Chapter 232

The crisp autumn air carried the scent of fallen leaves as Lillian stepped onto the grand marble staircase of the Blackwood estate. Her fingers tightened around the railing, her heart pounding with a mix of anticipation and dread. The last time she had seen Donovan, he had shattered her world with his betrayal. Now, he stood in the foyer below, his new mate, Evelyn, clinging to his arm like a prized possession.

Sebastian Blackwood’s presence beside her was a steady anchor, his towering frame radiating quiet authority. His piercing gaze swept over the gathered guests, lingering briefly on Donovan before returning to Lillian. “Remember,” he murmured, his voice low and firm, “you owe him nothing.”

Lillian exhaled shakily, nodding. She had spent months rebuilding herself after Donovan’s abandonment, and she refused to let him unravel her progress now.

Downstairs, Evelyn’s laughter rang out, sharp and mocking. “Oh, Lillian,” she called, her voice dripping with false sweetness. “I almost didn’t recognize you. You look… different.”

Lillian forced a smile, refusing to rise to the bait. “Funny, I was just thinking the same about you.”

Donovan’s jaw tightened, his eyes flickering with something unreadable. “Lillian,” he began, but Sebastian cut him off with a single step forward.

“If you’re here to cause trouble, you’re wasting your time,” Sebastian said coolly. “This is a celebration, not a battleground.”

The tension in the room thickened, the other guests shifting uncomfortably. Beatrice, Lillian’s best friend, appeared at her side, squeezing her hand in silent support.

Then, from the top of the stairs, a small voice piped up. “Papa?”

Oliver, Sebastian’s seven-year-old son, peered down at the scene with wide, curious eyes. The sight of him seemed to break the spell.

Sebastian’s expression softened. “Come here, Oliver.”

As the boy descended, Donovan’s gaze followed him, a shadow crossing his face. Lillian couldn’t help but wonder—was that regret in his eyes?

But before she could dwell on it, Victoria, Sebastian’s daughter, swept into the room, her arm linked with Julian Mercer, the Gamma assigned to protect her. “Father,” she said smoothly, “the guests are waiting in the ballroom.”

Sebastian gave a curt nod, then extended his hand to Lillian. “Shall we?”

As they turned away, Lillian caught the faintest whisper from Donovan. “I never meant to hurt you.”

Her steps faltered for only a second before she squared her shoulders and walked on.

The past was behind her. And tonight, under the glittering chandeliers of the Blackwood estate, she would prove—to herself and everyone else—that she was no longer the broken girl Donovan had left behind.

But as the music swelled and the night unfolded, one question lingered in the back of her mind: Why had Donovan really come?

And more importantly—what did he want now?

Lillian's POV

Lucien stared at me with a shocked expression, his mouth practically hanging open. I could see the turmoil in his eyes, and it made me look away again. I didn’t want him to pity me, but I also couldn’t keep lying to him. He was clearly wrestling with his own emotions, struggling to accept that he had found his mate. He hadn’t said it out loud yet, but I knew that was the root of his distress. Beatrice was just as conflicted, and my heart ached for both of them.

I wanted them to be happy. If they just gave each other a real chance, they could be perfect for one another. But the idea of having a mate terrified them—or maybe Beatrice was just terrified of Lucien being hers. Their first few encounters hadn’t exactly been smooth.

The first step was admitting the truth—if not to me, then at least to each other. They needed to talk it out and figure out where to go from there.

"Victoria?" Lucien finally spoke, bracing himself against the counter as if his legs might give out. "Wait... your mate is Donovan Winslow? From the Winslow family?"

I wasn’t surprised he recognized Donovan’s name. Everyone knew who he was. The Winslows were practically royalty in our territory—not as influential as Sebastian Blackwood, but still powerful. And now, with Donovan engaged to Victoria, the most sought-after heiress in the world, their name was everywhere.

I nodded.

"Yes," I admitted. "The one and only. He left me for her. I can’t even blame him, but... it destroyed me. And my wolf."

Lucien exhaled sharply. "Yeah, I mean... he was your mate. That’s got to be brutal, watching him with someone else—"

His voice cut off abruptly, and I saw pure horror flash across his face. He paled, just like he had the night before. I waved a hand in front of him, trying to snap him out of it.

"Hey," I said softly. "What’s going through your head?"

"I..." He hesitated, then went completely still.

"Lucien?" I pressed.

When his eyes finally met mine, they were filled with regret.

"I hurt her, Lillian," he whispered.

I sighed, leaning back in my chair. I didn’t want to drag this out.

"She’s your mate, isn’t she?"

His shock at my words was evident, but then he exhaled and nodded.

"Yes," he admitted. "I saw her the other day when I was out with Amélie. I was so stunned I didn’t know what to do. I didn’t want to just abandon Amélie, but Beatrice... she looked at me like I’d stabbed her."

I winced. No wonder Beatrice had gotten so drunk at the party. I wished she had told me about this when she was sober. It stung that she hadn’t—I was supposed to be her best friend.

"Why didn’t you go after her?" I asked, trying not to sound accusatory, but I couldn’t help it.

Lucien’s jaw tightened. "I was scared."

And there it was—the truth neither of them wanted to face.

Finding one's mate was a monumental occasion, and I wanted nothing but the best for my dearest friend.

Lucien looked utterly defeated as he gave a half-hearted shrug.

"Like I said... I was in complete shock, and I couldn't just abandon Amélie after being the one to ask her out in the first place. I thought about tracking her down afterward to explain, but honestly, I had no clue who she was or where to even begin searching. I tried asking Amélie about her, but she barely gave me any details and kept steering the conversation elsewhere. Rightfully so—she didn’t want to discuss another woman on our date."

I nodded along, my chest tightening as I listened to his story.

"And what about now?" I pressed. "What about you and Giselle yesterday? You already knew you had a mate—you saw her with your own eyes—and yet you still chose to make out with Giselle in public?"

He dragged his fingers through his dark hair, his gaze fixed on the counter between us.

"Not my finest moment," he admitted quietly. "I genuinely didn’t think I’d ever see her again. I had no idea you were friends with her or that she’d witness that..."

I understood what he meant, but frustration still simmered inside me. Beatrice was hurting, and she refused to talk to—