Marked by the Triplets-A Rogue’s Silent Struggle

Chapter 1: The Rogues’ Daughter

I gasped as Evander, one of the triplets and the future Alphas of the pack, approached me. Mid-step, he shifted, his golden-brown eyes flashing, and his hand gripped my wrist.The heat of his touch burned through me.

"Let go," I whispered.

His fingers tightened.

"No."

A shiver ran through me.

The bond pressed in.

Crushing. Demanding.

My breath quickened, uneven, my chest burning with every inhale.

I, an orphan in the pack, a rogue, had only discovered moments before I was about to leave the Alpha’s triplet sons—the future Alphas of the pack—were my mate.

Moon Goddess, what kind of cruel joke is this?

Then—

Rowan, another of the triplets, shifted last.

His expression was softer. Quieter.

But his voice?

Pained.

"Why?"

I clenched my jaw.

"Because I can’t stay here."

Because if I stayed...

I’d lose myself.

I’d lose everything.

Dorian, the last of the triplets, tilted his head, his expression unreadable. "You belong with us."

"No. No, I don’t."

I wrenched my wrist free from Evander’s grip, my chest heaving.

"I belong to no one."

Dorian’s lips curled into a slow, dark smirk.

"That’s where you’re wrong, little rogue."

....

I learned to stop crying a long time ago.

Tears meant weakness, and weakness invited more pain.

The moment I stepped outside the pack house that morning, I knew it was going to be a bad day. The late autumn air was crisp, laced with the promise of an early snowfall, but there was no beauty in it for me—only the sting of another long, miserable day ahead. The scent of damp earth and pine mixed with something far more familiar: cruelty.

"Well, look who decided to crawl out of her hole."

I didn't need to turn around to know who it was.

Dorian, Evander, and Rowan—Silvercrest’s precious Alpha triplets. The future rulers of this pack.

My tormentors.

They stood at the bottom of the stairs leading up to the pack house entrance, watching me like a pack of wolves circling wounded prey. Which, in their eyes, I was. I wasn’t like the others. I wasn’t one of them.

I was the rogues’ daughter.

I forced my chin up, ignoring the sharp pang in my ribs from last night’s punishment. A mistake. Dorian’s dark blue eyes—so much like his father’s—gleamed with amusement as he tilted his head, studying me the way a cat studies a dying bird.

“She’s walking stiff again,” Evander murmured. His voice was softer than Dorian’s, more thoughtful, but that never made him any less dangerous.

"Think she’ll cry today?" Rowan asked, his voice edged with something unsettling—curiosity.

"She never cries," Dorian mused, stepping closer. The morning sunlight caught in the sharp angles of his face, turning his messy black hair into something almost elegant, if not for the cruel smirk curving his lips. "Isn’t that right, Calista?"

I clenched my jaw and said nothing.

Rowan’s smirk widened. "Do you think it’s because she likes it?"

The wolves standing around