Who's My Triplet's Alpha Daddy? Novel

Chapter 64 Dec 18, 2025 POV: Lysander Monday morning I ask Claire to my office before I lose whatever temporary courage Seattle gave me. She arrives looking like she spent the weekend losing a fight with insomnia-dark circles under her eyes that makeup can't quite hide, shoulders tight with tension that radiates across the room. "Close the door." My voice comes out rougher than intended. She does but stays near it, not sitting. Not settling. Already preparing her exit strategy. "I owe you honesty." The words taste inadequate but they're all I have.

"You owe me nothing." Her voice is professional, empty. "We're colleagues. That's all we've ever been." "Claire-" "Don't." The word cracks down the middle. "Whatever you're about to say-whether it's that you're officially with Caroline now, whether it's some attempt to let me down easy with carefully rehearsed corporate sensitivity-I don't want to hear it." "I still have feelings for you." The confession stops her mid-turn toward the door. Her hand freezes on the handle. "What?" "I have feelings for you. Strong feelings." I stand because sitting feels cowardly.

"The kind that make me want to call you at 2 AM just to hear your voice. The kind that make me miss you even when you're in the same building. The kind that make me want to choose you." Her eyes fill with tears she's too proud to let fall. "But you're not going to." Not a question. A verdict. "I don't know." I move closer, drawn by the pull I've been fighting for months. "Because I also have feelings for Caroline that are just as strong, just as real. And I don't know how to choose between you." "So you're choosing both." She wipes her eyes with angry efficiency.

"Which means you're choosing neither. God, Lysander. How can you be so smart about everything else and so catastrophically stupid about this?" "I know it's not fair-" "Fair?" She laughs and it sounds like glass breaking. "This isn't about fair. This is about you being too terrified to commit to anything real. You want me because I'm safe. You want Caroline because she's exciting. But you don't actually want either of us enough to risk losing the other." The words land in my chest with physical force.

"That's not true-" "Then prove it." She steps closer and I can smell her familiar perfume mixed with exhaustion and hurt. "Choose. Right now. Me or her. One woman, complete commitment, no hedging your bets or keeping options open." My mouth opens. Nothing comes out. Because she's right-I can't choose. Won't choose. Not yet, not when choosing means losing and losing means facing what I actually am beneath all the careful professional armor. "That's what I thought." She heads for the door with measured steps that probably cost her everything to maintain.

"When you figure out what you actually want-not what's convenient or safe or exciting, but what you actually want-let me know. Until then, let's keep this professional." "Claire, wait-" "No." She opens the door, pauses without looking back. "I waited long enough, Lysander. Waited while you took her to dinner, while you signed a partnership that ties you to her family, while you slept with her and came back smelling like her perfume pretending I wouldn't notice." Her voice drops to something barely above a whisper. "I'm done waiting for you to decide if I'm worth choosing.

Figure it out on your own time." She leaves. The door closes with a soft click that somehow sounds louder than slamming. I stand in my empty office feeling like I just failed a test I didn't know I was taking. My phone buzzes on the desk-Caroline asking about lunch plans-and I can't bring myself to answer. The Henderson brief sits on my desk where Claire left it. Perfect work, flawless analysis, exactly what I needed without me having to ask. Because she knows how I think, anticipates my needs, makes everything easier just by existing in my orbit.

But Caroline makes me feel alive in ways I didn't know I was dead. Makes me laugh, challenges me, pushes me to be better instead of just comfortable. I sink into my chair and realize Thalia was right. This middle ground I've been occupying isn't protecting anyone-it's destroying all three of us with equal efficiency. My office phone rings. Internal line. "Mr. Fenris?" My assistant's voice is careful, professional. "Ms. Montgomery is here for your lunch meeting. Should I send her in?" I don't remember making lunch plans. But of course Caroline assumed, because why wouldn't she?

We're partners now, in business and apparently everything else, and partners have lunch. "Give me five minutes." I stand, straighten my tie, check my reflection in the window. Try to find the version of myself that can sit across from Caroline and pretend my entire personal life isn't actively imploding. The door opens before my five minutes are up. Caroline sweeps in wearing pink-because of course she does-carrying takeout bags and radiating sunshine that feels aggressive in my current state. "Surprise!

I brought that Thai place you like because you've been working too hard and I wanted to-" She stops, studies my face with those sharp eyes that miss nothing. "What's wrong?" "Nothing. Just a difficult morning." "Lysander." She sets down the food, moves closer. "I know difficult mornings. You look like someone just kicked your emotional support puppy. What happened?" The concern in her voice makes my chest tight. This is Caroline stripped of corporate armor, genuinely worried, actually caring in ways that feel both wonderful and suffocating.

"Claire and I had a conversation." The truth slips out before I can stop it. Her expression shifts. Goes careful, guarded. "About?" "About us. About feelings. About choices I'm apparently incapable of making." She's quiet for a long moment, processing. Then she does something unexpected-she laughs. "Oh my god. You're in love with her too." Not a question. Not an accusation. Just observation delivered with the kind of clarity that makes her dangerous in court. "Caroline-" "No, it's fine. Well, not fine. Obviously not fine.

But it explains so much." She's pacing now, gesturing with that manic energy she gets when processing complex information. "The way you pull back sometimes, the guilt I can practically taste when we're together, how you never fully commit to plans more than a week out." She stops, faces me directly. "Here's what's going to happen. You're going to figure out what you actually want. Not what's convenient, not what makes the partnership easier, not what your family expects." Her voice goes firm.

"What you want, deep down, where you can't lie to yourself." "And if I want both of you?" "Then you get neither of us." She picks up her purse with deliberate calm. "Because I don't share. Not partners, not boyfriends, not emotional investment. I've done the 'maybe he'll choose me eventually' dance. It ended with me crying in a law school bathroom while my ex moved on with someone less complicated." She heads for the door, pauses with her hand on the frame. "I like you, Lysander. Really like you.

Maybe even love you, though saying that out loud feels terrifying and premature." Her smile is sad, genuine. "But I like me more. And I'm not competing for someone who's not sure I'm worth choosing." She leaves. The Thai food sits on my desk, cooling, untouched. Two women. Two conversations. Two exits that sound exactly the same. I'm alone in my office at noon on a Monday, having lost both of them in the span of three hours, wondering how I became this person. The answer is simple, brutal: I became this person by wanting everything and choosing nothing. And now I have exactly what I deserve.

Nothing at all. Archer