Who's My Triplet's Alpha Daddy? Novel

Chapter 45 Dec 26, 2025 POV: Lysander Wednesday morning arrives with the inevitability of a train wreck you can see coming but can't quite bring yourself to prevent. The Lucky Leaf is exactly as aggressively zen as I remember. Caroline's already here-corner booth, case files everywhere, wearing a sage green blazer that should be illegal in professional settings but somehow works perfectly on her. She spots me and her whole face lights up. No corporate mask. Just genuine delight that I showed. My wolf does its happy dance. My conscience files for early retirement.

"You came!" She gestures at the seat with one hand while highlighting something with the other. "I was worried my chart enthusiasm scared you off." "Takes more than color-coding to scare me." I slide into the booth, hyperaware that in two hours she'll be sitting across from me in a conference room discovering I'm Lysander Fenris and not just some guy who tolerates overpriced lattes. Should tell her now. Right now. Before this gets worse. "So I have to show you this brief I'm working on." She's already pulling out her laptop, completely unaware my stomach is staging a revolt.

"It's for this custody case where the dad's lawyer keeps-wait, first things first. Beverage decision time." The barista appears. Same deadpan expression. Same visible judgment of my life choices. "He'll have the ceremonial matcha latte," Caroline announces before I can protest. "With the lavender foam and edible flowers. Trust me." "I'm sensing a pattern here," I say. "What pattern?" "You ordering increasingly ridiculous drinks while I pretend to hate them." Her grin could power a small city. "But you DON'T hate them. I can tell.

You're a secret fancy latte enthusiast hiding behind black coffee masculinity." Christ. She's not wrong and I hate that she's not wrong. The drinks arrive. Actual flowers floating in pale green foam, white syrup drizzled artistically, served in a cup that says "BOSS BABE". Caroline watches me take the first sip with anticipation that's borderline violent. It's delicious. Earthy and sweet and completely destroying my coffee credibility. "You love it," she says with smug satisfaction. "It's OK." "LIAR." She pulls out her phone. "Okay, photo time.

For my collection of 'People I've Converted to Fancy Drinks.'" "Absolutely not-" But she's already snapping pictures. Me holding this ridiculous green monstrosity, probably looking like someone's facing their execution but the execution is surprisingly pleasant. "Perfect." She shows me the photo-I look simultaneously annoyed and charmed. "This is going in my 'Wins' folder." "You have a folder for that?" "I have folders for EVERYTHING. I'm a divorce lawyer.

Organization is my love language." She's scrolling through her phone now, showing me approximately seventeen different color-coded folder systems that should be overkill but instead are weirdly impressive. We spend the next hour like this. Her showing me cases, me offering input without revealing I'm also a lawyer who definitely understands the strategy she's describing. Flirting disguised as professional discussion disguised as flirting. It's the most fun I've had in months. "Okay, real talk." Caroline sets down her latte, studies me with those blue eyes that miss nothing.

"Are we doing this? Like actually doing this? Because I really like you but I also really don't want to be someone's emotional crisis while they figure out their complicated situation." This is the moment. Where I come clean about Claire, about who I am, about the meeting she's walking into in ninety minutes. "I'm figuring it out," I hear myself say instead. "The complicated situation. But yeah. I'm interested. In this. In you." Her smile shifts. Goes from playful to genuine. "Okay. Good. Because same. But Lys?" She reaches across the table, touches my hand.

"I need you to actually figure it out. Not just say you're figuring it out while continuing to date someone else." "I will." "Before our next coffee?" Her tone is gentle but firm. "Because I meant what I said. I like me too much to be someone's maybe." "Before next coffee," I promise, and have no idea how I'm going to make that work but my mouth is apparently making commitments my brain hasn't approved. She glances at her watch, gathers her files with practiced efficiency. "I have to run. Meeting at noon. Big corporate thing." She grins. "Wish me luck.

I'm going to be terrifying." My stomach drops into my shoes. "Good luck with that." "Thanks." She leans across the booth, kisses my cheek with warmth that makes my chest hurt. "See you Friday? Same time, different overpriced beverage?" "Yeah. Friday." She leaves in a cloud of expensive perfume and case files, completely unaware that in two hours she's walking into my conference room. I sit there with my ceremonial matcha latte and the complete destruction of whatever professional boundaries I thought I maintained. My phone buzzes. Claire: Conference room ready.

Caroline Montgomery's assistant confirmed she'll be here at noon. You heading back soon? I stare at Caroline's empty seat. At the lipgloss mark on my cheek that I should wipe off but don't. She kissed me. Caroline Montgomery kissed me ninety minutes before walking into my office to negotiate. This is going to be spectacular. Spectacular disaster. Spectacular train wreck. Spectacular something. I text Claire back: On my way. The drive back to the office takes fifteen minutes that feel like fifteen hours.

I'm running through every possible scenario-how Caroline reacts, what she says, whether she's been playing me this whole time. No. The surprise on her face when we collided was real. The rambling about briefs and bad breakups was authentic. She has no idea who I am. Which makes this worse somehow. I park. Take the elevator. Walk through the office where everything looks normal but nothing is normal and in thirty minutes my carefully compartmentalized life detonates. Claire's waiting at my office. Professional mode activated. "She's early. Already in the conference room.

I put water, coffee, the presentation materials-" "I'll handle it." My voice comes out rougher than intended. She studies my face. "You okay? You look weird." "Fine. Just ready to hear their pitch." "Okay." She doesn't believe me but won't push. "I'll be right outside. Signal if you need me to intervene." I walk toward the conference room where Caroline Montgomery is waiting. Where in approximately thirty seconds she discovers I'm not just some guy who tolerates matcha beverages. My hand touches the doorknob. My wolf perks up with interest. And I walk into disaster with my eyes wide open.

Archer