Chapter 55

The evening air was thick with tension as Lillian stood frozen in the dimly lit hallway of the Blackwood estate. Her heart hammered against her ribs, the sound deafening in the silence.

Sebastian's towering frame loomed before her, his golden eyes burning with an intensity that sent shivers down her spine. The scent of his cologne—dark cedar and something distinctly him—wrapped around her like an intoxicating spell.

"You shouldn't be here," he murmured, his voice rough.

Lillian swallowed hard. "I—I was just leaving."

A beat passed. Then another.

Before she could react, Sebastian closed the distance between them in one swift motion. His fingers tangled in her hair, tilting her head back as his lips crashed against hers.

The kiss was fire and desperation, a collision of pent-up longing and unspoken words. Lillian's hands fisted in his shirt, her body arching instinctively toward his.

Then—

A sharp gasp echoed from the doorway.

They broke apart, breathless, to find Evelyn standing there, her face twisted in fury.

"You," she hissed, venom dripping from the word.

Lillian's stomach dropped.

Sebastian stepped in front of her, shielding her from Evelyn's glare. "Leave, Evelyn."

Evelyn's lips curled into a sneer. "Oh, I will. But this isn't over."

As she stormed off, Lillian's pulse raced.

One stolen kiss.

And everything had just changed.

"I've known you long enough, Lillian. You can't lie to me."

"What do you want me to say, Donovan? That I'm fine? That my mother barely eats and cries herself to sleep every night? Isn’t this exactly what you wanted? For us to suffer? So why pretend to care now when we both know you don’t!"

"Lillian!" My mother gasped from the doorway, her eyes wide with shock. "How dare you speak to him like that!"

"Mom—"

"He will be our Alpha one day, and he deserves respect," she scolded, her voice trembling.

"It's alright, Mrs. Dumont," Donovan said smoothly. "Why don’t you rest on the couch? I’ll make dinner for you."

My mother’s face softened—the first genuine smile I’d seen from her in weeks. Donovan always had that effect on her.

"How kind of you, Donovan," she murmured sweetly. "Thank you." She shot me a warning glance before leaving the kitchen.

I whirled around to face him, my arms crossed.

"What game are you playing?" I demanded, my voice flat.

"Believe it or not, I actually care about your mother. It’s painful seeing her like this. And you—you look exhausted. Go sit with her. I’ll cook, and then we’ll talk."

I studied him, searching for any hint of deception, but my mind was too drained to decipher his motives. With a sigh, I walked out, not bothering to tell him I’d already eaten. The last thing I needed was his interrogation.

My mother was curled up on the sofa, clutching a photo of my father, her cheeks wet with tears. I sat beside her, startling her.

"Why won’t you just do what he asks?" she whispered, catching me off guard. "We could have your father back."

I stared at her in disbelief. If only she knew what he truly wanted from me.

"We don’t need his help, Mom," I repeated for what felt like the hundredth time. "I’ve got this."

"How?" Her voice cracked. "That tutoring job barely covers rent, let alone your father’s debts. We need him, Lillian."

I took her hands in mine, squeezing gently. "He’ll come home," I promised. "I swear it."

Before long, the rich aroma of garlic and herbs filled the air. Pasta? Had Donovan actually cooked?

He didn't have to go through all this trouble. All I wanted was for my mother to have something in her stomach. As for me? I wasn’t hungry—Sebastian had already stuffed me full at his place.

Moments later, Donovan strode into the living room balancing two plates. He passed one to me, which I set aside on the coffee table, then handed the other to my mother. My suspicions were confirmed the second I caught sight of the rich, aromatic meat sauce glistening over perfectly al dente pasta.

"You really didn’t have to do all this," I said, gesturing at the meal. "Store-bought sauce would’ve been fine."

He scoffed, rolling his eyes. "I wouldn’t serve that garbage to a stray mutt."

My mother hesitated, her fingers hovering over the fork. "I’m not sure I can eat right now," she admitted softly, her gaze lingering on the plate like it was a distant memory rather than food.

Donovan lowered himself onto the armchair across from her, his voice gentle but insistent. "Please try," he murmured. "It would mean everything to me if you took just one bite."