Chapter 217

The crisp autumn air carried the scent of fallen leaves as Lillian hurried across the campus quad. Her phone buzzed incessantly in her pocket—another message from Donovan, no doubt. She clenched her jaw, refusing to check it.

He made his choice.

The memory of Evelyn’s smug smile flashed in her mind, twisting her stomach. But she wouldn’t let it break her. Not again.

"Lillian! Wait up!" Beatrice’s voice cut through her thoughts. Her best friend jogged toward her, cheeks flushed from the cold. "You’re not seriously skipping Professor Sinclair’s lecture again, are you?"

Lillian sighed. "I can’t focus today."

Beatrice looped an arm through hers. "Then let’s grab coffee. Gabrielle just got a new pumpkin spice blend."

Before she could protest, Beatrice dragged her toward the café. The warmth inside was a stark contrast to the biting wind outside. Gabrielle waved from behind the counter, her dark curls bouncing.

"Two lattes, extra whipped cream?" she guessed, already reaching for the cups.

Lillian managed a small smile. "You know us too well."

As they settled into a corner booth, Beatrice leaned in. "Okay, spill. What’s really going on?"

Lillian traced the rim of her cup. "Sebastian texted. He wants to meet tonight."

Beatrice’s eyes widened. "The Lycan chairman? After everything?"

"He says it’s important."

"Or he’s just playing games." Beatrice scowled. "You know how these high-ranking wolves are—all power moves and no heart."

Lillian’s fingers tightened around her cup. "What if it’s about Oliver?"

Beatrice hesitated. "Okay, fine. But I’m coming with you."

Lillian shook her head. "He said alone."

A tense silence settled between them. Outside, the wind howled, rattling the café windows like a warning.

That evening, Lillian stood at the edge of Blackwood Manor’s sprawling gardens, her breath visible in the cold air. The mansion loomed ahead, its windows glowing like watchful eyes.

Sebastian emerged from the shadows, his broad frame silhouetted against the moonlight. "You came."

Her pulse spiked. "You said it was urgent."

He stepped closer, his scent—cedar and something darker—wrapping around her. "I need your help."

She scoffed. "Since when does a Lycan chairman need help from a college student?"

His gaze burned into hers. "Since my enemies started targeting you."

A chill ran down her spine. "What?"

Sebastian pulled out a folded note. "This was left at my office today."

Lillian unfolded it, her hands trembling as she read the scrawled threat:

"End things with her, or she’ll disappear like your wife did."

Her blood turned to ice.

Sebastian’s voice was low, dangerous. "I won’t let that happen. But I need to know—who have you told about us?"

Lillian’s mind raced. Who knew? Who would care enough to threaten Sebastian?

Then it hit her.

"Donovan," she whispered.

Sebastian’s eyes flashed gold. "Your ex-fated mate?"

Before she could answer, a twig snapped in the darkness behind them.

Sebastian snarled, shoving Lillian behind him as a figure stepped into the moonlight.

Evelyn smirked, her crimson lips curling. "Aw, did I interrupt something?"

Lillian’s heart pounded. This wasn’t a coincidence.

Sebastian’s growl reverberated through the night. "You have three seconds to explain why you’re here."

Evelynn laughed, tossing her hair. "Oh, Sebastian. Always so dramatic." She held up her phone, the screen displaying a live feed—of Oliver, asleep in his bed. "Let’s talk terms."

Lillian’s vision blurred with rage.

Game on.

The hot water from the shower had barely dried on my skin when I wrapped a towel around my waist and stepped out. The bedroom was empty—no sign of Lillian. My gaze swept over the rumpled sheets, my jaw tightening. She hadn’t even woken me before leaving.

I dressed quickly, not bothering with my damp hair, and strode downstairs. The moment I turned the corner, Giselle nearly collided with me.

"Where's Lillian?" I demanded, adjusting the hem of my shirt.

Giselle blinked up at me, startled. "She left early for school, Alpha."

My steps halted. "She left?"

"Yes, sir." Giselle dipped her head and scurried away before I could press further.

A low growl rumbled in my chest. She’d slipped out without a word. No goodbye, no explanation. Was this because of him? That insufferable Lucien Dubois. I tolerated the man only because his cooking was exceptional—though lately, the only thing that made this wing of the packhouse worth returning to was Lillian herself.

