Chapter 162

The morning sun filtered through the curtains, casting a golden glow over the room. Lillian stretched beneath the silk sheets, her body still humming with the lingering warmth of Sebastian’s embrace from the night before. She turned her head, expecting to find him beside her, but the space was empty, the sheets cool to the touch.

A soft knock at the door interrupted her thoughts.

"Come in," she called, sitting up as the door creaked open.

Giselle, the head maid, stepped inside with a tray of breakfast—fluffy pancakes drizzled with syrup, fresh berries, and a steaming cup of coffee. "Good morning, Miss Lillian. Mr. Blackwood had to leave early for a meeting, but he asked me to ensure you were well taken care of."

Lillian smiled, though a flicker of disappointment tugged at her chest. "Thank you, Giselle."

The maid hesitated, then added, "He also mentioned that you might want to join him later at the packhouse. There’s… something he’d like to discuss with you."

Lillian’s pulse quickened. Discuss what?

Before she could ask, Giselle bowed slightly and excused herself, leaving Lillian alone with her thoughts. She picked at her breakfast, her appetite suddenly diminished.

Her phone buzzed on the nightstand. A message from Beatrice lit up the screen:

"Girl, you alive? You vanished after the party last night. Spill. Now."

Lillian chuckled, typing back. "Alive. Just… busy."

Beatrice’s reply was instant. "Busy with a certain Lycan chairman, I bet. Details. Or I’m showing up at your door."

Lillian rolled her eyes but couldn’t suppress the warmth spreading through her. She was about to reply when another message came through—this time from Donovan.

Her stomach twisted.

"We need to talk. It’s about Evelyn."

Lillian’s fingers froze over the screen. Evelyn—Donovan’s new mate. The one he’d chosen over her.

A sharp knock at the door startled her.

"Miss Lillian?" It was Lucien, the head chef, his voice laced with urgency. "Mr. Blackwood just called. He needs you at the packhouse immediately. There’s been… an incident."

Lillian’s heart dropped. "What kind of incident?"

Lucien’s expression darkened. "It’s about Miss Victoria."

Her blood ran cold.

Without another word, Lillian threw on her clothes and raced out the door. Whatever Sebastian wanted to discuss, it couldn’t be good.

And Donovan’s message?

That could only mean trouble.

Archibald entered the parlor moments later, murmuring something to one of the maids. She nodded briskly and motioned for two others to follow her toward the kitchens.

"My apologies for the wait. Dinner will be served shortly," Archibald announced as he settled into his seat at the head of the grand mahogany table.

I frowned, scanning the assembled guests.

"But not everyone has arrived yet," I pointed out, noting the conspicuous absence despite every chair being occupied.

Archibald's brows knitted together. "Were you expecting another guest, Alpha? My staff wasn't informed—your Beta never mentioned..."

My gaze flicked to Vivienne Dumont, who suddenly found her wineglass fascinating. The way her fingers tightened around the stem told me she knew exactly who I meant. She chewed her lower lip, refusing to meet my eyes.

"Apparently not," I muttered, filing away the mystery for later.

The staff returned in a flurry of movement, balancing silver platters of roasted venison and herb-crusted salmon. Crystal goblets were filled with rich red wine that glimmered like rubies in the candlelight.

"Father, the staff has been working tirelessly all evening," Arabella interjected between delicate bites of her steak. "Perhaps we should give them the rest of the night off?"

Archibald dabbed his mouth with a linen napkin. "And who, pray tell, will handle the cleanup?"

"I'll take care of it," she said with a careless shrug, though her eyes gleamed with calculation. "Consider it my contribution to the evening's festivities."

After a prolonged silence, Archibald gave a curt nod. "Very well. If you insist."

The conversation flowed as smoothly as the wine—talk of territory expansions and upcoming alliance ceremonies. Yet my mind kept drifting to Lillian's absence. Her scent clung to the air, teasingly close yet frustratingly out of reach. Vivienne remained a silent specter at the table, pushing food around her plate while Arabella's pointed toes kept finding their way to my calf beneath the table.

Archibald dominated the discussion, waxing poetic about his pack's prosperity and how destiny had chosen Donovan to lead. "No one deserves this honor more than my son," he declared, raising his glass toward Victoria, who preened under the praise. Eleanor seized the moment to gush about brunch invitations at the exclusive Silver Pines Country Club.

As dessert plates were cleared, Archibald rose with practiced grace.

"Shall we adjourn to the drawing room for port and cigars?"

The party migrated through arched doorways, leaving Arabella alone with the wreckage of our meal. In the opulent parlor, as servants poured steaming espresso and arranged petit fours on gilded trays, my gut twisted with unease. The grandfather clock's pendulum swung like a metronome counting down to some invisible catastrophe.

My wolf stirred restlessly within me, an uneasy energy coursing through my veins. His instincts were sharp, his focus singular—he wanted to return to the kitchen.

I glanced toward the dining hall entrance, my brows knitting together in concern.

"Is everything all right, Alpha?" Eleanor asked, her voice laced with polite curiosity as she took a delicate sip of her coffee.

"Arabella has been gone too long," I pointed out, my tone clipped.

Eleanor waved a dismissive hand. "Oh, I'm sure she's fine. The kitchen staff had quite the mess to clean up after dinner."

Still, unease prickled at the back of my neck. "I'm going to check on her," I declared, pushing back from the table.

Archibald chuckled, shaking his head. "Such a noble Lycan we have here," he teased, though his words carried an edge. Eleanor laughed along, but the sound was strained, forced.

Ignoring them both, I strode toward the dining hall. But just as I reached the door, I froze—Arabella's voice, sharp and venomous, cut through the air like a blade.

"You're nothing but a worthless mutt! Good for nothing except scrubbing floors and serving my family. How does it feel to be nothing?"

My blood ran cold.