Chapter 69

The morning sun cast golden rays through the sheer curtains of Lillian’s bedroom, stirring her awake. She stretched languidly, her muscles still humming from the previous night’s training session with Donovan. The memory of his intense gaze and the way his fingers had lingered on her wrist sent an unexpected shiver down her spine.

No. She shook her head, dispelling the thought. He’s engaged to Victoria. And I have no business thinking about him like that.

But the dreams had been relentless—visions of Donovan’s lips brushing against hers, his voice whispering promises in the dark. It was maddening.

A sharp knock at her door startled her.

"Lillian?" Beatrice’s voice carried through the wood. "You up? We’ve got class in twenty."

"Coming!" Lillian scrambled out of bed, grabbing her towel before darting into the ensuite bathroom. The cold water did little to cool the heat in her cheeks.

By the time she emerged, Beatrice was already dressed, flipping through her notes with a frown. "Professor Sinclair’s quiz is today. You ready?"

Lillian groaned. "Completely forgot."

Beatrice tossed her a sympathetic look. "Well, good luck. You’ll need it."

The walk to campus was brisk, the autumn air crisp against Lillian’s skin. Students milled about, laughter and chatter filling the quad. But as she turned the corner toward the lecture hall, she froze.

There, leaning against the brick wall with effortless grace, was Donovan. His dark hair was tousled, his leather jacket hugging his broad shoulders. And beside him, Victoria—elegant, poised, her hand resting possessively on his arm.

Lillian’s stomach twisted.

Donovan’s gaze flickered toward her, and for a heartbeat, their eyes locked. Something unreadable flashed in his expression before Victoria tugged him away, her laughter ringing in the air like a taunt.

"Ugh, those two," Beatrice muttered, nudging Lillian forward. "Ignore them. You’ve got bigger things to worry about."

Lillian forced a smile, but the weight in her chest remained.

Because no matter how much she tried to convince herself otherwise, one truth was undeniable:

She was falling for Donovan Blackwood.

And it was going to ruin everything.

I still couldn't believe I had actually agreed to this.

Staring at my reflection in the mirror, I frowned. The tailored business suit I wore looked like it belonged to someone a decade older. Oliver had been right—I could easily pass for his mother. For a brief moment, doubt crept in. Was I too young? Would the teachers really buy this?

But then I slipped into one of my mother’s formal blazers, adjusted the collar, and the illusion snapped into place.

A glance at the clock sent my pulse racing. My Uber would be here any minute. I hadn’t even asked Oliver what he’d done to land himself in trouble. Maybe I should have—just so I could prepare a convincing parental lecture. Stern words, disappointed sighs, the whole act.

My fingers tangled in my hair. Should I tie it back? A low ponytail might make me look more authoritative. Or maybe leaving it loose would help sell the "busy working mother" persona.

A sharp honk outside snapped me out of my thoughts.

Time to go.

One last look in the mirror. The outfit was perfect—professional, mature, just intimidating enough. I snatched my purse off the bed and hurried downstairs.

And froze.

My mother was in the living room.

Not just present—awake, alert, sipping coffee like it was a normal morning.

When she spotted me, her lips curved into a small smile. She tilted her head toward the kitchen.

"I made coffee if you want some."

"You… made coffee?" The words slipped out before I could stop them.

Her brows arched. "I am capable of basic tasks, Lillian."

Heat rushed to my cheeks. "That’s not what I meant. It’s just… you haven’t been up much lately. I’m glad you’re out of bed."

She took another slow sip, her gaze steady. "I figured it’s time for changes. Can’t do that hiding under blankets all day, can I?"

A lump formed in my throat. Without thinking, I crossed the room and wrapped my arms around her.

For a heartbeat, she stiffened. Then, just as quickly, she relaxed, resting her head against my shoulder.

When she pulled back, her eyes narrowed.

"Are you wearing my clothes?"

I swallowed hard.

Awkward laughter bubbled up.

This was going to be a long day.

"I have an interview," I lied, smoothing down the borrowed blazer that was slightly too big for me. "I needed something professional to wear."

"Would this job pay well?" Mom asked, her tired eyes lighting up with cautious hope.

I nodded, forcing a confident smile. "Maybe even enough to start paying off Dad's debt."

Her face brightened instantly. "I have a meeting with his lawyers today to discuss other options they might have found," she said, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear. "I'll keep you posted."

"I'll be home a little later, and we can talk then," I assured her. Outside, the Uber driver honked impatiently, signaling that my time was up.

"I have to go," I said, pressing a quick kiss to her cheek. "Love you."

"Love you too, Lillian," she murmured, her voice soft with worry.

I bolted out the door and slid into the backseat of the waiting car. The ride to the school was silent, the driver barely glancing at me in the rearview mirror. With every passing minute, my nerves tightened like a coiled spring.

When we arrived, I thanked him and stepped out, my heels clicking against the pavement as I hurried toward the entrance. The halls were eerily quiet—most students were already in class. The main office wasn’t far, just a short walk from the front doors.

Inside, a young blonde receptionist was typing furiously at her computer, her attention locked on the screen. She didn’t even glance up when I approached her desk.

I cleared my throat. Once. Twice.

Finally, she sighed dramatically and lifted her gaze, her perfectly arched brows rising in question. "Can I help you?"

"Yes," I said, straightening my shoulders. "I'm here to speak with the principal."

She smirked, leaning back in her chair. "And who might you be?"

"Lillian Whitlock," I lied smoothly. "I'm Oliver's mother."

Her eyes narrowed, raking over me from head to toe before she let out a sharp, disbelieving laugh. She actually clutched her stomach, doubling over as if I’d told the funniest joke in the world.

My cheeks burned.

Of course she saw right through me. If I were Mrs. Whitlock, that would mean I was married to Sebastian Blackwood—and everyone knew Sebastian was the most notorious bachelor in the city, a man who had never been tied down.

I should’ve thought this through better. But the lie was already out there, and now I had no choice but to stand by it.