The rich aroma of breakfast hit me as I entered the kitchen. Lucien stood at the center of it all, effortlessly charming the kitchen staff with his smooth words and roguish grin.

"Enough flirting," I snapped, making him freeze mid-laugh.

He turned, flashing me that infuriating smirk. "Apologies, Alpha. But can you blame me? You surround me with such lovely distractions."

I clenched my jaw. "You’re paid to cook, not seduce my staff."

Lucien tilted his head, undeterred. "Why not both?"

My eyes narrowed. "What about Giselle?"

His smirk faltered.

Good. He hadn’t expected me to know about that. I made it my business to know everything that happened under my roof—especially when it involved my head chef and head maid sneaking around.

I saw the way Giselle looked at him—those lingering glances, the subtle touches that weren't so subtle. More than once, I'd caught them whispering in the supply closet or heard muffled laughter from his bedroom when I passed by. And that massive hickey Giselle was trying—and failing—to hide? Please. I wasn’t an idiot.

"We're just friends with benefits," Lucien murmured, flipping a pancake with practiced ease. "She knows what this is."

I didn’t buy it. If the way Giselle gazed at him like he hung the moon was any indication, she was head over heels for the fool. He was breaking her heart, and soon enough, she’d probably quit. Working alongside someone who shattered you? Nearly impossible.

I shook my head. "This is exactly why you don’t mess with coworkers."

He had the decency to look sheepish but stayed silent as he finished plating breakfast. With a smooth motion, he slid the plate toward me.

"Is Lillian coming down soon?" he asked.

I frowned. Did he really not know she’d already left? Guess that answered my earlier question.

"No, she left early this morning," I said, stabbing a fork into the fluffy pancakes. Damn him—they were perfect.

Lucien froze. "Without eating? Why would she rush off without even saying good morning? That’s not like her."

"Giselle mentioned she had an early class," I said around a mouthful. "Said she was running late."

Lucien’s jaw tightened. "She told Giselle and not me?"

I smirked. "Obviously. Giselle’s her handmaiden. You’re just the chef. She doesn’t owe you an itinerary."

He crossed his arms, eyes narrowing. "Well, since you got this intel from Giselle, I’m guessing she didn’t tell you either, Alpha."

The audacity. Normally, I’d have someone’s throat for that tone—but something about Lucien’s smirk made me bite back a laugh. I schooled my face into a glare instead.

After a beat, he cleared his throat and gestured to the sink. "I should probably clean up."

"You think?" I snapped.

The second he turned away, I let my guard down, shaking my head with a quiet chuckle.

Once I finished eating, I headed straight to my villa. The film crew should’ve wrapped by now—

Any moment now and I'll finally reclaim my personal space. I'd been steering clear of Celeste ever since that impulsive kiss—the one she'd orchestrated to make the tabloids believe there was something between us. The second the scandal broke, I'd called every major media outlet, demanding an immediate retraction. My blood had boiled seeing those fabricated headlines splashed across every gossip site, but what's done is done.

To avoid further complications, I'd given her the run of the estate while I divided my time between the mansion with Lillian and my office. The distance was necessary, though not without its frustrations. Every corner of the penthouse still carried traces of Celeste's cloying perfume—a relentless reminder of her calculated games.

Lillian, at least, had become an unexpected refuge. Her quiet presence in the library or the gardens was a balm to the chaos. She never pried, never demanded explanations. Just existing nearby with her sketchbook or a novel, radiating calm like moonlight through storm clouds.

Meanwhile, the staff tiptoed around me, especially Giselle and Lucien, exchanging glances whenever Celeste's name came up. Even Theodore, usually unflappable, had developed a telltale stiffness in his posture at the mention of her scheduled departure.

I checked my watch. Three more days until the film crew wrapped shooting. Three more days until the villa stopped feeling like a damned movie set. My phone buzzed—another message from Damien about location permits. I silenced it with a sigh.

Somewhere downstairs, a door slammed. Celeste's laughter floated up the staircase, followed by the click of stilettos on marble. My jaw tightened. Soon. Very soon, this would all be just another footnote in the tabloids' archives.

Until then? I'd keep to my wing, my office, and the rare moments of peace Lillian unknowingly provided. The countdown had begun.