Chapter 161

The morning sun cast golden rays through the floor-to-ceiling windows of Sebastian Blackwood's penthouse suite. Lillian stretched lazily beneath the silk sheets, her body still humming from the intensity of last night. The scent of sandalwood and something distinctly Sebastian clung to her skin, making her heart flutter.

She turned her head, expecting to see him beside her, but the space was empty. Only the indentation on the pillow and the lingering warmth of his body remained.

A note rested on the nightstand.

"Emergency meeting. Don’t leave the suite."

Lillian huffed, tossing the note aside. Typical Sebastian. Always commanding, always in control. She swung her legs over the edge of the bed, her bare feet sinking into the plush carpet. The penthouse was eerily silent, save for the distant hum of the city below.

Her phone buzzed.

Beatrice: Girl, where are you? You missed combat class. Professor Montclair is pissed.

Lillian groaned. Right. She had completely forgotten about that.

Lillian: Got… distracted.

Beatrice: By a certain Lycan chairman? Spill.

Before she could reply, the suite’s door clicked open. Sebastian strode in, his tailored suit immaculate, his expression unreadable. His storm-gray eyes locked onto hers, and for a moment, the air between them crackled.

"You're awake," he said, his voice a low rumble.

Lillian arched a brow. "No thanks to you. You left without a word."

Sebastian’s lips twitched. "I left a note."

"A note isn’t the same as waking me up."

He stepped closer, his presence overwhelming. "You looked too peaceful to disturb."

She scoffed, but her pulse betrayed her, racing beneath her skin. "What was the emergency?"

His expression darkened. "Theodore Whitmore intercepted a message. Donovan is making moves."

Lillian stiffened. Donovan. Her ex-fated mate. The man who had betrayed her, humiliated her, and now seemed hell-bent on destroying whatever fragile happiness she had found.

"What kind of moves?" she asked, her voice steady despite the unease coiling in her stomach.

Sebastian’s jaw tightened. "He’s been seen with Alpha Harrison. And Evelyn."

Lillian’s breath hitched. Evelyn—Donovan’s new mate. The woman who had taken her place.

Sebastian’s hand cupped her cheek, his thumb brushing over her skin. "I won’t let him touch you."

The promise in his voice sent a shiver down her spine. But beneath the reassurance, she sensed something else—something dangerous.

Sebastian wasn’t just protecting her.

He was preparing for war.

And Lillian?

She was done running.

The crisp morning air carried the scent of pine as Lillian stepped onto the balcony of Sebastian Blackwood’s estate. The sun had barely risen, casting a golden hue over the sprawling gardens below. She tightened the silk robe around her, the fabric whispering against her skin.

Last night’s events replayed in her mind—Donovan’s sudden reappearance, the venom in his words, the way his new mate, Evelyn, had clung to his arm with a smug smile. Lillian’s fingers curled into fists. She had thought she was over him, but the sting of betrayal still lingered like a phantom ache.

A soft knock interrupted her thoughts.

"Come in," she called, turning to face the door.

The door creaked open, revealing Beatrice, her best friend, balancing a tray of steaming coffee and pastries. "Thought you might need this," Beatrice said with a knowing smile. "You barely touched dinner last night."

Lillian sighed, accepting the cup. The rich aroma of coffee filled her senses, grounding her. "Thanks. I just... didn’t expect to see him again."

Beatrice plopped onto the plush chaise lounge, her expression turning serious. "You know he’s only here to mess with your head, right? Especially now that Sebastian’s taken an interest in you."

Lillian’s cheeks warmed at the mention of Sebastian. The Lycan chairman was an enigma—powerful, commanding, yet surprisingly gentle with her. But Donovan’s presence complicated everything.

Before she could respond, her phone buzzed. A message from Oliver, Sebastian’s seven-year-old son, lit up the screen:

"Lillian, can we train today? Dad says I’m getting better!"

A small smile tugged at her lips. Oliver’s enthusiasm was infectious.

Beatrice peeked over her shoulder. "Aww, the little alpha-in-training misses you."

Lillian chuckled. "I should go. He’s been practicing his shifts."

As she turned to leave, Beatrice grabbed her wrist. "Hey, be careful. Donovan’s not the only one watching you."

Lillian frowned. "What do you mean?"

Beatrice hesitated, then lowered her voice. "Cassandra’s been asking around about you. And Professor Sinclair’s been acting weird since you aced his last exam."

Lillian’s stomach twisted. Cassandra had always been a thorn in her side, but Professor Sinclair? That was new.

"I’ll keep an eye out," she promised, though unease settled in her chest.

