Who's My Triplet's Alpha Daddy? Novel

Chapter 76 Dec 27, 2025 POV: Lysander "I'm not taking the test yet." Claire's voice is barely a whisper, the kind that suggests she's been having this conversation with herself for days. "I can't. Because if it's positive, everything changes. And if it's negative, I've been making myself sick over nothing." She sits on the edge of the bed, still clutching the box with white-knuckled determination. I sit carefully in the room's only chair-floral upholstered nightmare that probably witnessed a dozen infidelities-giving her space because crowding her feels dangerous.

"How late are you?" "Three weeks." She won't look at me, focuses on the box like it contains nuclear codes instead of pee sticks. "But I've been stressed, barely eating, working too much. Could be nothing. Probably nothing. Bodies are weird when you're emotionally destroyed." "Or it could be something." "Yeah." Her laugh sounds like breaking glass trying to pretend it's wind chimes. "It could be something. Could be that the one time we-" She stops, swallows hard. "Do you remember? Two months ago. The night after Caroline left. When I worked late and you kissed me and we ended up-" I remember.

Vividly. My office couch, desperate and hungry, both of us using sex as emotional anesthesia. Her nails in my shoulders, my mouth on her throat, neither of us thinking about consequences beyond the immediate need to feel something other than empty. "We used protection," I say, grasping for logic in emotional chaos. "Condoms aren't perfect. You know that. They're like ninety-eight percent effective, which means two percent of the time they spectacularly fail and ruin your entire life plan." She's crying again, silent tears that make her look younger and more vulnerable.

"I've been feeling sick for weeks. Thought it was stress. But then I missed my period and the nausea got worse and I realized this might not be stress. This might be consequences." She can't finish. Just sits there holding the box with both hands, body curved protectively around it. I want to go to her, want to pull her into my arms and promise everything will be okay. But I'm not sure that's true. Not sure what any of this means beyond the immediate fact that I've potentially fathered a child with a woman I can't stop hurting.

"Why didn't you tell me?" My voice comes out rougher than intended. "Why hide in a motel instead of-" "Because!" She's on her feet now, pacing the small room with manic energy. "Because you're in love with Caroline. Because finding out I might be pregnant would trap you in the world's worst obligation. Because I didn't want to be the anchor that ruins your chance at happiness." "Claire-" "Don't say you'd choose me because of a baby. Don't say you'd do the right thing and commit and marry me out of some archaic sense of responsibility." Her voice rises, loses control. "I won't be your duty.

I won't be the mistake you're stuck with because biology decided to complicate everything." "You're not a mistake-" "Yes I am!" She spins to face me and her expression is devastation with edges. "I've always been the safe option. The backup plan. The woman you settle for when your actual choices don't work out. And I'm done. I'm so fucking done being second place in everyone's priorities." She moves to the bathroom, still holding the test with grim determination. "I'm taking this now. And whatever it says, you're leaving.

You're walking away and letting me make my own choices about my own body and my own future." "I can't do that-" "You can and you will." She's in the bathroom doorway, hand on the frame with enough force I'm worried about structural damage. "Because this is my life, my choice, my future. And I won't let you be part of it just because you feel obligated by outdated gender norms and biological accidents." She closes the door. I hear water running, her muffled crying, the sound of packaging being opened with shaking hands.

Three minutes of agonizing silence where I count my heartbeats and they're all too fast, too loud, too everything. When she emerges, the test is in her hand. She won't show me, won't even look at it, just stands there with tears streaming down her face and her entire body shaking. "Claire-" "Leave." Her voice is empty, scraped clean of everything except exhaustion. "Please. Just go." "Tell me what it says. I need to know-" "No." She sets the test face-down on the nightstand with careful precision. "You need to go. Now.

Before I say something I can't take back." "I'm not leaving you like this-" "THEN I'LL LEAVE!" She's grabbing her suitcase, shoving the test into her hoodie pocket, moving with frantic energy that makes the room feel smaller. "I'm done. With you, with Denver, with pretending any of this is salvageable." She's at the door, hand on the knob, when I catch her wrist. Not hard, just enough to stop her momentum. "Don't run. Please. Whatever that test says, whatever you're feeling-don't run." She looks at me with eyes that are empty of everything except bone-deep exhaustion.

"That's all I've ever done with you, Lysander. Run. Running toward you when I should've run away. Running after you when you were chasing someone else. Running in circles trying to be enough." She pulls free gently. "I'm tired of running toward you. Time to run away instead." "Where will you go?" "Does it matter?" She's opening the door, cold air rushing in. "Anywhere that's not here.

Anywhere you won't find me and try to fix things with pretty words and empty promises." "Claire, if you're pregnant-if we're having a baby-" "We're not having anything." She steps into the hallway, suitcase in one hand, my potential future in her pocket. "I might be having a baby. You're having whatever life you choose with whoever you actually want." "I want you-" "No you don't." She's backing away now, toward the stairs. "You want to want me. You want to feel like a good person who does right by the woman he accidentally impregnated. But you don't actually want me.

You never have." "That's not true-" "Then prove it." She stops, studies my face with clinical precision. "Right now. Tell me if Caroline walked through that door, said her father died and she needs you, said she wants to try again-tell me you'd choose me over her. No hesitation. No qualifications. Just yes or no." My mouth opens. Nothing comes out. The silence stretches long enough to answer. "That's what I thought." She turns, starts down the stairs. "Goodbye, Lysander. Tell Caroline I hope she makes you happy.

One of us should be." "Wait-" But she's already gone, disappearing into the stairwell with my potential child and absolutely no intention of letting me be part of whatever decision she makes. I stand in the motel hallway, staring at the empty space where she was, trying to figure out when exactly my life became a cautionary tale about what happens when you refuse to choose anything. My phone buzzes. Caroline: My father died this morning. I'm coming back to LA to settle the estate. Can we talk? Perfect timing. Absolutely perfect. I walk back into the motel room.

The test is still face-down on the nightstand, mocking me with possibilities I don't get to know. I reach for it. My hand hovers. I don't flip it over. Because Claire's right-I don't deserve to know. Don't deserve to be part of this decision when I can't even answer a simple question about who I'd choose. I leave the test face-down and walk away. Some answers you don't get to have when you've spent too long refusing to choose. Archer