Chapter 277

The morning sun cast golden rays through the floor-to-ceiling windows of Sebastian Blackwood’s penthouse, painting the marble floors in warm hues. Lillian stretched lazily in the silk sheets, the scent of sandalwood and musk lingering in the air—Sebastian’s scent.

A soft knock interrupted the quiet.

"Miss Lillian?" Sophia Delacroix’s voice carried through the door. "Breakfast is ready. Mr. Blackwood asked me to inform you."

Lillian sat up, running a hand through her tousled hair. "Thank you, Sophia. I’ll be down in a minute."

She slipped out of bed, her bare feet touching the cool marble. The events of last night replayed in her mind—Sebastian’s possessive grip, the way his lips had traced the mark on her neck, the whispered promise that still sent shivers down her spine.

"You’re mine, Lillian. In every way."

A blush crept up her cheeks.

Downstairs, the dining room was bathed in sunlight. Sebastian sat at the head of the table, impeccably dressed in a tailored black suit, his silver eyes flickering with amusement as she entered.

"Sleep well?" His voice was low, teasing.

Lillian shot him a glare, though the effect was ruined by the way her pulse jumped at his smirk. "Like a rock."

Oliver, Sebastian’s seven-year-old son, giggled into his pancakes. "Dad said you were tired because—"

"Oliver," Sebastian cut in smoothly, though his lips twitched. "Eat your breakfast."

Lillian groaned, sinking into her seat. "You’re terrible."

Sebastian leaned in, his breath warm against her ear. "You love it."

Before she could retort, Theodore Whitmore, the butler, cleared his throat. "Mr. Blackwood, your ten o’clock meeting has been moved up. Alpha Harrison is waiting in your office."

Sebastian’s expression darkened. "Tell him I’ll be there shortly."

Lillian frowned. "Trouble?"

"Nothing I can’t handle." He pressed a kiss to her temple before standing. "Stay out of trouble, little wolf."

She rolled her eyes. "No promises."

As Sebastian left, Oliver grinned. "Dad’s so whipped."

Lillian choked on her orange juice.

Meanwhile, across town, Donovan Winslow paced his penthouse, his phone pressed to his ear.

"She’s still with him?" His voice was tight with barely restrained fury.

Evelyn, his new mate, lounged on the couch, filing her nails. "Obviously. You really thought she’d come crawling back after you dumped her?"

Donovan’s grip on the phone tightened. "This isn’t over."

Evelyn smirked. "Oh, it is. You lost, Donovan. Accept it."

His phone buzzed—a message from an unknown number.

"Meet me. We have a deal to discuss."

Donovan’s lips curled.

Maybe it wasn’t over after all.

Back at the Blackwood estate, Beatrice barged into the dining room, her arms full of shopping bags. "Lillian! You have to see what I got!"

Lillian blinked. "Did you rob a boutique?"

Beatrice grinned. "Close. Sebastian’s credit card has no limits."

Lillian groaned. "He’s going to kill you."

"Nah." Beatrice winked. "He’s too busy being obsessed with you."

As if on cue, Lillian’s phone buzzed—a text from Sebastian.

"Tell Beatrice if she maxes out another card, I’m cutting her off."

Lillian burst out laughing.

Beatrice pouted. "What? What did he say?"

Lillian smirked. "Nothing important."

The day was just beginning—and trouble was definitely brewing.

Lillian's POV

Sebastian stood before me, shirtless, wearing nothing but a pair of sweatpants. My breath hitched as my gaze raked over his sculpted torso, his abs glistening under the gym lights—damp with sweat, proof he had been here for a while. A towel draped over his broad shoulders caught the beads of perspiration rolling down his neck. When our eyes met, I saw the flicker of irritation in his stormy gaze, a silent warning simmering beneath the surface.

"What are you doing in here?" His voice was low, dangerous.

I wasn’t afraid of him—nothing he did could ever truly make me fear him—but the sharp edge in his tone stung. It was me who had put that anger there. The realization twisted something inside me.

"I... I was going to work out," I muttered, suddenly unable to hold his stare. The weight of the last few weeks—the loneliness, the ache of rejection—pressed down on me, making me feel smaller than I had in a long time.

What the hell is wrong with me?

His jaw tightened as he studied me, skepticism darkening his expression. His gaze dropped to my gym bag abandoned on the floor, and his lips thinned.

"Why isn’t that in a locker?" he demanded. "It could get stolen."

"Uh..." I glanced toward the women’s locker room. "There weren’t any lockers left."

A scowl twisted his features before he snatched my bag off the floor and stalked toward the men’s locker room.

"W-wait! What are you doing?" I called after him.

"Putting it in my locker," he tossed over his shoulder before disappearing inside.

He wasn’t gone long. I hovered outside, arms crossed, until he returned moments later.

"There. Now it won’t get stolen," he said, his glare sharp enough to cut glass. "You shouldn’t have come here."

"I just wanted to get a workout in," I shot back, gesturing to the equipment.

For a heartbeat, he just stared at me, his expression unreadable. Then, with a barely perceptible exhale, he stepped aside, letting me pass.

I kept my head down as I maneuvered through the gym, ignoring the curious glances from a few familiar gammas. The second floor was quieter, lined with treadmills and stationary bikes. I chose one near the railing, giving me a clear view of the gym below. If they could see me, then good—I wanted them to. I needed them to remember I wasn’t someone to underestimate.

I started with a light jog, my muscles warming up quickly.

I didn’t notice the person stepping onto the treadmill beside me—not until the machine beeped to life and they launched into a full sprint. My head snapped to the side, and my stomach flipped when I saw Sebastian there, already pushing himself to a punishing pace.

Had he followed me?

Annoyance flared in my chest. His dark eyes flicked to mine, challenging, daring me to keep up.

Oh, hell no.

I cranked up my speed, matching his effortlessly before nudging it higher, forcing myself into a faster sprint. If he wanted a competition, I’d give him one.

A smirk curled his lips as we ran side by side. Then, another beep—his treadmill whirred louder as he surged ahead.

My scowl deepened. Not a chance.

I slammed my finger against the speed button, pushing myself harder.

This wasn’t just about running anymore.

It was about proving I wouldn’t back down.