watch her at night after her shift ends, sitting on her cheap futon with her phone, scrolling through the alternate version of my social media with the kind of obsessive focus usually reserved for solving murders or developing unhealthy celebrity fixations. Every photo is studied with forensic intensity. The other Thalia at pack gatherings looking happy and loved. The triplets growing up powerful and accepted. Kieran's arm around his mate's waist, proprietary and proud. The family photos that scream we're thriving without you, thanks for asking .

Lia zooms in on faces, analyzing expressions, looking for cracks in the facade. Searching for evidence that she's secretly miserable, that Kieran regrets his choice, that the perfect family is just performance covering dysfunction. She finds nothing because there's nothing to find. They're genuinely happy now. Which makes the stalking even more pathetic-watching someone else live the life you think should have been yours while eating ramen because your shift didn't cover enough hours for real groceries. Sometimes she shows up at public pack events.

The kind that happen in neutral territory where exiled members can technically attend if they're desperate enough to torture themselves. She lurks in the back, dressed in clothes that scream I'm still relevant while screaming the opposite, watching the woman I'm observing lead with the authority Lia never earned. She takes photos from distance. Blurry, creepy, the visual equivalent of how stalkers document their obsessions. Saves them to a folder labeled "justice" like she's planning some grand revenge instead of just collecting evidence of her own irrelevance.

The revenge fantasies are elaborate. I can see them playing out in her head while she makes someone's oat milk cortado-scenarios where she exposes some invented scandal, where Kieran realizes he made a terrible mistake, where this Thalia gets destroyed and Lia swoops in to reclaim everything biology stole from her. Except she has zero power to execute any of it. No pack backing, no social capital, no leverage. Just bitter woman in studio apartment fantasizing about revenge while actual life moves forward without her. She tries contacting Kieran.

Letters that get intercepted by pack security before reaching him. Emails that bounce because she's blocked at the server level. Phone calls that go straight to automated rejection because her number was blacklisted months ago. "I just want to explain," she writes in her seventeenth ignored email. "She's manipulated you. The bond is fake. She's playing victim when she's the villain. Please just hear me out. I love you. I've always loved you. We were supposed to be together. She ruined everything. Give me five minutes. Please. Just five minutes." The desperation is palpable and pathetic.

Reading these messages-watching her spiral into increasingly unhinged pleas-should make me feel something. Pity, maybe. Concern for her mental health. That generous impulse toward forgiveness that makes you the bigger person. Instead I feel nothing. Which probably says something about me but I'm fine with that particular character flaw. Six months into exile, she shows up at pack territory. Just walks up to the gate like she has any right to be there, like exile means temporary inconvenience instead of permanent banishment. Security stops her before she makes it ten feet.

Two massive guards who look at her with the kind of professional indifference that's somehow more devastating than anger would be. "I need to see Alpha Magnus," she demands. Like she's still someone whose demands matter. "It's urgent pack business." "You're exiled," the guard says flatly. "You're not allowed on pack lands. Leave now or we call human police for trespassing." "I'm family-" "You're nobody." The second guard's voice is gentle but final. "You were exiled for threatening Alpha bloodline. That's permanent. Go home." They escort her away. Not violently, not with drama.

Just firm hands guiding her back toward her car while she oscillates between threats and pleading. The kind of scene that would be heartbreaking if she wasn't literally here because she tried to kidnap children. I watch her drive away crying angry tears, mascara running, the full dramatic breakdown that accomplishes exactly nothing. She's powerless and she knows it and knowing it makes the obsession worse. Her social media becomes increasingly unhinged. Vague posts about injustice, about people stealing what's rightfully yours, about karma coming for villains.

Everyone who sees them knows exactly who she's talking about and everyone ignores her because engaging with the bitter ex is exactly what she wants. The pack moves on without her. Better, actually-her exile removed a poison that had been seeping through social dynamics for years. The alternate Thalia implements changes Lia would have fought. The pack becomes healthier, stronger, more functional. And Lia watches from the sidelines documenting her irrelevance one creepy stalker photo at a time. I should feel sorry for her.

Should recognize the tragedy of watching someone who had everything lose it all through their own choices. Should summon that compassionate understanding that makes you the evolved human being. But I remember the cafeteria. Remember her reading my journal to dozens of witnesses, weaponizing my teenage feelings for entertainment. Remember two years of systematic torment designed to destroy what was left of my self-worth. Remember her trying to steal the triplets from school. Seven-year-old children she attempted to kidnap because she couldn't accept losing.

Lia's exile isn't tragedy-it's justice served cold with a side of exactly-what-she-deserved. Five years into exile and she's still in Portland, still working service jobs that barely cover rent, still obsessively documenting the happy life she's watching like somehow that'll change anything. Her bitterness has calcified into personality-she's not a person who got exiled anymore, she's just the exile, the bitterness, the resentment wearing human skin. People who knew her before don't recognize her now.

The confident pack princess is gone, replaced by this hollow thing that exists on spite and revenge fantasies it'll never execute. Sometimes I wonder if she'll ever move on. Ever accept what happened, make peace with consequences, build a new life that doesn't revolve around destruction. Then I watch her create another fake social media account to circumvent blocks, spend another evening stalking photos of the family that should have been hers, cry angry tears into cheap wine because the universe didn't give her what she decided she deserved. And I realize: no. She won't move on.

This is her life now. This is what she chose when she chose cruelty over kindness, destruction over growth, revenge over acceptance. She's not destroyed-that would require more agency than she has. She's just withering. Slowly. Alone. Irrelevant. Exactly where her choices led her. I watch the vision fade on Lia's face in her studio apartment, lit by her phone screen showing photos of my counterpart at a pack gathering, and feel absolutely nothing. admin