Stepping into the hallway, she nearly collided with a broad chest. Strong hands steadied her, and she looked up into Sebastian’s piercing gaze.

"Morning," he murmured, his voice rough with sleep.

Her breath hitched. Even in casual sweatpants and a loose t-shirt, he exuded power. "Morning," she managed.

His thumb brushed her wrist, sending a shiver down her spine. "You okay? You look tense."

She forced a smile. "Just thinking."

Sebastian studied her for a long moment, then nodded. "Oliver’s waiting for you in the courtyard. But after that, we need to talk."

Her pulse spiked. "About what?"

His expression darkened. "Donovan’s not here by coincidence. And I don’t like games."

Before she could ask more, he strode away, leaving her with a whirlwind of questions.

As she headed to the courtyard, Lillian couldn’t shake the feeling that something—or someone—was closing in on her. And this time, she might not be able to outrun it.

A tight knot twisted in my gut as I glared at my Beta. "Then where the hell is she?"

Marcus hesitated only a second before answering. "She's moved into the Winslow estate."

Rage ignited in my veins like wildfire. Over my dead body would I let Lillian stay under that roof—not after the way they'd treated her last time.

"Get Archibald Winslow on the line," I growled through clenched teeth. "I'm inviting myself to dinner."

Marcus smirked. "Yes, Alpha. Any particular reason you’d like me to give him?"

I shot him a sharp look. "I’m a Lycan Chairman. I don’t need a reason."

With a quick nod, he strode off to make the call. Within the hour, an email arrived—an invitation to dine with Archibald Winslow and his family.

As the car rolled up to the grand iron gates of the Winslow manor, Marcus cast me a sideways glance. "You sure you don’t want backup in there? If you lose your temper—"

"I can handle myself," I snapped, cutting him off. "But stay close. Just in case."

"Understood."

The butler swung the door open before I even reached the top step.

"Alpha Sebastian Blackwood," Archibald greeted with an overly bright smile, though his forehead gleamed with sweat. "What an honor to host you. Though I must admit, I’m... curious about the sudden invitation."

I matched his smile with a cold one of my own. "No reason. Just thought if my daughter’s marrying into your family, I should get to know you better. After all, we’re practically family now, aren’t we?"

His throat bobbed. "Of—of course. My apologies. We’re delighted to have you."

A sudden rustle of fabric drew my attention.

"Well, hello, Alpha," Arabella purred, descending the staircase in a gold dress that shimmered under the chandelier. "When I heard you were joining us, I simply had to dress for the occasion. Do you approve?"

I barely spared her a glance. "Hmm."

"Eleanor and Arabella will escort you to the dining hall," Archibald said quickly. "I have a brief matter to attend to, but I’ll join you shortly."

I followed the two women, my steps faltering the moment I spotted the lone figure seated at the table.

She wore a simple evening gown, her dark hair pinned back, revealing those warm, familiar eyes. A faint smile touched her lips as she looked up at me.

"Alpha Sebastian. What a pleasure to see you again," she greeted warmly.

"Madame Dumont," I replied, taking her delicate hand and pressing a chaste kiss to her knuckles. The older woman chuckled at the old-fashioned gesture, but when her gaze flickered to the icy glare Arabella was directing at her, Vivienne’s smile faltered. She withdrew her hand swiftly, as if burned.

"Vivienne, I wasn’t aware you’d be joining us tonight," Eleanor Winslow interjected, her saccharine smile not reaching her cold eyes. "We were expecting a rather special guest."

Vivienne’s cheeks flushed pink as she glanced down at her untouched place setting. The silverware gleamed under the chandelier’s glow, mocking her.

"My apologies," she murmured, fingers twisting the linen napkin in her lap. "No one informed me my presence was... unwelcome. I’ve dined with your family every evening this past week." Her voice was barely above a whisper. "I can leave—"

"You’ll stay." The command left no room for argument. My tone brooked no disobedience, and the table fell silent. Even Arabella’s incessant eyelash fluttering stilled.

Vivienne blinked, startled, as did the others. But no one dared contradict an Alpha’s direct order.

"Of course," she acquiesced, smoothing her skirt as she settled back into her seat.

Eleanor’s lips pursed, but she forced another brittle smile. "It’s no trouble at all," she simpered, gesturing to the empty chair beside Arabella. "Please, Alpha, do sit."

I suppressed a grimace as I took the designated seat—far too close to Arabella for comfort. Her cloying floral perfume made my stomach churn. But Vivienne’s unexpected appearance confirmed one thing: Lillian was here.

And it was only a matter of time before she joined us.