My Hockey Alpha Stepbrother’s Secret Triplet

Amelia POV I slumped over my desk in the loft studio, my eyes heavy from another late night. The City X skyline twinkled outside the window, but I barely noticed. Sketches of living rooms and mood boards cluttered the surface around me. Being a mom of three kids and a fashion designer was a twenty-hour job. I am either fussing over a client's work or one of the kids will wake up at 2 in the morning for no reason. I had pushed through three client revisions today, and my body ached for rest. Before I knew it, sleep pulled me under. In my dream, the door to the studio creaked open. Chase stood there, his broad shoulders filling the frame. His gray eyes locked on mine, intense and hungry. He wore that fitted hockey jersey, the one that hugged his muscles just right. “Amelia,” he growled, his voice low and rough. He stepped inside, closing the distance in two strides. His hands found my waist, pulling me up from the chair. I gasped as he pressed me against the desk, papers scattering to the floor. His lips crashed into mine, demanding and fierce. I melted into him, my fingers tangling in his dark hair. He tasted like forbidden desire, the kind that had haunted me for years. His mouth trailed down my neck, nipping at my skin, sending shivers through me. “You’re mine,” he whispered against my collarbone. His hands slid under my shirt, rough palms grazing my bare skin. I arched into his touch, heat pooling between my legs. He lifted me onto the desk, his body fitting perfectly between my thighs. Our clothes came off in a frenzy—his jersey tossed aside, my blouse unbuttoned with urgent fingers. He kissed lower, his tongue teasing my breasts, making me moan. I wrapped my legs around him, pulling him closer. His hardness pressed against me, promising everything I craved. “Chase,” I breathed, my voice trembling. He entered me slowly at first, then deeper, filling me completely. The rhythm built, intense and wild, our bodies moving as one. Sweat slicked our skin as he thrust harder, his hands gripping my hips. Pleasure built inside me, coiling tight until it shattered, waves of ecstasy crashing over us both. He followed, groaning my name as he came, holding me as he would never let go. But even in the dream, reality crept in. He was my stepbrother. Forbidden. The fantasy twisted, his face turning cold, pushing me away. A small voice pierced the haze. “Mommy? I’m hungry.” My eyes snapped open. I bolted upright, my heart pounding, cheeks burning. The dream lingered, leaving me flushed and unsettled. I wiped my forehead, trying to steady my breath. Jaden stood in the doorway, rubbing his eyes. My six-year-old son looked so small in his pajamas, his gray eyes—those damn gray eyes—wide and innocent. “Hey, sweetie,” I said, forcing a smile. I glanced around the studio. The clock read seven-thirty. I had dozed off for over an hour. “Where are your brother and sister?” “Jasmine’s drawing, and Jamin’s playing with his trucks.” Jaden shuffled closer, his little feet padding on the hardwood floor. He climbed onto my lap, peering at the desk. His gaze landed on the sports magazine I had left open. Chase’s face stared back from the cover, mid-action on the ice, his hockey stick raised in triumph. The headline screamed: “Chase Hudson: Alpha on Ice and in Business.” Jaden tilted his head. “Who’s this, Mommy? He has eyes like mine. Like all of us.” My stomach twisted. I swallowed hard, closing the magazine quickly. “Just someone from a long time ago, buddy. An old… friend of the family.” The lie tasted bitter. Chase’s eyes were identical to theirs—stormy gray, piercing. A constant reminder of the man who had shattered my life, but also gave me the three best things that have ever happened to me. Jaden nodded, but I saw the curiosity linger. He was the perceptive one, always noticing details the others missed. “Okay. Can we eat now? My tummy’s growling.” I ruffled his hair. “Of course. Let’s get your siblings and make dinner.” I stood, stretching my sore back. The studio was my sanctuary—a converted warehouse space in the arts district of City X. Exposed brick walls, high ceilings, and floor-to-ceiling windows that let in the city lights. I had built this place from nothing. Seven years ago, I arrived here with nothing but a suitcase, a growing belly, and a broken heart. Now, it was the headquarters of my fashion design business. Clients loved the vibe: modern, creative, with my portfolio pieces on display—plush sofas I had sourced, custom