Chapter 39

The morning sun cast golden rays through the curtains, stirring Lillian from her restless sleep. She groaned, rubbing her temples as the remnants of last night’s argument with Donovan echoed in her mind. His accusations, his cold dismissal—it still stung like a fresh wound.

Rolling out of bed, she padded to the window and pushed the curtains aside. The campus below was already bustling with students, their laughter a stark contrast to the storm brewing inside her. A sharp knock at the door made her jump.

"Lillian? You awake?" Beatrice’s voice was muffled through the wood.

Lillian sighed, forcing herself to sound composed. "Yeah, come in."

The door swung open, revealing Beatrice with two steaming cups of coffee. "Figured you could use this after last night."

Lillian accepted the cup gratefully, the warmth seeping into her fingers. "Thanks."

Beatrice plopped onto the bed, eyeing her friend. "So… what’s the plan? You can’t avoid Donovan forever."

"I’m not avoiding him," Lillian muttered, though they both knew it was a lie. "I just need space."

Beatrice arched a brow. "Space? Or a distraction?"

Lillian shot her a look. "What’s that supposed to mean?"

A mischievous grin spread across Beatrice’s face. "Sebastian Blackwood is hosting a charity gala tonight. Rumor has it, half the elite Lycan packs will be there."

Lillian’s grip tightened around her cup. "And?"

"And," Beatrice leaned in, "maybe it’s time you reminded Donovan what he’s missing."

Lillian scoffed, but the idea took root. A night away from campus, surrounded by power and prestige—where Donovan’s words couldn’t reach her.

"Fine," she relented. "But only if you come with me."

Beatrice grinned. "Wouldn’t miss it for the world."

The Blackwood estate was a vision of opulence, its grand ballroom glittering under crystal chandeliers. Lillian smoothed the emerald silk of her gown, nerves fluttering as she stepped inside.

Sebastian stood at the center of the room, commanding attention in a tailored black suit. His gaze locked onto hers the moment she entered, a slow, knowing smile curving his lips.

Beatrice nudged her. "Told you he’d notice."

Lillian ignored the heat creeping up her neck. "This was a bad idea."

Before she could retreat, Sebastian was there, his hand extended. "Dance with me."

It wasn’t a request.

The music swelled as he pulled her close, his grip firm yet gentle. "You look stunning," he murmured, his breath warm against her ear.

Lillian’s pulse raced. "This doesn’t mean anything."

Sebastian chuckled, low and rich. "Keep telling yourself that."

Across the room, Donovan watched, his expression darkening. Beside him, Evelyn clung to his arm, her smile brittle.

Lillian met his gaze defiantly, letting Sebastian spin her deeper into the crowd.

Let him see what he’d lost.

The night blurred into a whirl of music and whispered conversations. By the time Lillian excused herself to the terrace, her head was spinning—whether from the champagne or Sebastian’s proximity, she wasn’t sure.

Cool air brushed her flushed skin as she leaned against the railing, staring at the moonlit gardens below.

"You’re avoiding me now too?"

Sebastian’s voice sent a shiver down her spine. She didn’t turn. "Just needed air."

He stepped beside her, close enough that their arms brushed. "Donovan’s watching."

Lillian stiffened. "I don’t care."

Sebastian tilted his head, studying her. "Liar."

Before she could retort, his fingers grazed her chin, turning her face toward his. "Let me make you forget him."

Her breath hitched.

Then his lips were on hers, fierce and claiming, igniting a fire she couldn’t control.

And for the first time in weeks, Lillian stopped thinking altogether.

I internally cursed as I approached Lillian's front door. Her purse dangled from my shoulder, and I fished inside for her keys. The moment I stepped in, the darkness of the house unsettled me. It was too quiet—eerily so—as if no one lived there at all. But I knew her mother should be home by now.

Finding the staircase took no time, and her room was even easier to locate. The faint scent of lavender and vanilla led me straight to it. Her space was a perfect reflection of who she was. Academic certificates lined the walls, while trophies from track meets crowded her bookshelf. Clothes were strewn across the floor, some draped over her desk chair. A sleek desktop setup sat among stacks of textbooks and notebooks.

A framed photo on her nightstand caught my eye—Lillian, radiant and smiling between her parents. Another showed her with Beatrice, whom I recognized from Blackwood Resort.

I didn’t dare change her clothes—that was a line I wouldn’t cross. Instead, I tucked her into bed, smoothing the covers over her before quietly slipping out.

"You're late," Evelyn remarked the second I walked through my own front door.

"I'm right on time," I countered, glancing at the clock.

"If you're not early, you're late," she chided, arching a brow. "Everyone's already in the kitchen. Dinner's almost ready."

"Hi, Grandma," Victoria chirped, stepping past me into the house.

Evelyn's stern expression melted as she pulled my daughter into a warm embrace. "Oh, Victoria, darling! I thought you'd be too busy tonight. I'm so glad you're here."

"I wanted you to officially meet my fiancé," Victoria said, gesturing for Donovan to step forward.

He obliged, offering a respectful nod. "It's an honor to finally meet you, ma'am."

Evelyn chuckled, cupping his cheek affectionately. "Quite the charmer," she murmured to Victoria with a playful wink.

Victoria blushed, looping her arm through Donovan’s and resting her head against his shoulder.

Then Evelyn’s gaze landed on Oliver, and her smile softened. "Matthew, dear, you're looking rather dashing tonight." She motioned for him to join her.

Oliver hesitated, uncertainty flickering across his face. He rarely came to Evelyn’s house, but I’d insisted he join us tonight. I gave him a reassuring nod, and he followed her into the living room.

I gestured for Victoria and Donovan to do the same. She took his hand, pulling him along, and I exhaled before trailing after them.

The moment I stepped into the kitchen, I immediately wished I could turn around and leave.

"Sebastian! You're here!" Penelope exclaimed, rounding the table to greet me.

Marcus Grayson was already there when I arrived, standing near the fireplace with a glass of wine in hand. He’d been a constant presence at my mother’s gatherings since I was a child—practically family. My jaw tightened as I shot him a sharp glare, and he had the decency to offer an apologetic smile, though it did little to ease my irritation. He should have warned me.

Penelope wasted no time. The moment she saw me, she rushed forward, arms outstretched, her sickly-sweet perfume invading my space before she even touched me. I sidestepped her embrace, my body rigid with barely contained frustration.

“What are you doing here, Penelope?” My voice was low, laced with warning.

“I invited her,” my mother chimed in, her smile bright as she gazed at Penelope like she was some long-lost treasure.

“We discussed this,” I ground out, my fingers curling into fists at my sides. The air around me thickened with my barely restrained anger.

Penelope fluttered her lashes, the picture of innocence. “Your mother and I have always been close, Sebastian. My being here is no different than Marcus.” She crossed her arms, tilting her head. “Besides, I assumed you would have come to your senses by now.”

My mother, ever the peacemaker, gestured toward the dining table. “Let’s all sit down, shall we?”

I didn’t move. My eyes flicked to the table, noting the deliberate placement—the only empty seat was right beside Penelope. A test. A trap.

Marcus stepped closer, his voice dropping to a murmur meant only for my ears. “Isabella’s been gone for years, Alpha. Maybe your mother has a point. It’s time to move forward.”

The words struck like a blade, but I didn’t flinch. Moving forward didn’t mean surrendering to my mother’s schemes—or Penelope’s manipulations.

I exhaled slowly, forcing my temper under control.

This wasn’t over.