Chapter 280

The morning sun cast golden rays through the sheer curtains of Lillian's bedroom, stirring her awake. She stretched lazily, her muscles still sore from yesterday's intense training session with Professor Montclair. The scent of freshly brewed coffee drifted up from the kitchen, signaling that Giselle had already begun her morning duties.

Lillian's phone buzzed on the nightstand. A message from Beatrice lit up the screen: "Emergency brunch. Meet me at The Velvet Bean in 30. Wear something cute."

She groaned, rubbing her eyes. Beatrice's "emergencies" usually involved some new scandal or another disastrous date. Still, Lillian couldn't resist her best friend's dramatics.

Downstairs, the mansion was already alive with activity. Lucien was humming a French tune while flipping pancakes, his usual flirtatious grin in place as he winked at one of the maids. Sebastian sat at the head of the dining table, engrossed in a stack of documents, his sharp features softened only slightly by the presence of Oliver, who was enthusiastically recounting his latest school project.

"Morning," Lillian murmured, pouring herself a cup of coffee.

Sebastian glanced up, his piercing gaze locking onto hers. "Sleep well?"

"Like a log," she lied, ignoring the way her pulse quickened under his scrutiny.

Oliver tugged at her sleeve. "Lillian! You have to see the robot I built! It can walk and everything!"

She ruffled his hair. "After brunch, promise."

Thirty minutes later, Lillian slid into the booth across from Beatrice at The Velvet Bean, their favorite café. Gabrielle, the barista, shot her a knowing smile before bringing over her usual—a caramel macchiato with an extra shot of espresso.

Beatrice leaned forward, eyes gleaming. "Okay, spill. What's going on with you and Sebastian?"

Lillian nearly choked on her coffee. "What? Nothing!"

"Uh-huh. That's why you've been sneaking glances at him like a lovesick puppy?"

Lillian groaned, burying her face in her hands. "It's complicated."

Beatrice smirked. "Isn't it always?"

Before Lillian could retort, her phone buzzed again. This time, it was a message from Donovan: "We need to talk. Alone."

Her stomach twisted. After everything—his betrayal, his engagement to Evelyn—what could he possibly want now?

Beatrice frowned at her expression. "What's wrong?"

Lillian exhaled sharply. "Donovan just texted me."

Beatrice's eyes widened. "Oh hell no. What does that snake want?"

Lillian shook her head. "I don't know, but I have a bad feeling about this."

The café door chimed, and Lillian's blood ran cold as Evelyn walked in, her arm linked possessively with Donovan's. His gaze immediately found Lillian's, dark and unreadable.

Beatrice hissed under her breath. "Speak of the devil."

Donovan approached their table, his voice low. "Lillian. We need to talk. Now."

Lillian clenched her fists under the table. "Whatever you have to say, say it here."

Evelyn smirked, her nails digging into Donovan's arm. "Oh, this should be good."

Donovan ignored her, his eyes never leaving Lillian's. "It's about Sebastian. You don't know what he's capable of."

Lillian's heart pounded. "And you do?"

A shadow crossed Donovan's face. "More than you think."

The air between them crackled with tension. Beatrice grabbed Lillian's hand under the table, a silent show of support.

Lillian lifted her chin. "If you have something to say, say it. Otherwise, leave."

Donovan's jaw tightened. "Fine. But don't say I didn't warn you."

As he turned to leave, Evelyn shot Lillian a venomous glare. "You'll regret this."

The moment they were gone, Beatrice exhaled sharply. "What the hell was that about?"

Lillian's mind raced. What did Donovan know about Sebastian? And why was he so determined to warn her?

She took a shaky sip of her coffee. "I don't know. But I intend to find out."

Beatrice squeezed her hand. "Whatever it is, we'll figure it out together."

Lillian nodded, but unease settled deep in her chest. Something was coming—something dark. And she had a feeling it would change everything.

Sebastian's POV

She was utterly reckless. Every fiber of my being screamed to snatch her up, toss her over my shoulder, and haul her out of there. But I couldn’t—not with so many eyes watching. If word got back to Maximilian, it would complicate everything. Keeping her hidden meant staying under the radar. Yet, how could I focus on my own training when she was out there, worsening her injury with every stubborn step?

I ducked into the locker room, grabbing my gear and Lillian’s backpack, which I’d stashed in my locker earlier. The moment her ridiculous defiance crumbled, I was dragging her straight to the resort’s medical wing.

Exiting the locker room, I scanned the gym until I spotted her near the weights. At least she was favoring her uninjured ankle—small mercies. Maybe she wasn’t completely hopeless.

Then, of course, she proved me wrong.

A competitor—some girl with a smug smirk—started chatting with her. The gym’s noise drowned out their words, but I didn’t need to hear them to know trouble was brewing.

Then it happened.

A dumbbell slipped, plummeting toward the girl’s foot. Lillian moved like lightning, catching it midair before impact. The sharp crack of her ankle giving way was unmistakable. Her face twisted in agony, but she schooled her features instantly, forcing a tight-lipped smile.

Why?

Who was this girl to her?

As Lillian limped away and the competitor wandered off, I intercepted her before she could collapse. Not that she was getting far—her ankle was clearly shattered. She swayed, nearly buckling, until I draped my coat over her shoulders and swept her into my arms.

For a heartbeat, she glared up at me, dark eyes flashing defiance. Then pain won. Her resolve shattered like her bones. A shaky exhale escaped her as she sagged against my chest, forehead creased in torment.

I tightened my hold, storming toward the exit. A few paparazzi lurked near the doors, cameras poised. I snarled at them, shielding Lillian’s face with the coat. Not today.

Thankfully, I knew this resort well—it belonged to an old friend’s family. The medical wing was just around the corner.

“Alpha Blackwood?” The receptionist gasped as I barged in. Her gaze darted to Lillian, and she bolted upright.

“Her ankle. Now,” I gritted out, depositing Lillian onto a gurney. The swelling was grotesque—her skin stretched taut, flushed an angry red. Sweat beaded her pallid face; she was barely conscious, lost in a haze of pain.

“We’ll take care of her, Alpha,” Dr. Whitmore assured, rushing in. The receptionist must’ve alerted him the second we arrived.

Good. Because if anyone failed her now, they’d answer to me.

hands

Dr. Alistair Whitmore was an exceptional physician, and I knew Lillian would receive the best care under his supervision. She was here now, surrounded by medical professionals who would ensure her recovery. I watched as they wheeled her into the emergency room, a flurry of doctors and nurses moving with practiced efficiency around her... She would be fine.

I could leave at any moment now...

I should leave...

Lillian’s POV

When consciousness returned, I found myself in an unfamiliar space. The sharp, sterile scent and the neatly arranged beds told me I was in some kind of infirmary. My gaze wandered the room until it settled on a figure slumped in a chair beside my bed, fast asleep.

“Sebastian?” My voice came out hoarse. I cleared my throat and tried again, louder this time, startling him awake.

His eyes snapped open, instantly locking onto mine. “You’re awake,” he murmured, relief softening his features. “How are you feeling?”

I shifted slightly, testing my body’s response. “Better, I think. What happened?”

His expression darkened. “Just as I feared—you aggravated your ankle injury further. The pain was so severe you lost consciousness when I brought you here. They had to perform surgery to realign the bone.”