wallpapers I designed. But it was also home. Upstairs was our living area, a cozy open-plan space I had renovated myself. I led Jaden up the spiral staircase, calling out, “Jasmine! Jamin! Dinner time!” Jasmine popped her head out from her room, crayons in hand. “I made a picture of our house, Mommy!” She held up a colorful drawing of our loft with stick figures of us four. “That’s beautiful, honey. We’ll hang it on the fridge.” I kissed her forehead. Jamin came running, his toy truck clutched tight. “Vroom! Can we have pasta?” “Pasta it is.” I herded them into the kitchen. This was our routine, honed over years of trial and error. Mornings started early: wake the kids, breakfast of oatmeal or eggs, drop them at school. Then I’d head to the studio below to field calls from clients. Today had been typical—a consultation with a couple remodeling their penthouse. I sketched layouts, suggested color palettes, and negotiated with suppliers. By afternoon, I’d pick up the triplets from school, help with homework, and maybe squeeze in a park visit if the weather held. As a single mom, I had learned to juggle it all. No nanny, no family nearby. Just me. I boiled water for the pasta, chopping veggies for the sauce. The kids chattered around the table, setting places with their little hands. Jasmine told stories about recess, Jamin demonstrated his truck’s “super speed,” and Jaden asked endless questions about the world. “Why do stars twinkle, Mommy?” “Because they’re far away, like little lights dancing,” I said, stirring the pot. Moments like these made the exhaustion worth it. They were smart, kind kids—resilient like me. But I saw their longing sometimes. No dad to toss a ball with or read bedtime stories. I filled that gap as best I could, but guilt gnawed at me. We ate together, laughing over spilled sauce, after baths and pajamas. I tucked them into their shared room—three beds in a row, walls painted with murals I had done myself: stars, forests, adventures. Story time was “The Three Little Wolves,” a twist on the classic to match our family. As they drifted off, I slipped back downstairs to tidy the studio. A knock at the door startled me. Who could that be this late? I opened it to find a courier holding an envelope. “Amelia Clark? Special delivery.” I signed and tore it open. The letterhead was from a law firm in City Y. My hands shook as I read. Dear Ms. Clark, We regret to inform you of the passing of Alpha Markus Hudson due to a prolonged illness. As per his wishes, you are requested to attend the funeral services in three days at the Hudson estate in City Y. Further details regarding his estate will be discussed at the reading of the will following the service. Sincerely, The words blurred. Markus. My stepfather. The only man who had ever shown me genuine kindness in that cold family. Memories flooded back. When Mom—Lucy—got engaged to him, he welcomed me like his own. He had lost a daughter young, and he doted on me: compliments on my sketches, encouragement to pursue design. Unlike Mom, who saw me as baggage, Markus listened. He never knew about the triplets or the real reason I left. I had vanished without a word, too hurt to explain. My heart tightened in my chest. Seven years. I had built a new life here, far from City Y’s glittering mansions and toxic secrets, away from Chase. The thought of him sent a fresh wave of heat through me, mixing with the dream’s remnants. I couldn’t avoid it now. Out of respect for Markus, I had to go. Gratitude demanded it. But what if Chase was there? What if he saw the kids? I set the letter down, my mind racing. The escape I had clung to was crumbling. City Y held my past—the passion, the betrayal, the pain. I wasn’t the naive girl anymore. I was strong and independent. But facing him again… could I handle it? Later that night, I crept into the kids’ room. Moonlight filtered through the window, casting soft glows on their faces. Jamin snored softly, Jasmine clutched her stuffed wolf, and Jaden murmured in his sleep. They looked so peaceful, so much like their father. My heart ached with love and conflict. What awaited us in City Y? Chase, with his cold rationality and those gray eyes? The family that had cast me out? I brushed a lock of hair from Jaden’s forehead, whispering, “We’ll be okay.” But deep down, doubt swirled. Returning meant risking everything I had protected them from. What if he discovered the truth? As I sat on the bed, I couldn’t help but take a trip down memory lane to seven years ago.