Chapter 251

The crisp autumn air carried the scent of fallen leaves as Lillian stepped onto the campus grounds, her boots crunching over the scattered foliage. The morning sun cast a golden glow over the stone buildings, but her mind was far from serene.

Donovan’s betrayal still gnawed at her, a wound that refused to heal. She had once believed him to be her fated mate, but now, the mere thought of him made her stomach twist.

"Lillian!" Beatrice’s voice cut through her thoughts as her best friend jogged toward her, cheeks flushed from the cold. "You look like you’ve seen a ghost. What’s wrong?"

Lillian forced a smile. "Just thinking about how much has changed."

Beatrice looped an arm through hers. "Well, stop dwelling on the past. You’ve got a future now—one that includes a certain Lycan chairman who can’t take his eyes off you."

Lillian’s cheeks warmed at the mention of Sebastian Blackwood. The man was an enigma—powerful, commanding, yet unexpectedly tender when it came to her. But their relationship was complicated, tangled in pack politics and the shadow of his late wife.

As they walked, Lillian spotted Cassandra leaning against a lamppost, whispering to a group of girls. The moment Cassandra noticed her, a smirk curled her lips.

"Look who’s finally showing her face," Cassandra drawled. "I heard Donovan and Evelyn are expecting a pup. Must sting, knowing he replaced you so easily."

Lillian’s fingers curled into fists, but before she could respond, Beatrice stepped forward. "Jealousy doesn’t suit you, Cassandra. Then again, neither does that cheap perfume."

Cassandra’s smirk faltered, but she recovered quickly. "Enjoy your little fantasy while it lasts. Sebastian Blackwood won’t settle for a nobody like you."

Lillian exhaled sharply. She wouldn’t let Cassandra get under her skin. Not today.

But as she turned away, her phone buzzed. A message from Sebastian lit up the screen:

"Meet me at the pack house. We need to talk."

Her pulse quickened. Those words never meant anything good.

The Blackwood estate loomed before her, its grandeur both breathtaking and intimidating. The moment she stepped inside, the scent of cedar and leather enveloped her—Sebastian’s scent.

He stood by the fireplace, his broad shoulders tense. When he turned, his golden eyes burned with an intensity that made her breath catch.

"You’re here," he said, voice low.

Lillian swallowed. "What’s going on?"

Sebastian hesitated, then spoke the words that shattered her fragile peace:

"Donovan’s back. And he’s demanding a challenge for your hand."

The room spun.

Lillian’s knees threatened to buckle. After everything, Donovan still thought he had a claim on her?

Sebastian’s jaw tightened. "I won’t let him take you. But you need to decide—do you want to fight him yourself, or do you trust me to handle this?"

Her heart pounded. This wasn’t just about Donovan. It was about her future. Her choice.

And she refused to be a pawn in their game.

Lifting her chin, she met Sebastian’s gaze.

"I’ll face him. But not for you—for me."

Sebastian’s lips curved into a slow, approving smile. "Then let’s make sure you win."

The battle lines were drawn. And this time, Lillian wouldn’t run.

Beatrice grabbed the bag and slipped into the bathroom. Just as she’d hoped, she found her toothbrush and toothpaste inside. She scrubbed her teeth quickly, then finished freshening up. Splashing cold water on her face, she sighed in relief—Lillian had remembered her favorite cleanser too.

After changing into jeans and a fitted T-shirt, she tossed the hospital gown into the laundry basket tucked in the corner. As she stepped out, muffled voices reached her ears. Lillian must have arrived and was probably chatting with one of the nurses.

Her stomach twisted with nerves. The embarrassment of facing Lillian after everything was almost unbearable. But she couldn’t hide forever. Delaying would only make it worse.

Taking a deep breath, she gripped the door handle and pushed it open. The moment she stepped into the room, her wolf perked up, senses sharpening. A rich, intoxicating scent flooded her nose—warm spices and something woodsy—so potent it nearly buckled her knees.

Lillian turned, her face lighting up with a relieved smile. "There you are, Bea. I was starting to think you'd climbed out the window." She opened her arms, and Beatrice didn’t hesitate, pulling her into a tight embrace. Lillian was a few inches shorter, so Beatrice rested her chin on top of her best friend’s head.

"I’m sorry I scared you," Beatrice murmured.

Lillian pulled back, studying her with sharp eyes. "You look better. Did your wolf patch you up?"

Beatrice nodded, pressing a hand to her stomach. "Good as new. Ready to get out of this place."

Lillian smirked, then turned toward the doorway, arms crossed. "Are you just going to stand there like a statue?"

Beatrice followed her gaze—and her heart stopped.

There, leaning against the doorframe, was him.

Pale blue eyes locked onto hers, intense and searching. His dark hair was slightly tousled, as if he’d been running his hands through it. The way he looked at her—like she was the only thing in the room—sent heat rushing through her veins.

"Oh, for Goddess’ sake," Lillian groaned, stomping over and yanking him forward. "Stop being weird, Lucien."

Lucien.

That was his name.

Beatrice barely registered Lillian explaining that Lucien was the head chef at the Blackwood estate. Which meant her mate—her fated mate—worked for Sebastian Blackwood.

The irony wasn’t lost on her. She’d spent years dreaming of becoming a chef herself, studying culinary arts in secret between pack duties. And now the Goddess had dangled the one man who embodied that dream right in front of her—only to make him completely off-limits.

Cruel.

"I didn’t mean to ambush you," Lillian said, watching Beatrice carefully. "But you two really need to talk."

There was no way Lillian didn’t know. The way she kept glancing between them—knowing, expectant.

Beatrice’s cheeks burned. Did Lucien know why she’d been hospitalized? That she’d nearly drunk herself into oblivion? Humiliation coiled in her gut, and she wished the floor would swallow her whole.

Lucien cleared his throat, stepping closer. "I can give you a ride home," he offered, voice low. "Unless you’d rather—"

"I’ll find another way," Beatrice cut in, too quickly.

Lillian groaned. "Oh, come on—"

But Beatrice was already grabbing her bag, avoiding Lucien’s gaze. She couldn’t do this. Not now. Maybe not ever.

The Goddess had a sick sense of humor.

"Absolutely not!" Beatrice's voice came out sharper than intended, her fingers tightening around the strap of her bag. "Please, don't leave me alone with him..."

She caught the flicker of pain in Lucien's dark eyes, but she forced herself to look away, turning instead to Lillian. Her best friend blinked in surprise but quickly nodded, offering a reassuring squeeze to Beatrice's trembling hand.

"How about you take the front?" Lillian suggested, her voice steady. "That way, I can keep an eye on you."

Beatrice wanted to argue—to insist she could handle walking back to her apartment alone. But the truth settled heavily in her chest. She didn't want to be alone. Not now. Not after everything.

"Fine," she relented, exhaling sharply.

The silence between them stretched until Lucien finally spoke, his voice smooth as velvet, sending an unwelcome warmth through her. But then the memory of him with those women—laughing, touching—flashed behind her eyelids, and the warmth turned to ice.

"I think we've said all there is to say," Beatrice muttered, grabbing her coat and deliberately avoiding his gaze. "Unless you're planning to reject me now? In that case, by all means, get it over with."

She hesitated, then lifted her chin, meeting his eyes. Her pulse hammered in her throat as she forced out the question burning inside her.

"Lucien?" Her voice barely wavered. "Do you plan to reject me?"