Triplet Alpha’s Obession

Dahlia heels clicked against the floor as she walked toward her room in the pack house. She was supposed to be out of the pack for a meeting. But it was cancelled last minute. The door was slightly ajar. Dahlia frowned, thinking maybe Damon, her boyfriend was inside. She pushed it open. Her world shattered. There, on their matrimonial bed, was her husband. Damon. Her mate. The man who had sworn to protect her above the pack, above his own life. His towering body bent over a woman, thrusting into her, his breath harsh. And the woman, her laugh, her voice. It wasn’t just anyone. “Talia?” Dahlia’s voice cracked, barely more than a whisper, but it sliced through the room. Damon froze. The blonde head lifted, and her sister. Her own blood, smirked, not even a hint of shame on her face. “Oh, Dahlia,” Talia said, breathless and cruel. “You’re early.” Damon pulled away instantly, eyes wide, his chest heaving. “Dahlia, it’s not...¦” “Not what?” Dahlia choked, her hand gripping the doorframe like her knees might give out. “Not you inside my sister? Not betrayal?!” Damon’s jaw tightened. His wolf stirred. She felt it like a storm in her chest. But his eyes weren’t on her. They were on the sheets, on the fact that his mate had just seen everything. “I didn’t want you to find out like this,” he muttered. Her heart cracked louder than glass shattering. “Find out what, Damon? That my mate prefers my sister? That three years of marriage meant nothing to you?” Talia slid off the bed, bare skin glowing with smugness, and started gathering her clothes with no rush. “Don’t be dramatic, little sister. Damon was going to end things with you anyway. You’re... well, useless as a Luna. You can’t even give him an heir.” “Talia, stop,” Damon snapped, but he didn’t meet Dahlia’s eyes. Talia laughed softly, pulling a silk blouse over her head. “No, she should know the truth.” And then she did something that made Dahlia’s blood freeze. She reached into her handbag by the nightstand, pulled out a stack of glossy photographs, and flung them onto the bed. Dahlia’s eyes locked on the images. Her own naked body. Her own thigh, the birthmark shaped like a crescent moon exposed. And next to her, a man. A pack warrior. Peterson. “What is this?” Dahlia whispered, her voice trembling. Talia’s smirk widened. “Evidence. Of what you’ve really been doing behind your mate’s back.” Damon finally looked up, his face pale. “Dahlia... tell me this isn’t real.” Her heart stopped. The photos weren’t blurry. They weren’t half-baked illusions. They were perfect. Her hair, her body, the tiny scar on her collarbone from when she fell as a child. Even her mole near her navel. Every detail was hers. “I never...” Dahlia’s voice cracked as tears burned her eyes. “I never did this. Damon, you know me. You know I would never...” But Damon wasn’t looking at her anymore. He was staring at the photos, his chest rising and falling like he was drowning. Talia slipped her heels on and leaned toward him. “She’s been sneaking around for years. While you worried about your pack, she was spreading her legs for Peterson. That’s why she couldn’t give you children. She’s been having abortions to keep it secret.” Dahlia’s entire body went cold. “That’s a lie!” But Damon’s silence crushed her louder than any scream. The photos burned into Dahlia’s skull long after Damon shoved them into his desk drawer like they were cursed. She stood in the middle of the room, shaking, her hair sticking to her damp face. “Say something,” she whispered. Damon’s fists clenched at his sides. “How am I supposed to defend you when everything says otherwise? The pictures. The documents Talia showed me. Dahlia, they even have medical files.” Her heart dropped. “Files? What files?” Talia leaned against the wall, smug as ever. “Your abortion records, sweet sister. Signed by healers you bribed to stay quiet. You were careless. You thought no one would find out.” “I never...¦” Dahlia’s knees buckled, and she grabbed the bedpost. “Damon, please. You know me. You’ve shared my every breath for three years. Do you really believe I’d betray you like this?” He raked a hand through his hair, pacing like a caged wolf. “I don’t know what to believe anymore.” The words stabbed deeper than any blade. Talia’s voice dripped poison. “She even had the nerve to get caught on camera with Peterson. You should ask him yourself. He’ll tell you the truth.” Damon turned, fury sparking in his eyes. “I will.” “No,” Dahlia whispered. She grabbed his arm, desperate. “Don’t go to him. Don’t give her this power. She’s lying, Damon, she’s always envied me. You know that.” But Damon wrenched his arm free, his jaw hard. “Then prove it, Dahlia. Prove these pictures are fake.” She couldn’t. How could she? They looked real, impossibly real. Even her wolf was silent, offering no growl of defense, no surge of truth. Just silence. Talia’s laugh echoed behind her. “You can’t, can you? Because they’re not fake.” Dahlia spun on her. “You photoshopped them. Or...¦or used some spell. You think this will make him choose you?” “Oh, sweet sister.” Talia’s green eyes glinted with triumph. “He already has.” Damon growled low in his throat. “Enough.” He grabbed his jacket, his shoulders stiff. “The elders will hear about this. I’ll put Peterson on trial. If you’re innocent, Dahlia, you’ll walk free.” “Trial?” Dahlia gasped, panic clawing at her chest. “You’re putting me on trial?” “You and Peterson both,” Damon said coldly. “If he denies it, maybe I can believe you. But if he doesn’t…” Her vision blurred. “You’d believe him over me?” He hesitated, and that hesitation broke her. Her body gave way. The world tilted, and darkness swallowed her. When Dahlia opened her eyes, the sterile scent of herbs filled her lungs. She lay on a healer’s cot, the faint glow of lanterns casting shadows on the walls. Her wrists were bandaged from where she must have collapsed. The first face she saw wasn’t Damon’s. It was Talia’s. “Rest well, sister,” Talia whispered, smiling like victory itself. “Tomorrow, you face the elders.” Dahlia’s heart hammered in her chest. “Why are you doing this?” she croaked. “Because,” Talia leaned down, her breath warm against Dahlia’s ear, “you were never meant to be Luna. That crown was mine. Damon was mine.” The door slammed open, and Damon entered with two guards. His face was stone. “Bring her,” he ordered. “Damon..." Dahlia tried, but the guards pulled her to her feet, chaining her wrists lightly as if she were some criminal. The courthouse loomed, its stone walls heavy with history. Elders sat in their seats, eyes sharp, murmurs running through the crowd as Dahlia was brought forward. And then she saw him. Peterson. Standing tall, eyes soft, lips curved in something like pity. Her stomach twisted. Damon’s voice cut through the silence. “Peterson. Did you or did you not have relations with my mate?” Peterson’s eyes flicked to Dahlia. For one fleeting second, she prayed he would laugh, deny everything, call the photos a joke. Instead, he lowered his gaze and said, “Yes. She’s my lover. Always has been.” Gasps filled the hall. Dahlia’s knees gave out again, but the guards held her upright. “No,” she sobbed, staring at him with betrayal raw in her voice. “Peterson, why are you lying? Please, stop this!” He shook his head, sadness in his eyes. “I’m not lying. You don’t have to keep pretending, Dahlia. I’ll take care of you, even if they banish us.”