Chapter 175

The morning sun cast golden rays through the floor-to-ceiling windows of Sebastian Blackwood’s penthouse, illuminating the spacious bedroom where Lillian lay tangled in silk sheets. The scent of sandalwood and musk still lingered in the air, a reminder of the night before—one that had left her body humming with satisfaction.

She stretched lazily, her muscles pleasantly sore, when the door creaked open.

"Morning, sunshine," Sebastian murmured, his deep voice laced with amusement as he leaned against the doorframe, a steaming cup of coffee in hand. His dark hair was slightly tousled, and the sight of him in nothing but low-slung sweatpants made her pulse skip.

Lillian sat up, clutching the sheet to her chest. "You’re up early."

"Couldn’t sleep," he admitted, crossing the room to hand her the coffee. His fingers brushed against hers, sending a jolt of electricity through her. "Thought you might need this."

She took a sip, the rich bitterness waking her senses. "Thanks."

Sebastian’s gaze darkened as it trailed over her bare shoulders. "We have a meeting in an hour."

Lillian groaned. "Do we have to?"

His lips curved into a smirk. "Unfortunately, yes. The board won’t wait."

She sighed dramatically, but before she could protest further, his phone buzzed. Sebastian frowned as he glanced at the screen.

"Problem?" she asked.

"Donovan," he muttered, his jaw tightening. "He’s demanding another meeting."

Lillian’s stomach twisted. Ever since her ex-fated mate had resurfaced, chaos had followed. "What does he want now?"

Sebastian’s expression turned icy. "To negotiate. Again."

She scoffed. "After everything he’s done?"

"He’s persistent, I’ll give him that." Sebastian pocketed his phone. "But I won’t let him near you."

Lillian reached for his hand, squeezing it. "I can handle him."

Sebastian’s grip tightened. "I know you can. But you shouldn’t have to."

A knock at the door interrupted them. "Sir?" Marcus Grayson’s voice filtered through. "The car’s ready."

Sebastian exhaled sharply. "We’ll deal with Donovan later. For now, let’s focus on the board."

Lillian nodded, but unease settled in her chest. Something told her Donovan’s sudden reappearance wasn’t a coincidence.

And she wasn’t sure she was ready for what came next.

The evening air was thick with the scent of roasted herbs and spices as we gathered in the grand dining hall. Earlier, I had informed the kitchen staff—along with Giselle—that on days when Sebastian wasn’t present, I preferred to eat in the kitchen. They had all nodded in understanding, their warm smiles putting me at ease. The food, as always, was exquisite, but my attention kept drifting to Sebastian, who was meticulously cutting into his steak. When he sensed my gaze, his dark eyes flicked up to meet mine.

"I need to talk to you about something," I said abruptly, setting my fork down.

His brow arched slightly, the ghost of a smirk playing at the corner of his lips. "Go on," he replied, his voice smooth but laced with amusement.

I took a deep breath. "I need my best friend." The words tumbled out before I could stop them. "I hate lying to her about everything that's happening in my life. She’s going to notice I’m not at the Winslow manor anymore, and I want to tell her the truth. About... well, this." I gestured vaguely between us, then to the sprawling mansion around us.

Sebastian studied me in silence, his expression unreadable. My stomach twisted into knots as his gaze lingered on my face, searching for something. Finally, he set his fork down. The indifference in his eyes made my pulse quicken. What if he refused? Would I have to keep lying to Beatrice?

Just as my thoughts spiraled, he cleared his throat, snapping me back to reality.

"Is this the girl who works at the Carter resort?" he asked.

I blinked, surprised he remembered her. A flicker of something sharp—jealousy?—pricked at my chest, but I swallowed it down and nodded.

"Yes. Beatrice. We’ve known each other since we were kids. I tell her everything, and she does the same. She’s my best friend."

The silence stretched between us, thick and heavy. I shifted in my seat, suddenly hyper-aware of every passing second. Then, after what felt like an eternity, he gave a single nod.

"Okay."

I stared at him, my brows lifting. "Okay?" I repeated, needing more than his clipped response.

He hummed, picking up his fork again as if the conversation was already over.

"I can tell her?" I pressed, frustration creeping into my voice.

Sebastian glanced at me, that infuriating smirk tugging at his lips again. He was enjoying this—watching me squirm, dangling answers just out of reach.

The realization made my cheeks burn.

He’s toying with me.

And, annoyingly, I couldn’t deny the thrill that shot through me at the thought.

"Yes." My heart raced with exhilaration. The first thing I planned to do in the morning was call Beatrice—we needed to have a proper lunch together. I nearly leaped across the table to kiss Sebastian right then, but just as I leaned in, one of the kitchen staff entered, clearing away the remnants of our meal.

I had hoped Sebastian would stay the night, but duty called him back to his villa. Not that I could blame him—his children were waiting. Still, that didn’t stop him from leaving me breathless one last time before he departed.

Exhaustion claimed me before he even left, so I never got to say goodbye. When I woke the next morning, an odd emptiness settled in my chest. His side of the bed was cold, the sheets untouched. A sigh escaped me as I dragged myself up, watching the sunrise paint the Silver Crescent territory in hues of gold and pink. A faint smile curved my lips despite the loneliness.

The ensuite bathroom beckoned, and I indulged in the massive whirlpool tub—pure luxury. The steaming water worked its magic, melting away every tension until my limbs felt like liquid. By the time I stepped out, my mind was blissfully quiet, my body weightless. I had never known such relaxation.

Padding into the kitchen, I was surprised to find breakfast already prepared.

"Good morning, madam," the head chef greeted with a courteous nod. "Your meal is ready."

"Please, call me Lillian," I insisted.

"Then you may call me Lucien," he replied smoothly.

Lucien looked to be in his late thirties, with sharp features and an easy charm. The female staff certainly noticed—their cheeks flushed whenever he spoke to them. I wondered if they were new; their reactions seemed too fresh, too unguarded.

"It's a pleasure to meet you properly, Lucien," I said, reaching for a fork from the silverware tray.

The morning held promise. And for the first time in a long while, so did I.