Chapter 9

The morning sun cast golden rays through the curtains, stirring Lillian from her restless sleep. She groaned, rubbing her temples as the remnants of last night’s humiliation burned fresh in her mind. Donovan’s cruel laughter echoed in her ears, his betrayal cutting deeper than any wound.

She rolled onto her side, her fingers curling into the sheets. How could he?

A soft knock at the door interrupted her spiraling thoughts.

"Lillian?" Beatrice’s voice was muffled through the wood. "Are you awake?"

Lillian exhaled sharply, forcing herself to sit up. "Yeah. Come in."

The door creaked open, revealing Beatrice’s concerned face. She carried a tray of steaming coffee and toast, her brows furrowed. "You look like hell."

"Feel like it too," Lillian muttered, accepting the coffee gratefully. The bitter warmth grounded her, if only slightly.

Beatrice perched on the edge of the bed, studying her. "So. What’s the plan?"

Lillian hesitated. Last night, she had been too drunk, too humiliated to think clearly. But now, sober and seething, clarity sharpened her resolve. "I’m done letting him control me."

Beatrice smirked. "That’s the spirit. But how?"

Lillian took a slow sip of coffee, her mind racing. "First, I need to talk to Sebastian."

Beatrice’s eyes widened. "The Lycan chairman? That Sebastian?"

Lillian nodded. "He’s the only one who can help me break this bond."

Beatrice whistled low. "Bold move. But are you sure? He’s not exactly known for his kindness."

Lillian set her jaw. "I don’t need kindness. I need power."

A beat of silence passed between them before Beatrice grinned. "Well, damn. When did you get so fierce?"

Lillian managed a small smile. "When I realized I had nothing left to lose."

The Blackwood estate loomed before her, its towering gates a stark reminder of the world she was stepping into. Lillian squared her shoulders, ignoring the way her pulse thundered in her ears.

The guard at the gate eyed her skeptically. "State your business."

Lillian lifted her chin. "I need to speak with Sebastian Blackwood."

The guard’s lips curled. "Do you have an appointment?"

"No. But he’ll want to see me."

The guard scoffed, but before he could dismiss her, a smooth voice cut through the tension.

"Let her in."

Lillian turned to see Marcus Grayson, Sebastian’s beta, watching her with sharp, assessing eyes.

The guard stiffened. "Sir—"

Marcus waved him off. "She’s expected."

Lillian blinked. Expected?

Marcus gestured for her to follow. "Come. He’s waiting."

Her stomach twisted as she stepped into the lion’s den.

Sebastian Blackwood sat behind his desk, his presence dominating the room. His piercing gaze locked onto her the moment she entered, sending a shiver down her spine.

"You’re braver than I thought," he mused, his voice a low rumble.

Lillian forced herself to meet his eyes. "I need your help."

Sebastian leaned back, steepling his fingers. "And why should I help you?"

"Because Donovan is a threat to you too," she said, her voice steady despite the tremor in her hands. "And I can give you what you need to destroy him."

Sebastian’s lips curved into a slow, dangerous smile. "Now that is interesting."

Lillian held her breath as the game began.

The morning sun cast golden rays through the curtains, stirring Lillian from her restless sleep. She groaned, rubbing her temples as the remnants of last night’s humiliation burned fresh in her mind. Donovan. His betrayal still stung like an open wound, and the memory of Evelyn’s smug smirk twisted her stomach.

Rolling out of bed, she forced herself to face the day. The Blackwood estate was eerily quiet, save for the distant clatter of dishes from the kitchen. Lucien, the flirtatious head chef, was likely already preparing breakfast. The thought of food made her nauseous.

A soft knock interrupted her thoughts.

"Lillian?" Beatrice’s voice was muffled through the door. "Are you awake?"

Lillian sighed, dragging herself to open it. Beatrice stood there, her usual bubbly demeanor replaced with concern. "You look like hell," she said bluntly.

"Thanks," Lillian muttered, running a hand through her tangled hair.

Beatrice stepped inside, shutting the door behind her. "I heard what happened. That bastard Donovan—"

"Don’t," Lillian cut her off sharply. "I don’t want to talk about it."

Beatrice hesitated before nodding. "Fine. But you can’t hide in here forever. Sebastian’s hosting a pack meeting tonight. You have to show your face."

Lillian stiffened. The last thing she wanted was to face the pack—especially not after the spectacle Donovan had made of her. But Beatrice was right. Hiding would only make her look weaker.

"Fine," she relented. "But if anyone so much as looks at me with pity, I’m walking out."

Beatrice grinned. "That’s the spirit. Now, let’s get you cleaned up. You reek of misery."

Lillian rolled her eyes but allowed herself to be dragged toward the shower. As the hot water cascaded over her, she tried to wash away the lingering shame.

She wouldn’t let Donovan break her.

Not again.

The pack meeting was held in the grand hall of the Blackwood estate, its high ceilings and ornate chandeliers a stark contrast to the tension in the air. Lillian kept her chin up as she entered, ignoring the whispers that followed her.

