Chapter 80

The crisp autumn air carried the scent of fallen leaves as Lillian hurried across the campus quad. Her fingers tightened around the strap of her backpack, her mind racing with thoughts of the upcoming midterms. The last thing she needed right now was another confrontation with Donovan, but fate had other plans.

"Lillian!" His voice cut through the chatter of students like a blade.

She stiffened but didn’t turn around. Not again. Not after everything.

A hand clamped down on her shoulder, forcing her to stop. Donovan’s grip was firm, his dark eyes burning with frustration. "We need to talk."

Lillian wrenched herself free, glaring up at him. "There’s nothing left to say, Donovan. You made your choice."

His jaw clenched. "You don’t understand—"

"I understand perfectly," she snapped. "You chose Evelyn. You broke the bond. End of story."

Around them, students slowed their steps, casting curious glances their way. Lillian hated the attention, hated how her heart still twisted at the sight of him.

Donovan exhaled sharply. "It wasn’t that simple."

"Save your excuses." She turned to leave, but he grabbed her wrist.

"Lillian, listen to me—"

A low growl rumbled behind them. Both froze as Sebastian Blackwood stepped into view, his presence commanding immediate silence. His golden eyes flicked to Donovan’s grip on Lillian’s wrist, and his expression darkened.

"Release her," he said, his voice deceptively calm.

Donovan hesitated, then let go. "This doesn’t concern you, Blackwood."

Sebastian smirked, though there was no humor in it. "Everything concerning my future mate concerns me."

Lillian’s breath hitched. Future mate? Since when had he decided that?

Donovan’s face twisted in disbelief. "You’re joking."

Sebastian stepped closer, his towering frame casting a shadow over Donovan. "Do I look like I’m joking?"

The tension between them crackled like static. Lillian could feel the weight of their unspoken challenge, the dominance radiating off Sebastian in waves.

Then, from the crowd, Evelyn’s shrill voice pierced the air. "Donovan!"

Lillian didn’t wait to see the fallout. She seized the distraction and bolted, weaving through the gawking students until she reached the library steps. Her pulse pounded in her ears, her thoughts a tangled mess.

Beatrice caught up with her moments later, breathless. "What the hell was that?"

Lillian shook her head, still reeling. "I have no idea."

Beatrice’s eyes widened. "Did Sebastian just claim you in front of everyone?"

Lillian swallowed hard. "Yeah. And I don’t know what game he’s playing."

Beatrice grinned. "Oh, this is going to be interesting."

Lillian groaned. Interesting was the last thing she needed right now.

The morning sun cast golden rays through the curtains, stirring Lillian awake. She stretched languidly, her muscles still humming from the previous night's training session with Sebastian. The scent of freshly brewed coffee drifted up from the kitchen, mingling with the crisp morning air.

Downstairs, the mansion was already alive with activity. Oliver sat at the dining table, swinging his legs as he scribbled in a notebook, while Victoria sipped her tea with an air of quiet elegance. Sebastian stood by the window, his broad shoulders silhouetted against the light, a steaming cup in hand.

"Good morning," Lillian murmured, her voice still thick with sleep.

Sebastian turned, his piercing gaze softening as it landed on her. "Sleep well?"

She nodded, though the truth was, her dreams had been restless—filled with shadows of Donovan and the past she couldn't quite escape.

Oliver grinned up at her. "We're going to the lake today! Dad promised we could take the boat out."

Lillian smiled, ruffling his hair. "Sounds fun."

Victoria set her cup down with a delicate clink. "Donovan called earlier," she said, her tone carefully neutral.

Lillian froze. "What did he want?"

Sebastian's jaw tightened. "He claims he has 'important matters' to discuss. I told him we weren't interested."

But Lillian knew Donovan. He never gave up that easily.

The lake was serene, its surface shimmering under the midday sun. Oliver laughed as he dangled his feet over the edge of the boat, splashing water playfully. Sebastian rowed with effortless strength, his eyes occasionally flickering to Lillian, as if ensuring she was still there.

Then, her phone buzzed.

A message from an unknown number: "We need to talk. It's about your mother."

Her breath hitched.

Sebastian noticed immediately. "What is it?"

She hesitated, then showed him the screen. His expression darkened.

"Donovan," he growled.

Lillian's fingers trembled as she typed back: "What do you know?"

The reply came instantly: "Meet me at the old mill. Tonight. Alone."

Sebastian snatched the phone from her hands. "You're not going."

"But—"

"No." His voice was steel. "This is a trap."

Lillian clenched her fists. "What if he knows something? What if my mother—"

Sebastian cupped her face, forcing her to meet his gaze. "I won't let him hurt you again."

The intensity in his eyes made her heart race. But the doubt lingered.

What if this was her only chance to uncover the truth?

That evening, as the mansion settled into silence, Lillian crept down the stairs. The grandfather clock chimed midnight, each toll echoing like a warning.

She paused at the door, glancing back.

Then she stepped into the night.

The old mill loomed ahead, its broken windows like hollow eyes. A figure stood in the shadows.

Donovan.

"You came," he said, stepping into the moonlight. His smirk was as infuriating as ever.

