Chapter 67

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 lingered in her mind. The scent of his betrayal still clung to her senses, bitter and suffocating.

She rolled out of bed, her bare feet meeting the cold hardwood floor. The silence of the mansion was deafening—Sebastian had left early for a meeting, and Oliver was already at school. Only the distant hum of the staff moving about downstairs broke the stillness.

Lillian dressed quickly, opting for a simple blouse and jeans. She needed air—needed to escape the suffocating weight of her thoughts. The garden seemed like the perfect refuge.

As she stepped outside, the crisp morning breeze carried the scent of blooming roses. The vibrant colors should have lifted her spirits, but all she could think about was Evelyn’s smug smile, the way she had clung to Donovan at the pack gathering.

“Pathetic,” Lillian muttered to herself, kicking a pebble across the path.

“Talking to yourself now?”

She spun around to find Beatrice leaning against a nearby tree, arms crossed, a teasing smirk on her lips.

“Don’t you have classes?” Lillian deflected, not in the mood for her best friend’s usual sarcasm.

“Skipping,” Beatrice shrugged. “Figured you could use the company.”

Lillian sighed, but a small smile tugged at her lips. Beatrice always knew when she needed her.

They walked in comfortable silence for a while before Beatrice finally spoke. “You know, Donovan’s not worth it.”

Lillian clenched her fists. “It’s not just about him. It’s the principle. He humiliated me in front of the entire pack.”

“And yet, here you are, still letting him live rent-free in your head.” Beatrice nudged her shoulder. “Sebastian’s ten times the man Donovan could ever be.”

Lillian’s cheeks warmed at the mention of Sebastian. “It’s complicated.”

“No, it’s not,” Beatrice scoffed. “You’re just scared.”

Before Lillian could retort, her phone buzzed. A message from Victoria flashed on the screen:

”We need to talk. Meet me at the café in an hour.”

Lillian’s stomach twisted. Victoria had been distant ever since the engagement was called off. What could she possibly want now?

Beatrice raised an eyebrow. “Trouble?”

“Always,” Lillian muttered, pocketing her phone.

As they turned back toward the mansion, a shadow moved in the corner of her vision. Lillian froze, her wolf senses prickling.

Someone was watching them.

She glanced around, but the garden was empty. Still, the feeling of unseen eyes lingered, sending a chill down her spine.

Beatrice frowned. “What’s wrong?”

Lillian shook her head, forcing a smile. “Nothing. Just… thinking.”

But she knew better.

Something—or someone—was coming.

And it wasn’t going to be good.

"A habit? Seriously?" I called after Sebastian's retreating figure, my voice laced with disbelief. "Then perhaps you shouldn't insist on dragging me to upscale restaurants with your entire family. It's not like I had much say in my wardrobe choices."

The Lycan chairman didn't dignify my remark with a response, simply sliding into the black leather backseat of his luxury sedan and slamming the door with unnecessary force. I huffed and stomped toward my front door, rummaging through my bag for my keys with slightly trembling fingers.

As the lock clicked open, I hesitated before pushing the door ajar, peering into the darkened interior of my modest home. A weary sigh escaped my lips as I glanced back—the car remained stationary at the curb, its engine purring quietly. Sebastian always waited until I was safely inside before departing. This small courtesy made my traitorous heart flutter, suggesting perhaps the infuriating man did possess some shred of concern for my wellbeing.

The moment my front door closed behind me, the vehicle's tires crunched against the pavement as it pulled away. Only then did I release the breath I hadn't realized I'd been holding. My entire body trembled as I clutched his expensive overcoat tighter around my shoulders, inhaling deeply.

The rich, masculine scent—a blend of sandalwood and something uniquely Sebastian—wrapped around me like an embrace.

The Next Day

Oliver bounced excitedly beside me as we stepped into the training yard. "What's today's lesson?" he asked, practically vibrating with energy. We'd just finished his mathematics assignment, and I'd promised him some outdoor combat practice as a reward.

"I thought we might focus on defensive maneuvers," I suggested, stretching my arms overhead. "Every young Lycan should know how to protect themselves. Rogues could strike when least expected."

"Our warriors are the finest in the territory!" Oliver declared with all the confidence of his lineage, chest puffed out proudly. "No rogue would dare cross our borders."

I ruffled his hair affectionately. "Even the most vigilant guards can't be everywhere at once, Master Oliver. Better safe than sorry, don't you think?"

He gave me that signature Blackwood smirk but didn't argue further.

For the next hour, I demonstrated several advanced blocking techniques I'd recently mastered in my own training sessions. The boy mirrored each movement with startling precision—his natural athleticism and prior training evident in every fluid motion.

"Impressive," I admitted after he successfully parried my tenth consecutive strike. "You're quite the prodigy."

"Father drilled defense into me from the time I could walk," Oliver explained with a nonchalant shrug that reminded me painfully of Sebastian. "He says a true Alpha must always be prepared for the unexpected."

"A wise philosophy," I agreed, moving toward the ice-filled cooler I'd prepared. I handed Oliver a chilled water bottle before grabbing one for myself.

The boy's expression turned thoughtful as he twisted the cap. "He is wise. When he's actually home, I mean." The unspoken longing in his voice tugged at my heartstrings.

I crouched to meet his eye level. "Do you wish he could be around more often?"

Oliver focused intently on peeling the label from his water bottle, his small fingers working methodically. "It'd be nice," he murmured after a long pause. "But I understand... he has important responsibilities."

I reached out and placed my hand on his shoulder, giving it a gentle, reassuring squeeze.

"I'm sorry, Oliver," I said softly, my voice filled with sincerity.

His gaze remained fixed on the water bottle in his hands, his fingers fidgeting with the cap. Something was clearly troubling him, and I couldn’t help but wonder if it was still about his father—or if there was more weighing on his young heart.

"Is there something else bothering you?" I asked gently.

A faint blush crept up his cheeks as he hesitated, looking almost embarrassed.

"Kind of," he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper. "I... might have gotten into some trouble at school today. They want to have a parent-teacher conference."

My brows lifted slightly. "Does Sebastian know?"

Oliver shook his head quickly, his eyes darting up to meet mine.

"If he finds out, he’ll be furious," he whispered hoarsely. "I can’t tell him."

I sighed, tilting my head. "But if you don’t tell him, what are you going to do? The teachers will expect a parent there."

He swallowed hard, then took a deep breath, as if gathering the courage to ask the question burning in his mind.

"I was wondering... if maybe you could pretend to be my mom for the conference?"

I blinked, taken aback. "Oliver, I’m not your mother," I reminded him gently.

"I know!" he said quickly, his voice pleading. "But just for the conference? Please? You could pretend!"

I shook my head, exhaling. "Your father would have both our heads if he found out about this. I can’t risk losing my job."

"You won’t get fired, Lillian," Oliver insisted, his eyes wide with desperation. "You’re the first tutor I’ve actually liked. He wouldn’t risk losing you." He swallowed again, his voice dropping to a whisper. "Please. He doesn’t have to know if we don’t tell him. But if he finds out I got in trouble... he’ll disown me."

A small smile tugged at my lips. "He would never do that, Oliver," I assured him.

But the panic in his eyes was unmistakable. "I can’t lose him..." His voice cracked, and my chest tightened at the raw fear in his words. Where was this coming from?

"Please," he begged, his fingers clutching at my sleeve. "Help me."

Staring into his pleading, desperate eyes, my resolve crumbled. My heart ached for him—this young boy who carried so much weight on his small shoulders.

Finally, I sighed and nodded. "Alright, Oliver. I’ll help you. I’ll pretend to be your mother."