ALPHA'S REGRET: The Triplet Secret

The Night Everything Changed

The mirror didn’t lie, but I wished it would. Just for tonight.

"You’re shaking," a voice sneered from the doorway. "Trying to vibrate out of that cheap dress, Raya?"

I didn't turn around. I didn't have to. I knew that voice like I knew the sound of my own heartbeat. Eloise. The future Beta female, if her father had his way, and the bane of my existence since we were five years old in the pack nursery.

I smoothed the fabric of the emerald green gown over my hips. It wasn't cheap—it had cost me three months of savings from my shifts at the pack clinic—but compared to the silk and designer labels filling the hallway tonight, I knew I looked like exactly what I was: the charity case. The orphan the former Alpha took in out of pity.

"Go away, Eloise," I muttered, grabbing my clutch. "Don't you have an Alpha to fawn over?"

Eloise stepped into the room, her nose wrinkling as if she smelled wet dog. "Brock won’t be looking at you tonight, Raya. He’s taking the title. He’s becoming the Alpha of the Crescent Moon pack. He needs a Luna, not a childhood plaything."

Her words were sharp, coated in venom, but they landed with the precision of a surgeon’s scalpel. They hit the one insecurity I’d been nursing for years.

Brock.

My best friend. My tormentor. The boy who taught me how to skip rocks by the river and the man who now made my inner wolf howl in longing every time he walked into a room.

"I’m his best friend," I said, lifting my chin. "I’m here to support him."

Eloise laughed, a cold, tinkling sound. "Support him? Honey, tonight the mating bond snaps into place for the new generation. Do you really think the Moon Goddess is going to pair the Alpha Blood with... you? A wolf with no lineage? No parents?" She leaned in, her perfume cloying and suffocating. "Stay in the shadows, Raya. It’s safer there."

She spun on her heel and left, leaving the door open. The noise from the ballroom downstairs drifted up—the clinking of crystal, the roar of laughter, the heavy, intoxicating scent of hundreds of wolves gathered in one place.

My wolf whined in my head, scratching at my chest. He is nervous, she murmured. Go to him.

I took a deep breath, pushing Eloise’s poison out of my mind. Tonight wasn't about me. It was about Brock. It was the night he finally took his father's place.

I walked out of the room, my heels clicking on the hardwood. I had to be strong. For him.

The ballroom was a sea of bodies. The air was thick, heavy with pheromones and the electric buzz of the pack. Being this close to so many shifting wolves usually made me anxious, but tonight, the energy was focused on the raised dais at the front of the room.

And there he was.

Brock.

My breath hitched. He was wearing a tuxedo that fit him like a second skin, accentuating the width of his shoulders and the taper of his waist. His dark hair was styled back, revealing the sharp, ruthless jawline that had been driving half the female population crazy for years.

But he didn't look happy. He looked like a caged animal.

He stood next to his father, the retiring Alpha, shaking hands with elders and visiting dignitaries. His eyes were hard, his smile tight and practiced. I could see the tension in his neck, the way his hand kept flexing into a fist at his side.

"He looks like he's about to shift and tear someone's throat out," a voice muttered beside me.

I jumped, turning to see Eric holding two flutes of champagne. Eric was one of the few people in the pack who treated me like a person, not a stain on the floor. He was a Gamma, solid and dependable.

"He hates crowds," I said, taking the glass he offered. "He hates the politics."

"He's the Alpha now," Eric said grimly, taking a sip. "He better learn to love it. Or fake it better than that." He looked at me, his expression softening. "You look beautiful, Raya. Green is your color."

"Thanks, Eric." I tried to smile, but my eyes drifted back to the stage.

As if he felt my gaze, Brock’s head snapped up. His eyes, the color of stormy seas, locked onto mine across the crowded room.

Everything else faded. The noise, the music, the smell of expensive perfume—it all vanished. It was just him. The connection between us wasn't the mate bond—I knew what that was supposed to feel like, an earth-shattering gravity—but it was something deep. Ancient. A cord of friendship and shared secrets that had lasted two decades.

He didn't smile. He just stared, his gaze burning, possessive. Then, he jerked his chin toward the side exit. A command.

Meet me.

My heart hammered against my ribs. "I... I have to go," I stammered to Eric.

"Raya," Eric warned, catching my arm. "Be careful. The Alpha aura is high tonight. He’s running on instinct. Don't let him use you as an emotional crutch."

"I can handle him," I lied.

I pulled away and wove through the crowd, slipping out the side door into the cool night air of the terrace.

The garden was quiet, bathed in moonlight. I barely had time to take a breath before a hand grabbed my wrist, spinning me around.

I gasped as I was slammed—gently, but firmly—against the stone wall of the packhouse.

"Brock!"

He was there, towering over me, boxing me in with his arms. He smelled like rain, cedar, and whiskey. A lot of whiskey. But mostly, he smelled like power. It rolled off him in waves, making my knees weak.