Semua Bab Stepbrother’s Obsession: Claimed By The Triplet Alphas: Bab 121 - Bab 130

Isabella – POV The moment her words hit the air, the ground trembled beneath my boots. “You should’ve died with your mother, girl.” I didn’t blink. Didn’t breathe. Because that voice—cold, ancient, laced with something not of this world—wasn’t just threatening. It was memorable. “You knew her,” I said quietly. The woman didn’t smile. Her lips parted just enough to show sharpened teeth—unnatural, jagged things that looked carved by centuries of darkness. “I ended her.” My pulse roared. The bond between Asher and me flared again, a wild heartbeat in my chest. Gold fire raced up my arms. I didn’t need answers. Not now. I needed her on her knees. “Then you already know what happens next,” I whispered. And I struck. The fire exploded from my fingertips like a thrown sun. It hit the altar dead-on—splintering stone, shattering shadow—and for a breathless second, I thought she’d burned with it. She didn’t. She vanished. Black mist swallowed the spot where she’d stood. The fla

Isabella — POV By the time we reached Duskmere’s outer ridge, dusk had bled into full darkness. The wind howled louder up here, dragging through the trees like it was trying to speak a warning. But I didn’t stop. I couldn’t. Not when every bone in my body still hummed with what I’d seen—what I’d felt—at that monastery. Not when the blood beneath my skin still remembered the pulse of the second tether, still itched with the memory of those scrolls. They’d known our names. They’d mapped us. And they hadn’t planned to kill us. They’d planned to use us. Duskmere came into view below the cliffs, a walled sprawl of torchlight and steel. From here, it looked peaceful. Guarded. Safe. But I knew better now. I pulled up my horse at the ridge and stared down at it. “It’s not safe,” I said. Asher reigned beside me, his gaze never leaving mine. “Not yet.” Demian flanked my other side, silent, sword strapped across his back. He didn’t need to speak for me to feel the tensi

Isabella POVI didn't sleep.Couldn’t.Every time I closed my eyes, I saw her face.Not the girl.The voice inside her.The one that had spoken through her bones like she was nothing more than a mouthpiece. A shell.“He was ours first.”That voice had curled its way beneath my ribs and set up camp.I could still feel it there, even now—settling in like rot beneath floorboards. Not loud. Not sharp. Just present.And worse?It felt familiar.I stood in the war room hours before dawn, fingers stained with sigil ash, scrolls unrolled across the table like corpses waiting to be named.Every one of them was a countdown. A promise.If we didn’t move faster than them, they would win.Not with armies.With infection.Infiltration.“Asher should be resting,” Demian said from behind me.I didn’t turn. “He won’t.”“He nearly collapsed after the severance.”“He didn’t.”A beat of silence.“You’re doing that thing again.”“What thing?”He moved to stand beside me, arms crossed, mouth grim. “Pretend

Isabella POVDuskmere didn’t sleep that night.Neither did I.Not even after the Hollow was cleared, the wards burned, the boy safe in the west wing with Rowan and a healer who never looked me in the eye.Not even after I washed the ash off my hands and scrubbed my skin until it stung.The kind of tired I felt wasn’t the kind sleep fixed.It was the kind that made your bones feel borrowed.I stood by the window in my quarters, watching smoke curl up into the night like a prayer no one wanted to say out loud. Somewhere behind me, my tea was going cold. Again.I hadn’t touched it.Again.The knock at the door came soft, but steady.Not Asher.I could always tell.Demian let himself in without waiting.“You’re supposed to be resting,” I said without turning.He snorted. “That’s rich, coming from the girl who lit a puppet-witch on fire and then rode straight into battle like it was a hobby.”“I don’t have hobbies,” I said. “Just obligations.”“You’re aware that’s not healthy, right?”“Nei

Kaia didn’t wake for two days. The healers said it wasn’t physical. No burns. No fever. No trauma to the head. Just exhaustion. But I knew better. It was the mark. Or what was left of it. The threads had been severed, but threads didn’t vanish. They frayed. They bled into the soul like ink into parchment. Sometimes, if you weren’t fast enough—if you weren’t brutal enough—it stayed. I sat with her through the second night. Not because I was needed. But because I couldn’t stop thinking about what she said. “She says I’m still soft.” That voice still echoed in the corners of my skull. Soft. Like a warning. Like a promise. She was watching. She was always watching. The others avoided the infirmary. Even Demian. Even Corrin. Like the room was cursed. But Asher stayed. He didn't talk much. Just stood at the door sometimes, arms crossed, scanning for shadows like they could sprout teeth and tear through the wall. Maybe they could. This was Duskmere, after a