Chapter 29
Kara
"No." The word is guttural, barely human. "You can't—we won't—"
"Blake, control yourself." Asher's command cracks through the room like a whip.
Blake shudders, fighting his wolf back down. When he speaks again, his voice is strained but human. "Sorry. Sorry, Kara. But the thought of you leaving—of losing you before we've even had a chance to prove—"
He can't finish.
Cole leans forward, mint and ozone scent washing over me in cooling waves. "The Rut is in ten days," he says softly. "All three of us, synchronized. Without your scent to stabilize us..." He pauses, meeting my eyes. "We'll become dangerous. To ourselves, to each other, to anyone nearby."
"But that's not why we're asking you to stay." Asher cuts in quickly. "We'll lock ourselves up. Sedate ourselves if we have to. We will not guilt you into this."
I study his face, searching for the lie. Finding only exhausted sincerity.
"Then what are you asking?"
Asher exchanges glances with his brothers. Some silent communication through their triplet bond.
Then he stands slowly, moving toward the large black safe in the corner of his room. My body tenses, ready to bolt, but he just inputs a code and swings the door open.
Inside: stacks of wrapped boxes and bags. Tiffany blue ribbons. Chanel's black and white camellias. Apple's minimalist white. Cartier's deep crimson velvet.
My breath catches.
"What..."
Blake and Cole move to help Asher carry the gifts to the bed. An obscene pile of luxury. More money than I've seen in my entire life, probably.
Then they turn to face me, and all three speak at once:
"Happy birthday, Kara."
Their voices overlap, creating a strange harmony. The sincerity in it—the awkward, earnest attempt—makes my chest ache.
I press myself harder against the window. The glass is cold against my spine, grounding.
"I don't understand."
"We don't know how to fix what we broke." Asher's voice is quiet. "We can't give you back your childhood. Can't erase the nightmares or the scars or any of it. But we can try to give you what you should have had."
Blake gestures roughly at the pile. "You never got birthday presents. Never had your own phone or computer. Never had anything that was just yours."
Cole picks up a small white box. "This is an iPhone 17 Pro Max. Highest storage capacity. And an iPad Pro. And a MacBook Pro." His voice drops. "You're brilliant. You should have equipment that matches your mind."
He holds the box out toward me.
I stare at it like it might bite.
"I don't..." My voice cracks. "I don't have anything to give you."
The confession slips out before I can stop it. Shame floods through me, hot and choking. They've spent thousands—tens of thousands, probably—and I can't even afford a birthday card.
Blake crosses the room in two strides. Before I can retreat, he cups my face in both hands, forcing me to meet his eyes.
The contact sends electricity through me. His palms are warm, calloused. The gunpowder and leather scent of him fills my lungs, making my pulse spike traitorously. Heat pools low in my belly—fuck, not now—and I hate that my body responds to him like this.
"Kara, listen to me." His voice is fierce. "We don't want gifts. We don't deserve gifts. We want—we need—your forgiveness. Your trust. A chance to prove we can be the Alphas you deserve."
My breath hitches. His thumbs stroke my cheekbones and I feel the answering flush spread down my neck. My wolf is practically purring, the traitorous bitch.
Asher steps closer. "These gifts aren't a transaction. They're compensation for ten years of unpaid labor. Ten years of birthdays we ignored. Ten years of treating you like—"
"Garbage," I supply bitterly.
"Yes." He doesn't flinch from it. "Like garbage. When you were never—you were never—anything less than family."
Family.
The word hits like a physical blow.
"I wasn't family." My voice shakes. "I was the debt collector. The unwanted obligation. The—"
"Our biggest regret." Cole's eyes are wet. "The person we should have protected and cherished and welcomed. And instead we..."
He can't finish. None of them can.
The silence fills with unspoken horrors. All the moments they could have been kind and chose cruelty instead. All the times they could have included me and chose isolation. All the years they could have been brothers—protectors—and chose to be monsters.
"I want to take these gifts to my room," I hear myself say. "Open them in private."
It's not acceptance. Not forgiveness.
But it's not a complete rejection either.
Blake's face transforms. Hope—desperate, fragile—flickers across his features. "We'll help you carry—"
"Alone." The word comes out harder than I intend. "I need... I can't be around all of you right now. Your scents are—" I stop, biting off the confession that their combined presence makes my wolf purr while my human mind screams to run. That my nipples are tight against my bra and there's a slick warmth between my thighs that makes me want to scream with frustration.
Asher nods slowly. "Of course. We'll bring everything to your room and leave."
"Wait." I force myself to meet their eyes. "Not the storage room. I don't... I can't go back there tonight."
Where the walls still smell like them. Where every inch reminds me of being their mate—wanted, claimed, theirs.
"We have a better room for you," Asher says carefully. "The guest suite at the end of the hall. Master bedroom with full bath, sitting area, walk-in closet. We wanted to ask before moving your things but—"
"No."
The word explodes out of me.
All three of them freeze.
"No?" Asher's brow furrows. "Kara, that storage room isn't fit for—"
"NOW it's not good enough?" My voice rises, anger flooding through the cracks in my composure. "NOW you suddenly care that I've been sleeping in a glorified closet? Where was this concern for the last ten years?"
I push off from the window, advancing on them. They actually back up—three massive Alphas retreating from one furious Omega.
"When I was eight years old, freezing in that room because there was no heat vent? When I was twelve and couldn't stand up straight without hitting my head on the sloped ceiling? When I was fifteen and had to keep all my clothes in a cardboard box because there was no dresser?"
My hands are shaking. "You saw me go in and out of that room every single day. You knew what it was like. And none of you—none of you—said a damn word."
Blake's face has gone pale. "Kara—"
"But now I'm your mate," I spit the word like a curse. "Now I'm biologically valuable to you. So suddenly that room is unacceptable. Suddenly I deserve better."
I laugh bitterly. "This isn't about me, is it? This is about you. About claiming your territory, making sure your mate has a proper nest. It's not kindness—it's possession."
The accusation hangs between us.
Asher's throat works. When he speaks, his voice is rough. "You're right."
I blink.
"You're absolutely right," he continues. "We should have noticed. Should have cared. The fact that we ignored your living conditions for ten years while living in luxury ourselves is—" He stops, jaw clenching. "Unforgivable."
Blake steps forward, hands raised in surrender. "We can't change the past. Can't pretend we weren't complete assholes. But please believe—" His voice cracks. "Please believe that every time we walk past that room now, we want to vomit. Not because of the room itself, but because we let you suffer there."
Cole's mint scent carries notes of genuine distress. "We're not trying to possess you. We're trying to give you what you should have always had. But if the offer feels like an insult..." He swallows hard. "Then we'll drop it. You can stay wherever you want. It's your choice. Always."
I study their faces. The guilt. The shame. The desperate hope.
And underneath it all—underneath the words and the gifts and the pretty promises—I can smell the truth in their scents. They do regret it. The self-loathing is real.
But is regret enough?