Chapter 213

The morning sun cast golden rays through the curtains of Lillian's bedroom, stirring her from sleep. She stretched lazily, her muscles still sore from yesterday’s intense training session with Professor Montclair. The scent of freshly brewed coffee drifted up from the kitchen, signaling that Sebastian was already awake.

Downstairs, she found him seated at the dining table, reading through a stack of documents while Oliver chattered excitedly about his upcoming school project. The sight warmed her heart—this was the kind of domestic bliss she had never imagined she’d have.

"Morning," she murmured, pressing a kiss to Sebastian’s temple before taking the seat beside him.

He glanced up, his piercing blue eyes softening as they met hers. "Sleep well?"

"Like a log," she admitted, reaching for the coffee pot.

Before she could pour herself a cup, the front door burst open, and Beatrice stormed in, her cheeks flushed with agitation. "You won’t believe what just happened!"

Lillian arched a brow. "What now?"

Beatrice dropped into a chair, her hands trembling slightly. "I just ran into Evelyn at the café. She was with Donovan, and they were—" She hesitated, biting her lip.

Sebastian’s grip on his pen tightened. "Spit it out."

"They were talking about Victoria’s engagement party. Apparently, Donovan’s planning something big—something that involves you, Lillian."

A chill ran down Lillian’s spine. She exchanged a glance with Sebastian, whose expression had darkened.

"What kind of plan?" he demanded.

Beatrice shook her head. "I couldn’t catch all of it, but Evelyn mentioned something about ‘exposing the truth’ in front of everyone."

Lillian’s stomach twisted. The last time Donovan had tried to "expose" anything, it had nearly ruined her life.

Sebastian stood abruptly, his chair scraping against the floor. "We’re not waiting for him to make the first move."

Lillian reached for his hand, squeezing it reassuringly. "We’ll figure this out. Together."

But as she said the words, doubt gnawed at her. What truth was Donovan planning to reveal? And more importantly—was she ready to face it?

Mortification burned through me like wildfire. I couldn’t believe I had let myself get drugged last night—and worse, thrown myself at Sebastian Blackwood. The worst part? I remembered everything. No wonder he had slipped out in the middle of the night. The way he couldn’t even look at me this morning said it all.

But then I spotted the Tylertol and water on the nightstand. My stomach twisted with something between gratitude and humiliation. Sebastian had left them for me. The small act of kindness shouldn’t have made my chest ache, but it did.

I wanted to scream. To cry. To dissolve into the floor. But I swallowed it all down. I was stronger than this.

Snatching my phone from the nightstand, I winced at the flood of notifications—most from Beatrice.

Beatrice: I barely remember last night. Did you get home okay?

My fingers flew over the screen.

Me: Yeah. Sebastian took us both home. How are you feeling?

Beatrice: Like death warmed over. But I’m glad you’re okay. Did I do anything stupid?

I hesitated. She didn’t need to know about the vomiting. Or the drunken confession about her mate.

Me: Not at all. Just rest. We’ll talk later.

I set the phone down, exhaling sharply. Oh, I’d get the full story out of her—later. From what I’d pieced together, her so-called mate had been on a date with another woman. No wonder she’d drowned herself in tequila.

A mate’s betrayal was a special kind of agony.

Hunger gnawed at me as I threw on clothes and headed downstairs. The scent of something delicious led me straight to the kitchen, where Lucien Dubois was working his usual magic at the stove.

Giselle Beaumont stood nearby, arms crossed, irritation rolling off her in waves.

"I don’t know why you’re acting like this," she hissed.

"Because you’re the one who insisted we keep things professional," Lucien shot back, voice sharper than I’d ever heard.

I cleared my throat. "Everything okay?"

Giselle scowled. "Lucien’s being an ass."

He spun around, spatula in hand.

"You were the one who insisted on keeping things professional, Giselle. So how exactly am I the villain here?" Lucien challenged, his voice laced with irritation.

"Professional while we were working? We weren’t on the clock this morning when I tried to talk to you," she shot back, crossing her arms.

"Fine. Then start talking. What’s so urgent?" He arched a brow, his tone clipped.

A flush crept up Giselle’s cheeks. She glanced away briefly before meeting his gaze again. "It’s... personal. And I’d rather not discuss it here, in the middle of the kitchen," she admitted, nervously biting her lower lip.

"Then maybe you should drop it," he muttered, turning his back to her.

"Lucien, you’re acting off. What’s going on?" I finally interjected.

"Yeah, sorry. Just didn’t sleep well," he grumbled, avoiding eye contact.

"That’s a lie," Giselle accused, arms tightening across her chest. "I went to your room last night, and you weren’t there."

Lucien’s frown deepened. "Why were you in my room?"

Her face burned crimson. "Because I wanted to talk to you, but you were gone," she mumbled.

Without another word, Lucien turned back to the stove, his movements sharp as he finished the vegetable omelets. The rich aroma filled the kitchen, making my stomach growl. He was so engrossed in his task that he didn’t notice me studying him—until he turned to plate the food and caught me staring.

"Everything alright?" he asked, brow quirking.

"I could ask you the same thing," I countered. "What’s really going on between you and Giselle?"

He exhaled sharply. "We hooked up a few times to blow off steam. Now she’s acting like it meant something. One minute she wants nothing to do with me, the next she’s everywhere. It’s exhausting, being her backup plan whenever she feels like it."

I picked up my fork, nodding. "Sounds like she has feelings for you but doesn’t know how to admit it."