Chapter 295

The evening air was thick with tension as Lillian stood at the edge of the grand ballroom, her fingers nervously twisting the delicate fabric of her gown. The opulent chandeliers cast a golden glow over the sea of elegantly dressed guests, their laughter and chatter filling the space. But beneath the veneer of celebration, something darker simmered.

Donovan’s presence loomed like a shadow, his piercing gaze locked onto her from across the room. Beside him, Evelyn clung to his arm, her lips curled into a smug smile. Lillian’s stomach twisted. She had hoped to avoid them tonight, but fate had other plans.

A warm hand settled on the small of her back, sending a shiver down her spine. "You look stunning," Sebastian murmured, his voice low and intimate. His touch was grounding, a stark contrast to the storm of emotions swirling inside her.

She forced a smile. "Thank you."

His dark eyes flicked toward Donovan, narrowing slightly. "Ignore him. He’s not worth your thoughts."

Easier said than done. Every glance in Donovan’s direction was a reminder of the past—of promises broken and trust shattered.

Just then, Beatrice appeared at her side, her usual bubbly demeanor subdued. "You okay?" she whispered, squeezing Lillian’s hand.

Lillian exhaled. "I will be."

The music swelled, signaling the start of the first dance. Sebastian extended his hand. "May I?"

She hesitated only a moment before placing her palm in his. As they moved onto the dance floor, the world seemed to fade away—until a familiar voice cut through the melody.

"Mind if I cut in?"

Donovan stood before them, his smirk dripping with arrogance.

Sebastian’s grip on her waist tightened. "Actually, I do."

The air crackled with hostility. Guests nearby paused, sensing the brewing confrontation.

Lillian’s pulse raced. This wasn’t just about a dance. It was a challenge—one she refused to back down from.

She met Donovan’s gaze head-on. "You lost the right to ask me for anything a long time ago."

His expression darkened, but before he could respond, a sharp gasp echoed through the room.

All heads turned toward the grand entrance, where a figure stood silhouetted against the moonlight.

Victoria.

Her face was pale, her dress torn. And in her trembling hands—a bloodstained letter.

The room fell silent.

Sebastian released Lillian immediately, striding toward his daughter. "What happened?"

Victoria’s voice was barely a whisper, but the words carried like thunder.

"They’ve taken Oliver."

The world tilted. Lillian’s breath caught in her throat.

And just like that, the night’s fragile peace shattered.

"Beatrice, what's going on?" I asked, studying her face carefully.

She hesitated before answering, "Dominic has been helping me take my mind off Lucien... so we've been... involved. It's nothing serious—just a temporary thing while we're here. But it feels nice to be wanted, you know?"

I could sense there was more she wasn't telling me. Beatrice had always been careful with relationships, never the type to jump into intimacy with someone she barely knew. This reckless behavior was completely out of character for her. Something deeper was pushing her toward this.

"Is that really all?" I pressed, arching a brow.

When she stayed silent, I exhaled sharply. I was about to push further when the loudspeaker crackled to life, announcing the start of the second round.

"I have to go," I said, handing her my water bottle. "But Bea, I'm your best friend. If you can't talk to me about what's really going on, then who can you trust? I don’t like seeing you replace Lucien with Dominic. It hurts that you’re keeping things from me. The truth always comes out—so don’t hide it from me."

I brushed past her, our shoulders grazing. She stood frozen, speechless. Maybe silence was better than lies.

Joining the other competitors in the arena, I steadied my breathing. Like the first round, this challenge tested our combat skills and survival instincts. Killing was forbidden, but we could either incapacitate opponents so severely they couldn’t continue—effectively disqualifying them—or persuade them to surrender.

My wolf stirred restlessly inside me, her instincts sharpening. Something had her on high alert. I pressed a hand to my stomach, trying to soothe her with slow, measured breaths.

"We’ve got this," I whispered.

"Talking to yourself now?" Genevieve smirked from beside me, amusement glinting in her eyes.

"My wolf," I admitted. "Just reassuring her."

"You talk to your wolf?" She scoffed, incredulous. "They don’t understand words. They’re just animals. When we shift, we become them—instinct takes over. Hopefully, yours is well-trained."

I stared at her, stunned. She thought our wolves were mere beasts? Uncontrolled, wild creatures? That was absurd. My wolf and I had always been in sync—one mind, one will.

Was Genevieve saying she lost control when she shifted?

My gaze swept across the arena. Other competitors were already stripping down, preparing to shift. I wondered—how many of them saw their wolves as separate, untamed entities?

And how many, like me, knew the truth?

Our gazes locked—Genevieve studying me just as intently as I studied her. Her striking pale green eyes, flecked with sapphire around the pupils, were undeniably mesmerizing. Framed by thick, dark lashes, they burned with an intensity that mirrored the fire in her soul. The hunger to win radiated from her, a palpable force that sent a thrill down my spine.

"Welcome to round two!" The announcer's voice boomed through the stadium, echoing off the high walls.

I tilted my head up, spotting the drones hovering above, their lenses capturing every moment of this globally televised event. Though the announcer remained unseen, his vantage point was clear—somewhere high enough to oversee the entire arena.

"Same rules as before—no killing, or you're out," he continued. "This week is about proving yourselves to the judges and the Lycan elders who'll make the final call. They're evaluating everything—precision, technique, shifting control, adaptability. You'll fight in both forms today. May the best wolf win."

A charged silence settled over the arena as competitors took their positions. Genevieve met my eyes again, offering a sharp nod before she, like the others, began stripping off her clothes.

I didn’t move.

The countdown began, voices rising in unison.

"Three..."

My muscles coiled, ready.

"Two..."

Genevieve smirked, her fingers flexing.

"One."

A collective breath held.

"BEGIN!"