Chapter 25

The morning sun cast golden rays through the floor-to-ceiling windows of Sebastian Blackwood’s penthouse, illuminating the sleek modern furniture in a warm glow. Lillian stretched beneath the silk sheets, her body still humming from the intensity of last night.

She turned her head, expecting to see Sebastian beside her—only to find the space empty.

A flicker of disappointment curled in her chest before she shook it off. Of course he’s gone. He’s the Lycan Chairman. He doesn’t have time for lazy mornings.

The scent of coffee and freshly baked croissants drifted from the kitchen, pulling her out of bed. She wrapped herself in one of Sebastian’s discarded shirts—far too large on her—and padded barefoot toward the aroma.

Lucien Dubois, the head chef, was already at work, his back turned as he whisked something in a bowl. He glanced over his shoulder, a smirk playing on his lips.

"Ah, mademoiselle," he purred, his French accent thick. "You look positively ravished. Did our Alpha keep you up all night?"

Lillian’s cheeks burned, but she refused to let him rattle her. "Coffee, please," she said instead, sliding onto a barstool.

Lucien chuckled but obliged, sliding a steaming cup toward her. "As you wish."

Before she could take a sip, the penthouse doors swung open, and Sebastian strode in, his tailored suit immaculate, his expression unreadable. His golden eyes locked onto her, and for a moment, the air between them crackled.

Then his phone rang.

He answered without breaking eye contact. "Blackwood."

A pause. His jaw tightened. "I’ll be there in twenty."

He hung up and exhaled sharply. "We have a problem."

Lillian’s fingers tightened around her cup. "What kind of problem?"

Sebastian’s gaze darkened. "Donovan’s making his move."

Her stomach dropped.

Evelyn must have told him.

Sebastian stepped closer, his voice low. "Pack your things. You’re coming with me."

Lillian blinked. "Where?"

His lips curved into a dangerous smile.

"To war."

The evening air was crisp as Lillian stepped onto the balcony of Sebastian Blackwood’s mansion, her fingers gripping the railing tightly. The moon hung low in the sky, casting silvery light over the sprawling estate. She had come here seeking solitude, but her thoughts were anything but peaceful.

Behind her, the door creaked open. She didn’t need to turn around to know who it was—Sebastian’s presence was unmistakable, his scent wrapping around her like a familiar embrace.

“You’ve been avoiding me,” he said, his voice deep and measured.

Lillian exhaled slowly. “I’ve been busy.”

“Too busy to even look at me?”

She turned then, meeting his piercing gaze. The intensity in his eyes made her pulse quicken. “What do you want from me, Sebastian?”

He took a step closer, closing the distance between them. “The truth.”

Her breath hitched. “About what?”

“About us.”

Lillian’s heart pounded. She had spent weeks convincing herself that whatever was between them was temporary—just a fleeting attraction. But the way he was looking at her now made it impossible to deny.

“There is no ‘us,’” she whispered, though the words tasted like a lie.

Sebastian’s jaw tightened. “Don’t.”

“Don’t what?”

“Don’t pretend you don’t feel this.” His hand brushed against hers, sending a jolt of electricity through her. “I see it in your eyes every time you look at me.”

Lillian swallowed hard. She wanted to pull away, but her body betrayed her, leaning into his touch instead.

“You’re engaged to Victoria,” she reminded him, though the reminder felt hollow.

Sebastian’s expression darkened. “An arrangement, nothing more.”

“That doesn’t change anything.”

“It changes everything.” His voice dropped to a growl. “Because I don’t want her. I want you.”

The confession hung between them, raw and undeniable. Lillian’s mind raced. This was dangerous. If anyone found out—

Before she could respond, the sound of footsteps echoed from inside the house. Sebastian’s grip on her hand tightened briefly before he stepped back, his expression shuttering into its usual unreadable mask.

“We’ll talk later,” he murmured, just as Beatrice’s voice called out from the doorway.

“Lillian? There you are! I’ve been looking everywhere for you.”

Lillian forced a smile, her heart still hammering. “Just needed some air.”

