Chapter 41

The morning sun filtered through the curtains, casting golden streaks across the bedroom. Lillian stretched lazily, her muscles still sore from yesterday’s training session. The scent of freshly brewed coffee drifted in from the hallway, making her stomach growl.

She had barely stepped out of bed when a sharp knock echoed at her door.

"Lillian? Are you awake?" Beatrice’s voice was muffled but urgent.

Lillian frowned, wrapping a robe around herself before opening the door. Beatrice stood there, her usually cheerful face tight with worry.

"What’s wrong?" Lillian asked, instantly alert.

Beatrice bit her lip. "It’s Donovan. He’s here—at the pack house."

A cold wave washed over Lillian. "What?"

Beatrice nodded. "Sebastian’s dealing with him now, but… he’s demanding to see you."

Lillian’s pulse spiked. After everything—the rejection, the betrayal—Donovan had the audacity to show up here?

She clenched her fists. "Where is he?"

"Main hall," Beatrice said. "But Lillian, be careful. He’s not alone."

Lillian didn’t wait for further explanation. She stormed down the grand staircase, her bare feet slapping against the marble. The moment she reached the bottom, the tension in the air was palpable.

Sebastian stood tall, his broad shoulders rigid, his expression unreadable. Across from him, Donovan lounged in a chair, his smirk infuriatingly familiar. Beside him, Evelyn clung to his arm, her eyes flickering with something between smugness and unease.

And then—there was someone else.

A woman, elegant and poised, stood slightly apart from them. Her dark hair was swept into an intricate updo, her crimson lips curved in a knowing smile.

Lillian froze.

"Ah, there she is," Donovan drawled, his gaze locking onto her. "Miss me, sweetheart?"

Sebastian’s growl reverberated through the room. "You have ten seconds to state your business before I throw you out."

Donovan chuckled, unfazed. "No need for hostility. I just came to deliver a message." He gestured to the unfamiliar woman. "This is Isabella Fontaine. She’s here on behalf of the Council."

Lillian’s breath hitched. The Council?

Isabella stepped forward, her heels clicking softly. "Lillian," she said smoothly. "We’ve heard quite a bit about you."

Lillian swallowed hard. "What do you want?"

Isabella’s smile widened. "Oh, nothing too dramatic. Just your presence at the next full moon gathering." She tilted her head. "Consider it… an invitation."

Sebastian’s eyes darkened. "She’s not going anywhere with you."

Isabella sighed, as if dealing with a stubborn child. "I’m afraid it’s not a request, Alpha Blackwood. It’s a summons."

Silence stretched between them, thick and suffocating.

Then Donovan smirked. "Looks like you don’t have a choice, Lillian."

Lillian’s nails dug into her palms.

This wasn’t just a visit.

This was a trap.

"He put you to bed?" Beatrice asked, amusement lacing her voice.

"In the most platonic way possible," I admitted, cheeks burning. "I was still fully dressed, if that helps."

"Ouch," she murmured sympathetically.

"What am I supposed to do, Bea? I made a complete spectacle of myself in front of a Lycan." My fingers twisted in my lap.

"You were drunk, Lillian. Cut yourself some slack. I’m sure Sebastian Blackwood understands," she said, though her tone lacked conviction. "Besides, it’s not like you’re trying to win him over."

I bit the inside of my cheek, suppressing a groan. If only she knew—Sebastian wasn’t just any Lycan. He was my boss, and keeping him happy meant keeping my job.

"I guess," I muttered, the uncertainty in my voice making her sigh.

"No classes today—do you have tutoring?" she asked, steering the conversation.

"Thankfully, no. It’s my day off."

"Perfect! We’re having a girls' day," she declared. "Let’s hit the city. Shopping, dinner—the works."

I rolled my eyes. "I’m broke, remember?"

"Window shopping, then. And my treat for dinner," she bargained. "I need to grab a few things anyway, and I miss you. School doesn’t count as quality time."

"You saw me yesterday," I laughed.

"Not the same," she huffed. "Come on. Say yes."

"Fine," I relented. "Give me an hour to get ready."

"Deal. I’ll pick you up!"

True to her word, Beatrice pulled into the driveway just as I finished slipping into a casual sundress. I snatched my purse and dashed outside, sliding into the passenger seat of her car.

She grinned at me, already shifting gears. "How’s your mom holding up?"

"The same," I admitted as we merged onto the highway. "Ever since my father was taken, she’s just... existing. I think it’s more than grief—it’s like she’s drowning in it."

Beatrice frowned. "He was her true mate, right?"

I nodded, lips pressed tight. "Yeah. I don’t blame her for falling apart. I just wish I knew how to pull her back."

Silence settled between us, heavy but brief.

"Let’s not dwell," Beatrice said finally, forcing cheer into her voice. "Today’s about fun."

By the time we reached the city’s bustling center, she’d already mapped out her favorite boutiques. The weight in my chest lightened—just a little.

"So, what exactly are we shopping for?" I asked as we stepped out of the sleek black car and merged into the bustling city crowd. The air was thick with the scent of expensive perfumes and freshly brewed coffee from nearby cafés.

"My sister's birthday is next month, and she's hosting this extravagant gala in her penthouse," Beatrice explained, adjusting the strap of her designer bag. "I need something showstopping to wear. And, of course, the perfect gift—something that’ll make her eyes light up."

Isabella Fontaine, or "Bella" as the fashion world knew her, was the epitome of luxury. A supermodel with a global following, she owned multiple properties, including a penthouse that overlooked the city’s skyline. Beatrice and Bella had a decent relationship, but I’d always sensed a quiet envy simmering beneath Beatrice’s admiration—Bella had everything handed to her effortlessly.

"You should pick out an outfit too," Beatrice declared, looping her arm through mine as she steered us toward an upscale boutique. "Because you’re coming with me."

I frowned. "I told you, I don’t have money to blow on designer clothes right now."

"This is important to me, Lillian," she said, her voice dropping into a pleading tone.

"And my father’s release from prison is important to me," I countered firmly. "I have to prioritize, and a trendy dress isn’t at the top of my list."

She opened her mouth to argue but snapped it shut when her gaze landed on the woman stepping out of the boutique.

"Lillian, is that really you?" Victoria Blackwood called out, her lips curling into a polished smile as she approached us.

Oh, hell.