Chapter 34

The morning sun cast golden streaks across the Blackwood estate as Lillian stirred beneath silk sheets. Her fingers traced the empty space beside her where Sebastian should have been. The lingering scent of sandalwood and musk told her he hadn't left long ago.

Downstairs, the mansion buzzed with unusual activity. Lillian pulled on a cashmere robe, her bare feet silent against the marble staircase. The scent of freshly brewed espresso and buttery croissants led her to the dining room where Oliver sat swinging his legs, chocolate smeared across his cherubic face.

"Morning, sunshine," Lillian kissed the top of his head, stealing a bite of his pain au chocolat.

Oliver giggled, "Papa said you'd sleep till noon!"

"Did he now?" Lillian arched an eyebrow just as the study door burst open. Sebastian emerged with Marcus Grayson, both wearing identical grim expressions that vanished when they noticed her.

"Darling." Sebastian's voice dropped an octave as he crossed the room in three strides. His lips brushed her temple while his hand settled possessively at the small of her back. "We have guests arriving today."

Marcus cleared his throat. "The Voss delegation from the northern territories. Alpha Maximilian insists on discussing the border disputes personally."

Lillian's spine stiffened. She'd heard stories about the ruthless Lycan leader who'd challenged three Alphas to death matches last winter. "When do they arrive?"

Sebastian's thumb traced circles on her hipbone. "Before luncheon. Which reminds me—" He turned to Theodore Whitmore who materialized with a silver tray. "Have Genevieve prepare the emerald gown for Lillian. And notify the kitchen about the—"

A crash interrupted him as Oliver knocked over his orange juice. The boy's eyes widened in horror as the liquid spread across the antique Persian rug.

"Oliver Sebastian Blackwood," Sebastian growled.

Lillian stepped between them, grabbing a napkin. "It's just juice, love." She dabbed at the mess, catching Oliver's trembling lower lip between her teeth. "Though someone might need to practice his table manners before our important guests arrive."

Oliver threw his arms around her neck. "I'll be extra good! Promise!"

Sebastian's phone buzzed. He glanced at the screen and his jaw tightened. "Victoria's early. She's bringing Donovan."

The name hung between them like a guillotine blade. Lillian's fingers froze on the damp napkin. After six months of silence, her ex-fated mate was about to walk through those doors—with Sebastian's daughter no less.

Beatrice chose that moment to barrel into the dining room, her phone aloft. "Lil! You'll never believe who just—" She skidded to a halt, taking in the tense atmosphere. "Oh. You already know."

Lillian exhaled slowly, rising to her feet. The game board had just been upended, and every piece was in motion. Somewhere beyond the estate walls, destiny sharpened its claws.

And she would be ready.

The morning sun filtered through the sheer curtains of Lillian's bedroom, casting a golden glow over the room. She stretched lazily, her muscles still sore from yesterday's intense combat training. The scent of freshly brewed coffee wafted through the air, signaling that Giselle, the head maid, was already up and preparing breakfast.

Lillian's phone buzzed on the nightstand. A message from Beatrice lit up the screen: "Meet me at the café in 20. Big news!"

Curiosity piqued, Lillian dressed quickly, opting for a simple yet stylish outfit—a fitted blouse and high-waisted jeans. She slipped on her favorite ankle boots and grabbed her leather jacket before heading downstairs.

The mansion was unusually quiet, save for the distant clatter of pots and pans in the kitchen. Lucien, the flirtatious head chef, winked at her as she passed by. "Morning, gorgeous. Coffee?"

She smirked. "Not today, Lucien. I’m in a hurry."

Outside, the crisp autumn air nipped at her cheeks as she made her way to the campus café. Beatrice was already there, perched on a stool near the window, her fingers drumming impatiently on the table.

"You’re late," Beatrice teased as Lillian slid into the seat opposite her.

"By two minutes," Lillian countered, rolling her eyes. "So, what’s this big news?"

Beatrice leaned in, her eyes sparkling with excitement. "You’ll never guess who’s back in town."

Lillian raised an eyebrow. "Who?"

"Sebastian Blackwood."

The name sent a jolt through Lillian. Sebastian—Lycan chairman, her fated mate, and the man whose presence always left her heart racing. She hadn’t seen him since he left for his business trip three weeks ago.