Sebastian stood at the front, his commanding presence silencing the room. His piercing gaze swept over the gathered wolves before settling briefly on Lillian. She held her breath, but he said nothing, turning instead to address the pack.

"We have a situation," he began, his voice low but carrying. "Alpha Harrison has been making moves on our territory. He thinks we’re vulnerable."

A murmur rippled through the crowd. Lillian clenched her fists. Harrison was the same Alpha who had tried to take advantage of her when she was drunk. The thought of him slithering closer to their borders made her blood boil.

Sebastian’s eyes darkened. "We will retaliate. But we do it smart. Marcus, I want patrols doubled. Julian, tighten security around the estate."

Marcus Grayson, Sebastian’s Beta, nodded sharply. Julian Mercer, the head Gamma, gave a silent salute.

Lillian swallowed hard. This wasn’t just about territory—it was about power. And if Harrison thought she was weak, she’d prove him wrong.

Sebastian’s gaze flicked to her again, this time lingering. "Lillian," he said, his tone unreadable. "You’re with me."

Her pulse spiked. Why?

But she didn’t dare question him in front of the pack. Nodding, she stepped forward, ignoring the curious stares.

Whatever Sebastian had planned, she was ready.

Even if it killed her.

My fingers trembled slightly as I gripped my phone. Honesty was my only option now.

"My family has hit some financial difficulties recently. The tutoring salary you're offering could really help us. It's also something I can manage after my classes without falling behind," I explained, keeping my voice steady.

There was a brief pause before the deep voice responded, "Are you available this afternoon? I'll send you the address. You can meet Master Oliver first before making any decisions."

Relief washed over me. This was a chance—small, but better than nothing. "That works for me," I agreed.

The call ended, and within minutes, my phone buzzed with Theodore Whitmore's text. The address led to the Midnight Crest pack—the wealthiest and most powerful Lycan territory in the country.

Glancing at the time, I realized I had just two hours to prepare. I showered quickly, dressed in comfortable yet presentable clothes—something that wouldn’t restrict movement—and left a note for my mother beside the extra meal I’d prepared.

The Uber arrived promptly. As we drove through the city, the scenery shifted from urban sprawl to sprawling estates, each more extravagant than the last.

Midnight Crest wasn’t just a pack—it was a kingdom. Towering gates marked the entrance, guarded by stone-faced Gammas who meticulously checked IDs. Even the Uber driver had to present his.

When the car finally stopped, I nearly gasped.

Before me stood a sprawling château, its grand façade framed by manicured gardens and a marble fountain glistening under the afternoon sun. It looked like something out of a European travel magazine.

"Are you sure this is the right place?" I asked the driver, unable to hide my disbelief.

"Yes, miss," he confirmed, unfazed.

Stepping out, I took a deep breath and approached the towering double doors. Before I could knock, one swung open, revealing a tall man with silver-streaked hair and piercing blue eyes. His smile was warm as he bowed slightly.

"Good afternoon. You must be Lillian Montague," he said in that familiar baritone—Theodore.

"Yes, sir," I replied, returning his smile.

"Theodore Whitmore, at your service. I oversee the estate and personally attend to Master Oliver when his father is away."

Curiosity got the better of me. "And his mother?"

His expression darkened briefly. "A... complicated matter. She isn’t involved." He cleared his throat. "Master Oliver is currently in the gardens with another tutor candidate."

My stomach twisted. Another candidate?

This wasn’t just an interview—it was a competition.

I trailed behind Theodore across the sprawling emerald lawn, my gaze drawn to the makeshift archery range in the distance. A young woman—perhaps a few years older than me—was attempting to instruct Oliver, but the boy was clearly giving her a hard time. His sharp tone made her flinch, and by the time we reached them, she was already in tears.

"I can't do this anymore," she choked out, backing away with trembling hands. "I'm so sorry." Without another word, she turned and fled, her sobs lingering in the air like a fading echo.

Theodore exhaled heavily, his shoulders sagging as if the weight of the world had settled upon them. Oliver, however, remained unfazed. His thick brows knitted together in frustration as he struggled to nock an arrow, his small fingers fumbling with the bowstring. Each attempt ended the same way—the arrow thudding into the grass mere feet away, its flight cut short.

"Mind if I take a look?" I asked, stepping forward.

Oliver shot me a skeptical glance over his shoulder, his piercing gaze sweeping from my boots to the top of my head. Never in my life had I felt so thoroughly assessed by a seven-year-old. But I kept my expression neutral, offering only a small, patient smile. After a tense moment, he relented, thrusting the bow and arrow into my hands with a huff.

Without hesitation, I drew the string back smoothly and released. The arrow whistled through the air before striking the bullseye with a satisfying thunk.

Oliver's jaw dropped.

"Whoa..." he breathed, eyes wide as saucers.

Grinning, I plucked another arrow from the quiver and repeated the motion—this time faster, my movements fluid. The second arrow landed right beside the first, dead center.

Both Oliver and Theodore gaped at me, their expressions identical in their astonishment.

Oliver tugged at Theodore's sleeve urgently.

"What's her name?" he demanded, his voice filled with newfound awe.