Chapter 71

The morning sun cast golden rays through the curtains, stirring Lillian from her restless sleep. She blinked, her mind still foggy from the whirlwind of emotions that had consumed her the night before. The scent of Donovan still lingered in her memory, a bitter reminder of the past she couldn’t escape.

Rolling out of bed, she padded to the window and pushed the curtains aside. The pack grounds were already bustling with activity—warriors training, maids tending to the gardens, and children laughing as they played near the fountain. It was a stark contrast to the storm raging inside her.

A soft knock at the door pulled her from her thoughts.

"Come in," she called, smoothing her tousled hair.

The door creaked open, and Beatrice stepped inside, balancing a tray of breakfast in her hands. "Morning, sleepyhead," she teased, setting the tray on the bedside table. "You look like you wrestled a bear all night."

Lillian managed a weak smile. "Feels like it."

Beatrice studied her for a moment before sighing. "Donovan again?"

Lillian didn’t answer, instead reaching for the steaming cup of coffee. The rich aroma filled her senses, offering a small comfort.

"You can’t keep letting him haunt you like this," Beatrice said, sitting beside her. "He’s moved on. You should too."

Lillian’s grip tightened around the cup. "It’s not that simple."

Beatrice opened her mouth to argue, but another knock interrupted her. This time, it was Sebastian’s deep voice that followed. "Lillian? Are you awake?"

Her heart skipped a beat. "Y-yes," she stammered, hastily setting the coffee down.

Sebastian entered, his towering frame filling the doorway. His piercing gaze swept over her, lingering on the dark circles beneath her eyes. "You didn’t sleep well."

It wasn’t a question.

Lillian shrugged. "Just a rough night."

Sebastian’s jaw tightened, but he didn’t press further. Instead, he held out a folded piece of paper. "This arrived for you."

Frowning, Lillian took it and unfolded it. Her breath hitched as she recognized Donovan’s handwriting.

"We need to talk. Alone. Tonight at the old oak by the river. 8 PM."

Her fingers trembled slightly. What could he possibly want now?

Sebastian’s voice was dangerously calm. "What does it say?"

Lillian hesitated, then handed him the note. His expression darkened as he read it.

"You’re not going," he stated, crumpling the paper in his fist.

Lillian lifted her chin. "I have to."

Sebastian’s eyes flashed with something fierce—possessiveness, anger, protectiveness. "No. It’s a trap."

Beatrice, sensing the tension, cleared her throat. "Maybe we should—"

"I’ll handle this," Sebastian cut in, his tone leaving no room for argument. He turned on his heel and strode out, slamming the door behind him.

Lillian exhaled shakily, her mind racing. She couldn’t ignore Donovan’s summons, not when he had the power to unravel everything she’d built. But defying Sebastian? That was a risk she wasn’t sure she could take.

Beatrice squeezed her shoulder. "What are you going to do?"

Lillian met her friend’s worried gaze. "I don’t know," she admitted. "But I can’t let him control me anymore."

The clock on the wall ticked ominously, counting down to the moment her past and present would collide. And this time, there was no guarantee she’d walk away unscathed.

Sebastian Blackwood strode confidently to the chairs and settled into one, his fingers still entwined with mine in a gentle but possessive hold. His presence alone commanded the room, and Headmaster Wellington shifted uncomfortably under his piercing gaze.

"So, enlighten us about what our son has done," Sebastian said, his voice smooth but edged with authority. The headmaster cleared his throat, glancing between us with obvious unease.

"Oliver was involved in a physical altercation yesterday in the lunchroom," he explained, making my breath hitch. "We have a strict no-violence policy, and the only reason he wasn’t expelled is due to his status as a Blackwood. I wanted to discuss appropriate disciplinary measures with you."

I expected Sebastian to immediately demand consequences—Oliver shouldn’t be fighting, after all. But what I didn’t anticipate was the way his expression darkened, not with anger toward our son, but with quiet disapproval directed at the headmaster.

Sebastian leaned back in his chair, assessing the man before him with unnerving calm. "And what provoked Oliver to fight? Did you bother to ask?"

The question caught me off guard—it was a fair one. I turned to Headmaster Wellington, waiting.

"I... I’m not entirely certain of the details," the headmaster admitted, his brows knitting together.

Sebastian’s jaw tightened. "You didn’t think to question him before summoning us here? Oliver isn’t the type to lash out without cause."

He was right. Oliver had chased off tutors before, but only because they’d been cruel or manipulative, trying to use him to get closer to his father. Beneath his occasional defiance, he was just a lonely little boy who longed for attention—but never the kind that would jeopardize his place at school. He worked too hard for that.

"Regardless of the reason, he broke school rules," Headmaster Wellington insisted, crossing his arms. "I understand he’s your son, Alpha Blackwood, but his behavior cannot go unchecked."

"His behavior?" I finally spoke up, my voice sharp. "You don’t even know what happened, yet you’re ready to punish him? What if he was defending himself? Why aren’t the other parents here? Are you disciplining their child as well?"

"The other boy suffered a broken nose and had to be sent to the infirmary," the headmaster said, his frown deepening.

Sebastian’s fingers flexed around mine, his patience visibly thinning. "So you’re telling me," he said, voice dangerously low, "that you called us here to punish our son without even hearing his side of the story?"

The headmaster paled.

And that was when the door burst open.

"And how do you know he didn't deserve it?" Sebastian asked, his voice low and dangerous.

"Alpha, I—"

"My wife and I have raised our son to defend himself when necessary," Sebastian interrupted, his grip tightening slightly around my fingers. "So I find it difficult to believe Oliver would strike another child without provocation."

Heat rushed to my cheeks at the way he called me his wife. I shot him a glance, catching the faint upward curve of his lips—like he was barely suppressing a smirk.

Biting back my own smile, I turned my attention back to Headmaster Wellington.

"Bring him here," I said, relieved that my voice carried more authority than I felt. "We’ll hear his side of the story."

The headmaster swallowed hard before nodding and reaching for his phone.

"Please send Oliver Blackwood to my office immediately," he instructed, then hung up with a shaky exhale.

Sebastian gave a satisfied nod. The silence that followed was thick, stretching uncomfortably long. His thumb traced slow circles over the back of my hand, and every so often, he’d tuck a loose strand of hair behind my ear—a deliberate display of affection meant for the headmaster’s benefit. But the effect on me was undeniable; my pulse fluttered wildly beneath my skin.

Then the door creaked open.

Oliver stepped inside, his small frame stiffening the second his eyes landed on Sebastian.

"D-Dad?"