CHAPTER 2

Giselle’s POV

The car came to a stop at the front entrance where a man waited on the steps. Tall, broad-shouldered, with silver streaks in his dark hair that only enhanced his commanding presence—I didn't need werewolf senses to know I was looking at an alpha.

My mother's face lit up at the sight of him. "Giselle, this is my husband, Alpha Zaro."

He extended a hand to help me from the car, his grip firm but not threatening. "Welcome to our home, Giselle. Valeria has told me so much about you."

I doubted that, considering how little my mother and I had spoken over the years, but I forced a polite smile. "Thank you for having me, sir."

"Please, call me Richard. You're family now."

Family. The word felt foreign, especially in this setting that couldn't be further from the modest two-bedroom apartment where my mother and I had lived before she left Omaha.

"Your room is prepared," he continued, guiding us inside. "I'm sure you'd like to rest after your journey."

The interior of the mansion was even more impressive—crystal chandeliers, artwork that looked museum-worthy, furniture that probably cost more than my entire college tuition. I followed them up a grand staircase, trying not to gawk too obviously.

"Here we are," my mother said as we walked down a long hallway and stopped before an ornate door. "Your room."

She seemed eager to change the subject whenever I tried to ask about her new life. All she had mentioned during the car ride was that she had met Richard at a charity gala, and they'd fallen in love quickly. "He makes me happy, Giselle," she'd said, and that was apparently all the explanation I deserved after years apart.

Richard smiled warmly. "I hope you'll be comfortable here. Please consider this your home for as long as you'd like to stay."

I nodded gratefully, still overwhelmed by everything I was seeing.

She opened a door to reveal a bedroom larger than my entire hostel apartment. A king-sized four-poster bed dominated one wall, while floor-to-ceiling windows offered a view of the gardens. A private bathroom gleamed with marble and gold fixtures.

"I hope it's comfortable enough," my mother said, and I nearly laughed at the understatement.

"It's perfect," I assured her, setting my duffel bag down on a bench that probably cost more than everything I owned. "Thank you both."

"Dinner is at seven," Richard said. "But please, rest. There's no rush."

They left me alone, and I sank onto the edge of the bed, overwhelmed by the day's events. Twenty-four hours ago, I'd been hiding in a dingy hostel, terrified of Alpha Blake's next move. Now I was in a mansion, with a mother who seemed like a stranger and an alpha stepfather who apparently came with three sons I'd never heard about.

I flopped back on the bed, staring at the ornate ceiling. "What have you gotten yourself into, Giselle?"

Dinner was a quiet affair, just the three of us in the massive dining room. Richard mentioned something about "pack business" keeping him busy lately, but didn't elaborate. My mother filled the silence with questions about my life in Omaha, carefully avoiding anything too personal. I was equally careful with my answers, mentioning nothing about Alpha Blake or my hasty departure.

By the time I retreated to my room, exhaustion had seeped into my bones. I showered in the luxurious bathroom, letting the hot water wash away the last traces of Omaha, then collapsed into bed.

But sleep wouldn't come. The bed was too soft, the room too quiet after weeks of constant vigilance. I tossed and turned for hours before giving up around two in the morning.

"Ice cream," I muttered to myself. "Ice cream always helps."

I slipped out of bed, pulling on the oversized t-shirt I slept in and a pair of cotton shorts. The hallway was dimly lit by small wall sconces, casting long shadows as I padded barefoot toward the stairs. The massive house was eerily silent as I made my way to the kitchen I'd spotted earlier.

The kitchen was a chef's dream—stainless steel appliances, marble countertops, and an island large enough to seat eight. I found the freezer, a massive double-door affair, and grinned when I spotted a carton of chocolate chip ice cream.

"Jackpot," I whispered, grabbing a spoon from a drawer. I was just digging in when a voice behind me made me freeze.

"Who the hell are you?"

I spun around, ice cream carton clutched to my chest like a shield, to find myself facing three men—identical triplets with dark hair and intense eyes that seemed to glow in the dim light. Werewolves, unmistakably, and from their aggressive stances, not happy to find me in their kitchen.

"I—I'm Giselle," I stammered, backing up until I hit the refrigerator. "Valeria's daughter."

The tallest of the three moved with supernatural speed, suddenly right in front of me. "Try again. Valeria doesn't have a daughter."

His face was inches from mine, his scent—cedar and something wild—overwhelming my senses. I could feel the power radiating from him, the barely contained aggression of a predator.

"Yes, she does," I insisted, fear giving way to indignation. "I just got here today. Who are you?"

Instead of answering, he grabbed my wrist, causing me to drop the ice cream. It hit the floor with a dull thud, lid popping off, chocolate splattering across the pristine tile.

"Let go of me!" I shouted, struggling against his grip.

"Restrain her," he ordered his brothers. "She could be a spy from the Eastern pack."

Before I could protest, the other two were at my sides, grabbing my arms. They dragged me from the kitchen into the adjacent living room, forcing me onto one of the plush sofas.

"I am not a spy!" I yelled, kicking out wildly. My foot connected with someone's shin, earning a grunt of pain. "I'm Valeria's daughter! Call her! Call your father!"

"Our father doesn't have a daughter," one of them snarled. This one's eyes were colder, more calculating. "And we don't take kindly to intruders."

"I'm not an intruder!" I was screaming now, fear and anger pulsing through me in equal measure. "Your father invited me here! I'm staying in the guest room upstairs!"

"A likely story," the third brother scoffed. He hadn't spoken until now, his voice softer but no less threatening. "How did you get past the security systems?"

I opened my mouth to respond when the lights suddenly blazed on, momentarily blinding us all. In the doorway stood Richard and my mother, both in robes, both looking alarmed.

"What is going on here?" Richard's voice boomed with alpha authority.

"We caught an intruder," the first brother reported, still gripping my arm.

My mother rushed forward. "Let go of her immediately! That's my daughter!"

The three men froze, identical expressions of confusion crossing their faces.

"Your... daughter?" the cold-eyed one repeated slowly.

"Yes, my daughter," my mother snapped. "I mentioned she would be staying with us."

Richard's expression darkened. "Boys, release her this instant."

They dropped my arms as if burned, backing away with varying degrees of shock and suspicion.

"Giselle, are you all right?" My mother helped me up, checking me for injuries. "I'm so sorry."

"I'm fine," I managed, though my heart was still racing. I glared at the triplets. "Just a little surprised to be attacked while getting ice cream."

Richard sighed heavily."Boys, this is Giselle, Valeria's daughter from her previous marriage. Your stepsister."

"Stepsister?" the one called Khuraan repeated, looking me up and down with newfound interest.

"I mentioned Giselle would be joining us," my mother said, exasperation clear in her voice.

The three exchanged confused glances, clearly hearing this information for the first time.

"Step... brothers?" I stammered, looking between the three identical faces and then back to my mother. "You never said anything about having stepbrothers."