Who's My Triplet's Alpha Daddy? Novel

Chapter 53 Dec 23, 2025 POV: Lysander Caroline is devastating tonight. Red dress that should require a permit, hair in loose waves, smile that could power a small city. She slides into the booth across from me and immediately pulls out her tablet, swiping through documents with focused intensity. "Okay so I've been thinking about the Montgomery-Fenris partnership proposal and honestly? My dad is going to fight you on the equity split." She says it cheerfully, like she's discussing the weather. "He always gets his way. Has since like, forever.

It's simultaneously impressive and exhausting." My wolf stirs with interest. Business talk I can handle. "The Fenris family doesn't give up territory." I lean back, studying her. "Ever. It's kind of our thing." "Ooh, I like that about you." She grins, tapping something on her screen. "The whole immovable object energy. Very alpha male without being gross about it. Rare quality." The waiter arrives and she orders for both of us with cheerful efficiency, then immediately returns to the documents.

"So here's what I'm thinking-we could structure it as a tiered partnership with performance benchmarks. That way your family maintains control but mine gets security." She tilts her head. "Unless you're going to be stubborn about the voting rights, in which case this dinner is about to get very tense." "Depends on the benchmarks." "See? Reasonable." She sets down the tablet, studies me with those sharp blue eyes. "My dad could learn from that. He's more of a 'my way or the highway' type.

Which worked great when I was like, twelve, but now it's just annoying." There's something underneath the sunny delivery. Something harder. "Tell me about your family," I hear myself say. "Robert Montgomery, right? Built the firm from nothing?" Her smile shifts. Goes from bright to something more complex. "Yeah. He's kind of amazing, actually. Self-made, brilliant strategist, taught me everything about law." She pauses, fingers tracing the edge of her water glass. "It's just been us for a while now. Mom died when I was sixteen. Breast cancer." "I'm sorry." "Thanks. It sucked.

Like, monumentally sucked." She says it matter-of-factly, but I can see the grief underneath. "Dad kind of threw himself into work after. Which I get-grief makes people weird-but it also meant he started expecting me to be perfect at literally everything." She takes a sip of wine, and for once doesn't fill the silence with chatter. "He got really intense about the firm. About legacy, about proving something. Started disappearing into work for days at a time." Her voice stays light but there's an edge there.

"And when he was around, every conversation became about my grades, my cases, my career trajectory. Like I was some kind of project instead of his daughter." "That's a lot of pressure." "Right? My therapist has a field day with it." She laughs, but it doesn't quite reach her eyes. "But I also get it, you know? After Mom died, the firm was the only thing he could control. Everything else was just chaos and loss." She straightens, and that sunshine energy comes flooding back. "Anyway! He also got super into hunting.

Which is random but apparently grief hobbies are a thing?" She's talking faster now, gesturing with her wine glass. "Goes up to the mountains every weekend. Says it clears his head. I went with him once and it was honestly terrifying-all that silence and waiting and then bam, violent death. Not my vibe." Something flickers across her face when she mentions hunting. Something I can't quite read. "What does he hunt?" "Oh, you know. Deer, elk, whatever's in season." She waves a hand dismissively, but her smile goes tight. "He's weirdly good at it though. Like, scary good.

Has this whole collection of guns and equipment and vintage hunting journals he inherited from his dad." She's talking about it casually, but there's tension in her shoulders that wasn't there before. "Family tradition?" "Something like that." She changes the subject with practiced ease. "But enough about my dad's weird hobbies. Tell me about Seattle. You going for work or family?" The shift is so smooth I almost miss it. Almost. "Family. My brother and his mate are hosting something for the holidays." I study her face, but whatever I saw a moment ago is gone.

"Just a long weekend." "That sounds nice! I love family stuff. Well, theoretical family stuff. When it's just me and Dad it's more like intense business meetings with mandatory small talk." She grins. "Do you have a big family? Like tons of siblings and cousins and that whole chaotic energy?" "It's complicated." "Everything with you is complicated." She steals a bite of my pasta, nods approvingly. "But I'm into it. Complicated is interesting.

Simple is boring." Our food arrives and she launches into a story about a case she won last month, all animated hand gestures and perfectly timed punchlines. The tension from earlier completely gone. Or buried. I'm not sure which. We talk business for another hour. She's brilliant-I knew that already, but watching her break down legal strategy with genuine enthusiasm is something else. Sharp mind hidden behind sunny delivery. "Okay so if we structure the partnership with quarterly reviews and profit-sharing based on client retention-" She's drawing diagrams on her napkin now.

"Then both firms win. Your dad gets his territory, mine gets his security. Everybody's happy." "Except the lawyers who have to draft the actual contract." "That's literally what we pay them for." She grins. "Come on, admit it. This is a good plan." "It's not terrible." "High praise from Lysander Fenris." She signals for the check with cheerful authority. "I'm counting this as a win." Outside, the Denver night is cold. I offer to drive her home and she accepts, sliding into the passenger seat with that easy confidence she brings to everything.

"So what are you doing this week?" She's playing with the radio, scrolling through stations. "Because there's this gallery opening Thursday that's supposed to be amazing and I need someone with good taste to tell me if the art is actually good or just expensive." "Flying out to Seattle tomorrow actually." "Oh!" Her face falls for just a second before the sunshine smile returns. "That's fine! We can do it when you get back. Unless you're going to be gone for like, months, in which case I'll have to find another art critic." She says it lightly, but there's a question underneath.

"Just a long weekend. Back Monday." "Perfect." She's quiet for a moment as I pull up to her building. "This was fun. The business talk, the food, all of it. We should do it again." "Yeah. We should." She turns in her seat, studying my face in the dim light. "Can I ask you something? And I need you to be honest because I'm really bad at reading subtext." "Okay." "Is this going somewhere? Like, are we building toward something real or are we just having nice dinners and pretending we're not both aware there's something else happening?" The question hangs between us.

Before I can answer, she leans in and kisses me. It starts soft. Testing. Then her hand slides into my hair and suddenly it's deeper, hungrier, tongues tangling with heat that makes my chest tight. I pull her closer. She melts into me, all soft curves and warm skin. The kiss tastes like wine and want and something I can't quite name. When she pulls back, we're both breathing hard. "Think about it in Seattle," she whispers against my mouth. "What you actually want. Because I'm interested, Lysander. Really interested.

But I need to know you are too." She pulls away, opens the car door with that bright smile that's starting to feel like armor. "Safe flight tomorrow. Text me when you land so I know you didn't die in a fiery crash." Then she's gone, disappearing into her building before I can respond. I sit there in my car, her taste still on my lips, and wonder what the fuck I'm doing. My phone buzzes. Claire: Safe flight tomorrow. Two different women. Two different futures. I have four days in Seattle to figure out which one I actually want. Archer