Lillian crossed her arms. "Talk."

His grin widened. "Always so impatient." He reached into his coat—

A growl cut through the darkness.

Sebastian emerged from the trees, his eyes blazing gold. "You have three seconds to explain why I shouldn't rip your throat out."

Donovan's smirk faltered—just for a second. Then he laughed. "Ah, the mighty Alpha. Always protecting what's mine."

Lillian's pulse spiked. "I was never yours."

Donovan's gaze turned icy. "We'll see about that."

And then—

A rustle in the bushes.

Figures emerged, surrounding them.

Lillian's stomach dropped.

They weren't alone.

And Donovan had planned this all along.

"I can't believe you're actually going on a date with Sebastian Blackwood's nephew!" Beatrice squealed as we tore through my closet. Nathaniel was picking me up in two hours, and I still had nothing to wear. My stomach twisted with nerves, making me second-guess everything.

"Maybe this is a mistake," I muttered, turning to face her.

She shot me a look of disbelief.

"Are you serious?" she gasped. "Nathaniel Whitlock is walking perfection—absurdly gorgeous. Not quite Sebastian Blackwood levels of hot, but damn, those genes don’t play around."

I rolled my eyes at her dramatics.

"I mean it, Bea. What was I thinking?" I groaned, running a hand through my hair.

"Who cares?" She waved me off. "Why are you freaking out? You admitted you're into him."

"I'd have to be dead not to be," I muttered under my breath.

Bea shook her head, grinning. "Still can't believe you 'randomly' ran into him at the library. Never pegged him as the bookish type."

I arched a brow. "He owns a publishing house, Bea. Reading and writing are literally his job."

"Yeah, but I figured that was just for show. Someone that hot belongs on a runway, not buried in some dusty old book."

I laughed despite myself.

Lying to her about how we met didn’t sit right with me, but she could never know the truth—that I’d first seen Nathaniel at Sebastian’s villa. Instead, I’d spun a story about studying at the library when he just happened to be there. We talked, he asked me out, and now here we were, an hour deep into a fruitless search for the perfect outfit.

"He’s more than just a pretty face," I admitted, chewing my lip. "His work on the French Gamma Warriors is incredible. I’ve referenced his articles and photos for my own reports before. I just... don’t know if I’ll measure up."

Bea ignored my self-doubt and yanked out a slinky black dress. "What about this?"

I eyed it skeptically. "A little... revealing, don’t you think? Not exactly first-date-with-a-Blackwood material."

She huffed. "Fine. But if you show up in something boring, I’m disowning you."

I smirked. "Noted."

The clock was ticking, and my nerves weren’t helping. But one thing was certain—this night would either be amazing or a disaster. No in-between.

Beatrice rolled her eyes dramatically.

"Then throw on a cardigan, Lillian," she said, tossing the dress at me. "It'll highlight those gorgeous legs of yours—and trust me, you’ve got legs to kill for."

I frowned down at my legs, unconvinced.

"Believe me," she added with a conspiratorial wink. "He’s going to lose his mind when he sees you in that." Heat rushed to my cheeks at her words.

"I don’t think I want him to lose his mind," I muttered.

Beatrice rolled her eyes again—if she kept that up, they’d probably get stuck that way.

"Just put it on," she pleaded.

With a sigh, I gave in. It wasn’t like I had anything better to wear, and the dress was stunning. I’d bought it ages ago during one of our impulsive shopping sprees—back when my family wasn’t drowning in debt and I could actually afford to splurge. At the time, I hadn’t known what occasion would call for such a dress, but Beatrice had insisted it was a must-have.

I guess tonight was the night to test that theory. I just prayed I didn’t end up looking like I belonged on a street corner.

I showered meticulously, shaving every inch of skin—not because I expected anything to happen, but because I’d rather be overprepared than regretful. Once I’d rinsed the last traces of shampoo from my hair, I stepped out of the shower, wrapping myself in a towel as steam curled around me. I brushed my teeth and worked through the tangled strands of my damp hair until they fell in a sleek, straight curtain down my back.

The dress lay neatly folded on the counter beside a chic black cardigan. Slipping into both, I turned to face the mirror—and blinked in surprise.

I had to admit, the outfit worked. The dress hugged my curves in all the right places, and Beatrice hadn’t been wrong about my legs. The cardigan added a touch of sophistication, toning down the look just enough that I didn’t feel like I was auditioning for a scandalous role.

Pleased, I stepped out of the bathroom—only for Beatrice to let out a delighted squeal.

"You look incredible!" she practically shouted.

I hushed her immediately.

"Mom’s asleep," I reminded her.

She rolled her eyes—again—and I knew exactly what she was thinking: Mom’s always asleep. But lately, she’d been doing better. She’d started leaving her bed, even helping around the house again. Yesterday, she’d gone grocery shopping for the first time in months. She’d been working with my father’s lawyers too, trying to piece together a plan to get him out of prison. The effort had drained her, so she’d turned in early tonight. I didn’t want to disturb her hard-earned rest.

I hadn’t had the chance to fill Beatrice in on everything yet, so she didn’t know the full story.