Chapter 244

The evening air was thick with tension as Lillian stood in the grand hall of the Blackwood estate. The chandeliers cast a golden glow over the assembled guests, but the warmth did nothing to ease the chill running down her spine.

Sebastian Blackwood, the formidable Lycan chairman, stood beside her, his presence both reassuring and intimidating. His piercing gaze swept over the room, lingering briefly on Donovan, who stood near the entrance with Evelyn clinging to his arm. The sight of them together still sent a sharp pang through Lillian’s chest, though she refused to let it show.

Beatrice nudged her gently. "You okay?" she whispered.

Lillian forced a small smile. "I’m fine."

But she wasn’t. Not really.

The gathering was supposed to be a celebration—a formal introduction of the visiting delegates from the neighboring packs. Yet beneath the veneer of polite conversation and clinking glasses, the undercurrents of rivalry and old grudges were impossible to ignore.

At the far end of the room, Alpha Harrison leaned against a marble pillar, his smirk unmistakable as he watched her. Lillian suppressed a shudder. She hadn’t forgotten the way he’d cornered her that night at the bar, his intentions anything but honorable.

Sebastian’s hand brushed against hers, grounding her. "Stay close," he murmured, his voice low and commanding.

She nodded, grateful for his silent reassurance.

Then, the doors swung open, and a hush fell over the crowd.

A woman strode in, her silver gown shimmering under the lights, her presence commanding every eye in the room. Celeste Devereaux—the famous actress and model—had arrived.

Lillian’s breath hitched. She had heard rumors of Celeste’s visit, but seeing her in person was something else entirely. The woman was breathtaking, her confidence radiating like a force of nature.

And then, Celeste’s gaze locked onto Sebastian.

A slow, knowing smile curved her lips as she approached him, her movements graceful and deliberate. "Sebastian," she purred, extending a perfectly manicured hand. "It’s been too long."

Lillian’s fingers twitched at her side.

Sebastian took Celeste’s hand, his expression unreadable. "Celeste. I wasn’t expecting you until tomorrow."

She laughed, the sound like tinkling bells. "I couldn’t resist making an entrance."

Lillian swallowed hard, her pulse quickening.

Beatrice leaned in again, her voice barely audible. "Don’t let her get to you. She’s just trying to rattle you."

But it was working.

Celeste’s eyes flicked to Lillian, assessing her with a single glance before dismissing her entirely. The message was clear: You don’t belong here.

Lillian clenched her fists.

Then, from the corner of her eye, she caught Donovan watching her, his expression unreadable. Evelyn whispered something in his ear, and he turned away, but not before Lillian saw the flicker of something—regret? Guilt?—in his eyes.

The night was far from over.

And Lillian had a sinking feeling that the real storm was just beginning.

"I want to be the Alpha of the Redmoon Pack," Donovan declared abruptly. "But I also want Lillian back."

Alpha Maximilian's lips curled into a knowing smirk.

"I can get you both," he assured Donovan, his voice dripping with calculated charm. "Sebastian Blackwood isn't the only one who wields power."

"I'll do whatever it takes," Donovan replied, a slow, predatory grin spreading across his face.

"Excellent," Maximilian murmured, reaching into his tailored coat and producing a sleek black business card. He handed it to Donovan with deliberate precision.

"If you want our alliance to succeed, you must surrender complete control to me—mentally and physically," Maximilian continued, his golden eyes glinting with unspoken threats. "No secrets. You will tell me everything. Call me when you're ready for the next step."

With that, he signaled to his gammas, and within moments, they vanished into the night, leaving Donovan standing alone, the weight of his ambition and the promise of revenge simmering in his veins.

Lillian's POV

"Can we stop by Beatrice's place before heading to the villa?" I asked Marcus as soon as we left the university gates.

"Of course," he replied, his sharp gaze flickering to me through the rearview mirror. "Everything alright?"

"I don't know," I admitted, my fingers twisting nervously in my lap. "She hasn’t answered any of my calls since she stormed out of the mansion on Saturday. I’m worried."

Marcus gave a thoughtful nod, remaining silent as we pulled up to the apartment complex just off campus. Beatrice’s building was a short walk away. I already knew the passcode to enter, as well as the spare key she kept hidden beneath a ceramic pot of lavender by her door. I wasn’t going to bother knocking—she’d been ignoring me for days.

"Want me to come with you?" Marcus asked, rolling down the window as I hesitated on the sidewalk, staring up at her building.

"Yes," I blurted before I could second-guess myself. A cold dread had settled in my stomach, whispering that something was wrong. If it was, I didn’t want to face it alone.

He parked swiftly and joined me outside the building, his presence steadying. With an encouraging nod from him, I punched in Beatrice’s code. The lock clicked open, and Marcus held the door for me.

We climbed to the second floor in silence. Beatrice’s apartment was at the end of the hall, the only one with a potted plant outside. I’d always teased her about how obvious it was, but she’d insisted no one would think to look there.

My fingers trembled as I sifted through the soil, finally closing around the small silver key. I glanced up at Marcus, my voice barely above a whisper.

"I’m scared."

His hand brushed my shoulder reassuringly. "I’m right here."

I took a shaky breath, turned the key in the lock, and pushed the door open—only to freeze at the sight before me.

Beatrice’s apartment was in complete disarray.

I've always known Beatrice to be meticulous about cleanliness, which made the scene before me all the more jarring. The living room looked like a tornado had swept through—pizza boxes scattered across the floor, empty beer bottles littering every surface, and the stale scent of spilled alcohol hanging thick in the air. The television blared some trashy reality show, its flickering glow casting eerie shadows across the mess. The fridge door stood ajar, a puddle of water pooling beneath it, and when I peered inside, the stench of spoiled food hit me like a physical blow.

Marcus Grayson wrinkled his nose in disgust as he took in the disaster zone, his sharp eyes scanning the chaos before landing on the coffee table, where a half-eaten slice of pizza had congealed into an unappetizing mess. Without a word, he snatched the remote and silenced the TV, plunging the room into an unsettling quiet.

My pulse pounded in my ears.

"Beatrice?!" I called out, my voice cracking with desperation. Silence answered me.

I turned to Marcus, my breath coming in short gasps. His jaw tightened, but he kept his voice steady. "Maybe she's in her room."

Swallowing hard, I forced myself to move down the narrow hallway, each step heavier than the last. Marcus followed close behind, his presence both grounding and suffocating. When I reached her bedroom door, my hand trembled as I turned the knob.

The moment I pushed it open, my entire world screeched to a halt.

Beatrice lay sprawled on the floor, motionless, her face pressed into a pool of vomit.

"B-Beatrice?!" The scream tore from my throat as I lunged forward, my vision blurring with tears.

"Jesus Christ," Marcus muttered, already pulling his phone from his coat. "I'm calling an ambulance. I'll make sure my contact meets us at the hospital."

But his words barely registered. All I could focus on was the terrifying pallor of Beatrice's skin, the way her chest barely rose with each shallow breath. I grabbed her wrist, my fingers fumbling for a pulse, and nearly collapsed in relief when I found it—weak but there.

"Hold on, Beatrice," I sobbed, cradling her face. "Just hold on. We're getting you help."