Chapter 47

The crisp morning air carried the scent of pine and dew as Lillian stepped out onto the balcony of Sebastian Blackwood’s sprawling estate. The sunrise painted the sky in hues of gold and pink, casting a warm glow over the manicured gardens below. She wrapped her arms around herself, the silk robe fluttering slightly in the breeze.

Last night had been… unexpected.

Her fingers traced the faint mark on her neck—Sebastian’s claiming bite. The memory sent a shiver down her spine. The way his hands had gripped her waist, the possessive growl rumbling in his chest as he sealed their bond. It should have terrified her. Instead, it ignited something primal inside her, something she hadn’t known existed.

A knock at the door pulled her from her thoughts.

"Come in," she called, turning just as Beatrice pushed the door open, balancing a tray of coffee and pastries.

"Morning, sunshine," Beatrice chirped, setting the tray on the bedside table. "You look like you didn’t sleep a wink."

Lillian scoffed, rubbing her temples. "That obvious?"

"Girl, you’ve got that look. The ‘I just got claimed by a Lycan chairman and my life is officially a mess’ look."

Lillian groaned, sinking into the plush armchair by the window. "It’s not just that. It’s… everything. Donovan’s still out there. Evelyn’s probably plotting my demise. And now I’m—" She hesitated, her fingers brushing the mark again.

"Officially off the market?" Beatrice smirked.

"More like officially tangled in pack politics."

Beatrice handed her a steaming cup of coffee. "Well, at least Sebastian’s loaded. Silver linings, right?"

Lillian rolled her eyes but took the coffee gratefully. The rich aroma soothed her nerves, if only slightly.

A sharp knock echoed through the room before the door swung open without invitation.

Sebastian stood in the doorway, his broad frame filling the space effortlessly. His dark eyes locked onto Lillian, intense and unreadable.

"Beatrice," he said, his voice low. "Leave us."

Beatrice shot Lillian a knowing look before slipping out, closing the door behind her with a soft click.

Silence stretched between them, thick and charged.

Sebastian stepped forward, his gaze never leaving hers. "We need to talk."

Lillian swallowed hard. "About?"

"About the fact that you’re mine now." His voice was a growl, sending a thrill down her spine. "And what that means for both of us."

She lifted her chin, meeting his stare head-on. "I don’t belong to anyone."

A slow, dangerous smile curved his lips. "Oh, little wolf. You already do."

The air between them crackled with tension, a silent battle of wills.

And Lillian knew—this was only the beginning.

Victoria was right, and it annoyed me to admit it.

After several minutes of rummaging through her closet, she emerged with a delicate blouse paired with a matching skirt. My nose wrinkled at the sight of the skirt, and I shot her a skeptical look, gesturing to my perfectly serviceable pants.

"My pants are fine," I insisted.

She shook her head, undeterred. "This blouse demands the skirt. They were meant to be worn together—trust me, I have an eye for fashion."

I exhaled sharply, resisting the urge to roll my eyes. "Don’t you have one shirt that doesn’t come with a dress code?"

Victoria pouted, her bottom lip jutting out dramatically. "Just try it, Lillian. If you hate it, you can change. But I know you’ll look stunning."

"I’m literally just going home," I reminded her. "No one cares if I look stunning."

She waved a dismissive hand. "Details. Please?"

I groaned, relenting. "Fine."

Her face lit up like I’d just handed her the moon. Clapping her hands together, she thrust the outfit at me with a triumphant grin.

I had to admit—the set was cute. And that irritated me even more.

"I’ll give you some privacy," she chirped, already backing toward the door. "Be back in five!"

The door clicked shut, leaving me standing in the middle of her bedroom, surrounded by the suffocating scent of Donovan. If I closed my eyes, I could almost feel him here, and the thought made my stomach twist.

Victoria’s room was a shrine to her perfect life—prom queen tiara on the dresser (her date conspicuously cut out of the photos), cheerleading trophies lining the shelves, pop star posters plastering the walls. The pink rug, the pink bedspread, the pink everything—it was like stepping into a teenage fantasy.

And knowing Donovan had spent countless nights here made bile rise in my throat.

I stripped off my ruined shirt and tossed it into the trash—no salvaging that. My pants followed, folded neatly and placed on the edge of her bed before I examined the outfit she’d forced on me.

The blouse was pretty—if you ignored the plunging neckline that would leave my cleavage on full display. My current bra wouldn’t work with it, but there was no way I was borrowing one of Victoria’s.

With a huff, I yanked off my bra and tossed it aside, my breasts finally free. I caught my reflection in the full-length mirror across the room—curves, toned abs from years of training, skin still flushed from the fight.

I scowled.

This was not happening.

But Victoria’s hopeful smile flashed in my mind, and I groaned.

Fine.

I’d humor her.

But only this once.