Chapter 297

The morning sun cast golden rays through the floor-to-ceiling windows of Sebastian Blackwood’s penthouse, painting the room in warm hues. Lillian stretched beneath the silk sheets, her body still humming with the lingering pleasure of last night. The scent of Sebastian—dark, intoxicating, and undeniably possessive—clung to her skin, a reminder of the way he had claimed her over and over until dawn.

She turned her head, expecting to find him beside her, but the space was empty. Only the indentation on the pillow and the faint warmth of his body remained.

A note rested on the nightstand, written in his bold, elegant script:

"Emergency meeting. Don’t leave the penthouse. I’ll be back soon."

Lillian sighed, running her fingers through her tousled hair. The man was insufferable—always giving orders, always expecting obedience. And yet, the possessive command sent a thrill down her spine.

She reached for her phone, only to find a dozen missed calls and frantic messages from Beatrice.

"Lillian, where the hell are you?! Donovan is losing his mind—he’s convinced Sebastian kidnapped you!"

Lillian groaned. Of course he was. Donovan had never been able to accept that she had chosen Sebastian over him.

Before she could reply, the penthouse door swung open.

Sebastian strode in, his tailored suit immaculate, his expression unreadable. But the moment his eyes landed on her, something dark and possessive flickered in his gaze.

"You're awake," he murmured, his voice rough.

Lillian arched a brow. "No thanks to you. You wore me out."

A smirk tugged at his lips as he approached the bed. "Good." He leaned down, bracing his hands on either side of her, caging her in. "Because I’m not done with you yet."

Her breath hitched.

Then his phone rang.

Sebastian cursed under his breath, pulling back to glance at the screen. His jaw tightened.

Lillian didn’t need to ask who it was.

Donovan.

Again.

Sebastian’s grip on the phone turned white-knuckled. "This ends today," he growled before answering.

Lillian barely had time to process his words before he turned and stormed out of the room, leaving her with a sinking feeling in her stomach.

Something was about to go very, very wrong.

My throat tightened as the wolf prowled closer, her golden eyes locked onto me.

Just as her claws slashed toward the branch I clung to, I let go. The sudden release sent the limb snapping upward—straight into her snout with a sickening crack. The impact sent her tumbling backward, crashing through the foliage below.

The recoil launched me into the air like a shot from a cannon. For one surreal moment, I soared higher than the surveillance drones circling above, weightless and exposed. No wings. No safety net. Just the merciless pull of gravity waiting to claim me.

From this dizzying height, the arena sprawled beneath me—a chaotic sea of snarling wolves, their howls rising in a frenzied chorus. The crowd’s gasps were audible even from here, fingers pointing, mouths gaping. Beatrice’s scream pierced through the noise when she recognized me mid-flight.

I couldn’t bring myself to look for Sebastian. The thought of seeing his face—whether etched with fury or terror—was worse than the impending crash.

Then, the ground rushed up. Fast. Too fast.

I twisted midair, angling my body to land inside the boundary lines. But as the wind roared in my ears, something inside me woke.

Power surged through my veins, molten and wild. Fur erupted across my skin, my bones snapping and reshaping with brutal efficiency. The pain was sharp, familiar—like stretching a muscle long unused. My wolf’s voice, silent for so long, howled in triumph inside my skull.

Clothes shredded. The world blurred.

Then—impact.

I hit the dirt on all fours, the force reverberating through my paws. Silence fell like a guillotine.

I was smaller than the others—a runt among giants. But my wolf? She didn’t care. Her confidence bled into me, sharpening my instincts. I knew her now, more than ever.

The wolves recovered quickly. Snarls erupted. They lunged.

What followed wasn’t a fight—it was a dance.

I darted between them, a silver blur. Jaws snapped at empty air. Claws swiped at shadows. One by one, I took them down—disabling, not killing. When my wolf’s bloodlust flared too hot, I reeled her back.

Some refused to yield. Pride made them stupid. They paid for it in shattered limbs and whimpers.

An hour later, the buzzer screeched, freezing the battlefield.

"Round two concludes!" the announcer boomed. "Group B, shift back and report for debrief."

Most obeyed instantly. Others—like Tabitha—struggled, their wolves still dominant. Medics swarmed the worst injured, hauling them off on stretchers.

I stayed in fur. Nudity might be trivial for shifters, but I wasn’t stripping in front of an audience.

Then, through the chaos, I felt him.

Sebastian.

His gaze locked onto mine from the sidelines, unreadable. The world narrowed to that single point of contact—

And my wolf reacted.