Chapter 97

The morning sun filtered through the curtains of Lillian's bedroom, casting golden patterns across the silk sheets. She stretched languidly, her werewolf senses immediately picking up the faint scent of lavender and leather that always lingered around Sebastian Blackwood.

Downstairs, the mansion buzzed with unusual activity. Lillian could hear Beatrice's excited chatter mingling with Oliver's laughter, while the clinking of silverware suggested Giselle Beaumont was overseeing breakfast preparations with military precision.

As Lillian descended the grand staircase, she nearly collided with Marcus Grayson, who was carrying an armful of files. "Careful there," the Beta chuckled, steadying her with one hand. "The Chairman's been waiting for you in his study."

Her pulse quickened at the mention of Sebastian. Ever since that night at the gala when he'd publicly claimed her as his mate, their relationship had shifted into something deeper, more intense.

The study door stood slightly ajar. Lillian knocked softly before entering. Sebastian stood by the floor-to-ceiling windows, his broad shoulders silhouetted against the morning light. He turned, his golden eyes darkening when they landed on her.

"Sleep well?" His voice was rough, sending shivers down her spine.

Before she could answer, Theodore Whitmore entered with a silver tray bearing two steaming cups. "Your coffee, sir. And for Miss Lillian, chamomile tea with honey—just as you prefer."

Lillian accepted the cup, her fingers brushing against Sebastian's as he took his own. The brief contact sent sparks through her system, making her wolf stir restlessly.

"We have a situation," Sebastian said abruptly, setting down his untouched coffee. "Victoria's engagement party is tonight."

Lillian nearly dropped her cup. "So soon? I thought Donovan was still—"

"Exactly." Sebastian's jaw tightened. "Which is why we're attending. I need you close to me all evening. No wandering off, no distractions."

A knock interrupted them. Beatrice burst in without waiting for permission, her cheeks flushed. "You'll never guess who just arrived!" she exclaimed. "Isabella Fontaine! And she brought that French journalist—what's his name—Nathaniel Whitlock!"

Sebastian's expression darkened further. "Perfect timing," he muttered. "Just what we needed."

Lillian's phone buzzed with a text from Oliver: Dad's being extra grumpy today. Did you forget to kiss him good morning? She stifled a laugh, but when she looked up, Sebastian was watching her with an intensity that stole her breath.

"Tonight changes everything," he said quietly, for her ears only. "Whatever happens, remember—you're mine."

The possessive growl in his voice should have alarmed her. Instead, it ignited something primal within her. As Beatrice dragged her away to help choose a dress for the party, Lillian couldn't shake the feeling that this night would alter their lives forever.

The murmurs nearby pulled me from unconsciousness. My head throbbed like I'd downed an entire bottle of whiskey, but I barely had a sip of wine at dinner—certainly not enough to leave me like this. My last memory was hazy, fractured. I didn’t even remember closing my eyes.

My fingers twitched as awareness crept in. Cold concrete pressed against my skin, sending sharp aches through my body. Worse—the biting sting of silver chains around my wrists. The metal burned, a werewolf’s curse. Even before opening my eyes, I knew I was cut off—no wolf, no mindlink, no way to call for help.

I was trapped.

A fragmented memory surfaced—running, laughter, Victoria beside me. Was she here too? Had she betrayed me? Maybe she never believed me when I swore nothing happened between Donovan and me. Maybe this was her plan all along—lure me away, let the rogues take me, and finish what she started.

Then another flash—Victoria collapsing, a man driving a syringe into her neck. She dropped like a stone. My pulse spiked, breath hitching. I forced myself to steady it. If they thought I was still out, I had an advantage.

Whispers slithered through the darkness. I strained to listen, but without my wolf, the voices were muffled. As footsteps neared, the words sharpened.

"We were only paid for one girl." A rough voice, edged with irritation.

"Then we’ll demand double." A darker chuckle followed. "Who the hell are these people anyway?"

"Don’t know, don’t care. Money talks." A third voice, gruff. "Let’s eat. They’ll be out for hours with that much wolfsbane in them."

Their footsteps faded, a door creaking open, then slamming shut. A lock clicked.

Three voices. But I remembered more—shadows moving in the alley before everything went black.

I cracked my eyes open. Darkness. A cellar, damp and reeking of mildew. My head pounded as I lifted it, taking in the rusted bars surrounding me—a cage. Fury coiled in my chest.

Without my wolf’s night vision, the room was a blur of shapes. But one thing was clear—I wasn’t alone.

My stomach twisted into knots as I took in Victoria's unconscious form beside me. A deep gash marred her forehead from the fall, her usually vibrant complexion now ghostly pale.

"Victoria..." My voice cracked as I dragged myself toward her.

The silver cuffs seared into my wrists, making me hiss in pain. When my trembling fingers touched her icy cheek, panic clawed at my throat. I pressed two fingers to her neck—there. A weak but steady pulse. The breath I'd been holding rushed out in relief.

Gently, I pushed her blood-matted hair away from her face.

"Wake up," I murmured, my lips barely moving. "We need to get out of here."

But how? That was the real question. One thing was certain—our captors thought I was still unconscious. They wouldn't make their move until we were both awake, which meant I had to play dead when they returned.

Leaning against the damp concrete wall, I inhaled sharply, coughing at the musty air thick with dust. I didn't understand how I'd shaken off the wolfsbane's effects so fast, but Victoria would likely be out for hours. Slowly, I pulled her closer until her head rested in my lap. My fingers combed through her tangled hair as I hummed an old lullaby under my breath. She shouldn't wake up alone in this nightmare.

Time lost meaning in the windowless cell. Could've been minutes. Could've been days. My eyelids grew heavy, my chin dipping toward my chest, when the sharp click of dress shoes echoed down the hallway.

In one fluid motion, I eased Victoria back onto the cold floor, arranging her as I'd found her before flopping beside her and going limp. My breathing slowed to a shallow rhythm just as the heavy door creaked open.