Beatrice glanced between them, her eyes narrowing slightly. “Right. Well, Donovan’s downstairs. He says it’s urgent.”

Lillian’s stomach twisted. Donovan. What could he possibly want now?

Sebastian’s gaze flickered to hers, unspoken words lingering in the air.

This wasn’t over.

Not even close.

"Miss Lillian!" Theodore's voice boomed the moment I stepped into Oliver's bedroom. "This is entirely improper. First, you have no business being in their private quarters, and second, you've damaged Sebastian's property!" The door hung precariously from its hinges, barely clinging on. I spared it a fleeting glance before meeting Theodore's furious gaze. His expression darkened, but I merely shrugged.

"I'll cover the repairs," I said coolly. "Sebastian can deduct it from my salary." He opened his mouth to argue, but I ignored him, turning my attention to Oliver instead. The boy sat hunched on his bed, eyes glued to his tablet as if the world around him had ceased to exist. Dark circles shadowed his eyes, and the strain of staring at the screen for hours was evident.

I strode toward him.

"Oliver," I called, trying to catch his attention. When he didn’t respond, I raised my voice. "Oliver Blackwood!" Still nothing. His face was set in deep concentration, lips moving faintly as he muttered under his breath.

"Stupid level..." he grumbled.

The familiar sound of a player dying repeatedly reached my ears, and my brows knitted together. I knew this game. I’d played it. I’d conquered it.

A smirk tugged at my lips as I snatched the tablet from his hands.

"Hey!" he protested, scrambling to grab it back. I held it just out of reach while my fingers flew across the screen. Within moments, I leveled up his character, equipped him with the necessary gear, and breezed through the mission Oliver had been struggling with. His desperate attempts to reclaim the tablet faded into stunned silence as he watched me effortlessly dismantle every enemy on screen.

"Whoa!" he gasped, eyes wide. "That was insane! How did you do that?"

I shrugged. "I’ve played before."

Then, without hesitation, I deleted all my progress from the save file.

"Why would you do that?!" he cried, horrified.

I arched a brow. "I assumed you’d prefer to beat it yourself. You know, like a real gamer."

His face twisted into a scowl. "I’ve been stuck on that level all day!"

Another shrug. "I could teach you," I offered. "But first—homework. Theodore mentioned you have a mountain of it."

It hit me then—Theodore had slipped out of the room unnoticed. Not that it mattered. His presence wasn’t necessary for what came next.

Oliver glared at me, his little face scrunched in defiance. I merely leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed, refusing to back down.

"That’s my offer," I said, my tone leaving no room for negotiation.

His gaze flickered to the tablet still clutched in my hands.

"You swear you’ll help me?"

I gave a firm nod. "I don’t make promises I can’t keep. Especially when gaming’s involved."

A heavy sigh escaped him before he finally relented. "Fine. Let’s get this homework over with."

I gestured to his backpack slumped in the corner. "Grab that and meet me downstairs in the sunroom." Without waiting for a response, I turned on my heel and strode out.

The sunroom was nothing short of breathtaking—floor-to-ceiling windows framed the sprawling gardens outside, bathing the space in golden afternoon light. Plush couches and delicate side tables gave it the air of a high-end resort lounge.

I settled onto one of the couches, tapping my fingers idly against the armrest. Oliver trudged in moments later, dumping his bag onto the coffee table with a dramatic thud. Papers, textbooks, and a handful of pencils spilled out.

I smirked. "Ready to conquer this mountain of work?"

For the next few hours, we plowed through assignments—math problems, reading comprehension, even a bafflingly advanced science worksheet for a seven-year-old. Then again, werewolf education clearly didn’t mess around.

As dusk painted the sky in hues of violet and gold, one of the maids—Sophia, if I remembered correctly—glided into the room. "Master Oliver," she said softly, "dinner is served in the dining hall whenever you’re ready."

Oliver’s lower lip jutted out as he turned pleading eyes my way. "Will you eat with me?"

The hopefulness in his voice was impossible to ignore.