Chapter 250

The morning sun cast golden rays through the floor-to-ceiling windows of Sebastian Blackwood’s penthouse, painting the room in warm hues. Lillian stretched lazily in the plush king-sized bed, the silk sheets cool against her skin. The scent of freshly brewed coffee and buttery croissants drifted in from the kitchen, making her stomach growl.

She had barely opened her eyes when a deep, velvety voice murmured beside her, "Good morning, little wolf."

Sebastian was already awake, his piercing blue eyes watching her with an intensity that sent a shiver down her spine. His dark hair was tousled from sleep, and the faint stubble along his jaw only made him look more dangerously attractive.

Lillian propped herself up on her elbows, blinking away the remnants of sleep. "Morning," she murmured, her voice still thick with drowsiness.

A smirk tugged at Sebastian’s lips as he reached out, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear. "Sleep well?"

She nodded, though the truth was, she had barely slept at all. The events of last night replayed in her mind—Donovan’s unexpected appearance at the gala, the way his new mate, Evelyn, had clung to his arm like a trophy. The way Donovan’s gaze had lingered on Lillian, full of regret and something darker.

Sebastian’s fingers brushed against her cheek, pulling her back to the present. "Don’t think about him," he said, his voice firm but gentle.

Lillian exhaled sharply. "It’s hard not to."

Sebastian’s expression darkened, a flicker of possessiveness flashing in his eyes. "He lost his chance. You’re mine now."

The declaration sent a thrill through her, but before she could respond, a loud knock echoed through the penthouse.

"Alpha Blackwood!" Marcus Grayson’s voice carried through the door, urgent.

Sebastian sighed, pressing a quick kiss to Lillian’s forehead before rolling out of bed. "Duty calls."

Lillian watched as he pulled on a black robe, his muscular frame moving with effortless grace. She couldn’t help but admire the way the fabric clung to his broad shoulders.

The moment the door opened, Marcus stepped inside, his expression grim. "We have a problem."

Sebastian’s jaw tightened. "What is it?"

"Alpha Harrison is making moves again," Marcus said, his voice low. "He’s been seen meeting with Donovan. They’re planning something."

Lillian’s blood ran cold. Donovan and Alpha Harrison working together? That couldn’t be good.

Sebastian’s eyes flickered to her, his expression unreadable. "Stay here," he ordered before turning back to Marcus. "Call a meeting. I want every Beta and Gamma in the war room in ten minutes."

As the door closed behind them, Lillian sat frozen in bed, her mind racing. If Donovan was aligning with Alpha Harrison, it meant he wasn’t just after her—he was after Sebastian’s pack.

And she wasn’t about to let that happen.

Throwing off the covers, she reached for her phone and dialed Beatrice’s number.

"Bea, we have a situation."

Her best friend’s voice was groggy but alert. "What’s wrong?"

Lillian took a deep breath. "Donovan’s making his move. And I need your help to stop him."

The line was silent for a beat before Beatrice sighed. "I’ll be there in twenty."

Hanging up, Lillian clenched her fists. She had fought too hard to let Donovan ruin everything now.

This time, she wouldn’t run.

This time, she would fight.

Third Person POV

Beatrice felt utterly humiliated by her alcohol poisoning incident.

For days, she had barricaded herself inside her tiny apartment, drowning in liquor, shutting out the world. She had ignored her best friend, Lillian, completely—something that weighed heavily on her conscience. But what twisted her stomach into knots even more was the realization that it had been Lillian who found her in that state, barely conscious, and rushed her to the hospital. Fingers nervously picking at the hospital blanket, Beatrice swallowed hard.

Her head throbbed. Her stomach ached. And her heart? Shattered.

"Good morning, Beatrice," greeted one of the nurses as she stepped into the room. "How are you feeling today?" Beatrice recognized her as the nurse who had tended to her the night before. Dark circles shadowed the woman’s eyes, exhaustion evident after her long shift.

"Like I just had my stomach scraped clean," Beatrice muttered, pressing a hand to her abdomen and wincing at the lingering soreness.

"Your wolf will heal you soon enough," the nurse reassured her. "Though, I must say, you drank enough to intoxicate even your wolf. That’s... quite the accomplishment."

Beatrice shuddered at the memory of just how much she had consumed.

Guilt gnawed at her for putting her wolf through that, but she had needed something to dull the pain—even if just for a little while. Her wolf was just as devastated as she was. Their mate, Lucien Dubois, was nothing but a shameless flirt. First, he had taken Amélie Rousseau out on a date, and now he was caught making out with someone in the kitchen of Sebastian Blackwood’s mansion.

And the worst part? He knew Lillian. Because he worked in the very mansion where Lillian had been staying.

Why hadn’t Lillian told her about him?

Then again, why would she? Lillian had no idea Lucien was Beatrice’s mate.

The nurse held out a small slip of paper. "I wanted to give you this."

Scrawled on it was a name: Dr. Alistair Whitmore, followed by a phone number.

Beatrice frowned. "Who is this?"

"Dr. Whitmore is a psychiatrist—one of the best," the nurse explained, catching Beatrice off guard.

"I don’t need a psychiatrist," Beatrice insisted, trying to hand the note back. But the nurse shook her head firmly, refusing to take it.

"Something drove you to drink so much that you nearly killed your wolf in the process," the nurse said, her expression darkening. "When you came in last night, your wolf was so weak, I wasn’t sure she’d pull through. You need to talk to someone about whatever’s eating at you. You were found alone, Beatrice. If this happens again, it will kill you—and your wolf."

Beatrice wanted to argue that it wasn’t the alcohol that had nearly killed her wolf. It was the crushing heartbreak over their mate. The rejection—unspoken but painfully clear—had weakened them both. But admitting that out loud? Too humiliating.

Forcing a thin smile, Beatrice nodded, though she knew it didn’t reach her eyes. The nurse’s concern only deepened.

"Thank you," Beatrice murmured, placing the phone number on the bedside table.

The nurse offered her a warm, reassuring smile. "You're being discharged today. I already called your friend, Lillian. She's on her way to pick you up."

Beatrice's gaze snapped up. "You called Lillian?" Her stomach twisted. Facing her best friend right now was the last thing she wanted—yet the only person she could face. If she had to choose someone, it would always be Lillian.

The nurse nodded. "She insisted on being the first call when you were ready. And honestly? Sebastian Blackwood backed her up. Try saying no to him."

Sebastian knew too?

Could this day get any worse?

Without another word, the nurse slipped out, leaving Beatrice alone with her spiraling thoughts. She stared at the ceiling, dizziness and exhaustion pressing down on her. Inside, her wolf stirred restlessly—still raw, still aching for their lost mate.

Despite the agony, her wolf worked tirelessly to heal the wound. Within the hour, the searing pain in her abdomen dulled to nothing. Relief washed over her as she finally felt strong enough to move. She pushed herself upright—only to sway dangerously, catching herself on the bedside table.

All she wanted was to wash up. She felt filthy, desperate for some semblance of normalcy.

Then she spotted it: a small duffel bag tucked by the chair. Inside, fresh clothes, undergarments, toiletries—even her favorite toothpaste. Lillian. Of course. A faint smile tugged at her lips. Even unconscious, her best friend had taken care of her.

I don’t deserve her.