"Why didn’t he tell me?" Lillian muttered, more to herself than to Beatrice.

Beatrice shrugged. "Maybe he wanted to surprise you."

Before Lillian could respond, her phone buzzed again. This time, it was a message from Sebastian himself: "Meet me at the pack house. Now."

Her pulse quickened. There was an urgency in his tone that she hadn’t heard before.

Beatrice grinned. "Looks like you’re about to find out."

Lillian stood abruptly, her chair scraping against the floor. "I’ll catch up with you later."

As she hurried toward the pack house, her mind raced with possibilities. What could Sebastian want? Why the sudden summons?

The pack house loomed ahead, its grand architecture a testament to the Blackwood family’s power. The moment she stepped inside, the scent of sandalwood and something distinctly Sebastian enveloped her.

He stood at the far end of the hall, his broad shoulders tense, his piercing gaze locked onto her. "Lillian," he said, his voice low and commanding.

She swallowed hard. "Sebastian. What’s going on?"

His jaw tightened. "We have a problem."

And just like that, the calm of the morning shattered.

"Does she truly deserve the scholarship?"

"Her silence says it all!"

"Why isn't she saying anything to defend herself?"

My head lifted slightly as I passed Beatrice. Her eyes were wide, brimming with concern. But when our gazes locked, she gave me a small, reassuring smile—one that made my shoulders feel just a fraction lighter. At least I wasn’t alone in this.

We walked in tense silence toward the administration building. The dean’s office was on the top floor, forcing us to climb the stairs—each step heavier than the last.

"Take a seat, ladies," the dean said, settling into his leather chair.

I sat beside Cassandra, who immediately pulled out her phone, lips curling into a smirk. My stomach twisted into a tight knot. Whatever she was planning, I knew it wouldn’t be good. My pulse hammered against my ribs, loud enough that I wondered if the others could hear it.

Then—a knock at the door.

"Enter," the dean called, leaning back.

Professor Sinclair stepped inside. My defense training instructor. A man I respected.

For some reason, seeing him made me exhale in quiet relief. A familiar face in this mess was more comforting than I expected.

"Professor Sinclair," the dean greeted, raising a brow. "What brings you here?"

"I came to offer my support," he said, leaving the door slightly ajar as he entered. "I consider myself a mentor to these young women. If you’ll allow it, I’d like to be present for this discussion."

The dean nodded. "Of course." He gestured to an empty seat.

Professor Sinclair moved toward it—but his eyes never met mine.

The dean turned his attention to Cassandra. "You claimed to have proof of her dishonesty?"

Cassandra straightened, swiping through her phone with a triumphant gleam in her eyes.

"See for yourself," she sneered. "Lillian doesn’t need this scholarship. She’s loaded. Look—she got into a luxury car last night. Only the wealthy ride in something like this. The scholarship should go to someone who actually needs it. Is her family even struggling? Or was this all just a scheme to play the victim?"

She shoved her phone forward, displaying a photo of me stepping into Sebastian’s car.

My jaw clenched. I had felt eyes on me last night. But I’d ignored it.

Now, that mistake was coming back to bite me.

The dean studied the photo, brow furrowed. Then his gaze flicked to me, lips pressing into a thin line.

"Miss Lillian," he said slowly. "Where, exactly, do you work?"

The weight of the contract I'd signed for Sebastian Blackwood pressed heavily on my shoulders. I couldn't reveal where I worked—or worse, who I worked for. My throat tightened as I scrambled for an explanation, but nothing came.

Headmaster Wellington's sharp gaze bore into me, suspicion darkening his expression. Just as he opened his mouth to demand answers, Professor Sinclair cleared his throat, drawing all attention to him.

"It's become painfully obvious," he said, crossing his arms, "that we truly don't know who Lillian Montague is."

My stomach dropped. What was he doing?

His lips curled into a smirk as he continued, "If she's willing to lie about something like this, what else is she hiding? Her unnatural proficiency in every subject has always struck me as suspicious. I wouldn't be surprised if she's paying someone to do her work for her." He turned to the headmaster. "Sir, I strongly suggest we investigate this further. A student with such blatant dishonesty has no place in this institution."

The air in the room thickened, suffocating me. My fingers curled into fists at my sides, nails biting into my palms. This wasn't just about my job anymore—it was about my entire future.

And Professor Sinclair had just lit the fuse.