The preparations for the gala continued.
Lilian had no choice but to comply.
Every fitting, every meeting with designers, every reminder that she would soon be paraded in front of the world as Killian Blackwood's mysterious guest only fueled the fire of frustration within her.
But she was powerless to stop it.
Her time in this mansion felt like a slow, suffocating imprisonment.
And now, the walls were closing in even faster.
She had thought she could endure it—that she could stay strong—but with every passing hour, her armor cracked, piece by silent piece.
Would this be her life now?
Dressing up like a doll, forced into gowns she hadn't chosen, made to stand beside a man whose every word carried the weight of an unspoken threat?
Her fingers clenched into the fabric of her dress.
No.
She wouldn't let herself be broken.
Not by Killian.
Not by this gilded prison.
But as the night approached, a cold unease settled deep in her bones.
Something was coming.
Something she wasn't ready for.
---
The sun had barely risen when the mansion stirred to life.
The grand estate, with its towering pillars and endless halls, was rarely ever silent, but today, there was an undercurrent of tension. Subtle. Electric.
Killian Blackwood stepped out of the main entrance, his expression carved from stone as he descended the marble steps.
Beside him walked a woman.
Tall, lean, and dressed in a perfectly tailored pantsuit, she moved with smooth efficiency. Her sharp bob framed her face cleanly, and her high cheekbones lent her a certain effortless elegance.
Samantha Brooks.
His personal assistant.
There was no fanfare in her presence, no perfume, no stilettos—just quiet control. She didn't giggle or stumble. She didn't seek his attention.
She didn't need to.
"Your schedule today is packed," Samantha said briskly, flipping open her digital tablet as they approached the sleek black car. "Meetings, calls, gala walkthrough, and a final security briefing."
Killian gave a small nod, already focused on something else.
Samantha adjusted her cuffs, her gaze sweeping toward the mansion. Her face remained unreadable.
Rumors floated quietly through the household about a woman staying here.
But Samantha didn't entertain gossip. She was here to work, and only that.
Whatever—or whoever—Killian kept in his home was none of her concern.
---
Lilian stood in front of the tall mirror, her reflection breathtaking but unfamiliar.
The gown was a work of art—midnight blue, flowing like liquid silk, hugging every contour of her body with the kind of perfection only wealth could buy.
Behind her, the designer moved with focused energy, adjusting seams, smoothing fabric, muttering about final touches and red-carpet impressions.
Two young maids—Gracie and Rosa—watched in hushed awe.
"This is... incredible," Rosa whispered softly.
Gracie nodded, though her expression stayed neutral. She had grown quietly fond of Lilian, serving her most often and watching the quiet battles she fought inside these walls.
Between them, something unspoken had formed—respect, perhaps. Or recognition.
Lilian caught their gazes in the mirror, her lips pressed into a thin line.
If she was going to be paraded like an ornament, at least she wouldn't be alone in it. These girls, her age group, offered something this mansion otherwise lacked—genuine warmth.
"Do you think he'll like it?" Rosa asked, hesitating before the words slipped out.
Gracie stiffened. "That's not the point."
Lilian froze for just a second.
But she said nothing.
Because she already knew the answer.
Killian Blackwood didn't care about the dress.
He didn't care how she looked in it.
He only cared about one thing.
Control.
---
The day blurred into motion.
More fittings. More silence. More waiting.
By the time night fell, Lilian was exhausted, yet sleep refused to come. Her body ached. Her thoughts wouldn't still.
The mansion was quiet now. Most of the staff had retired. Only the distant lull of ocean waves filled the silence.
Drawn by restlessness, Lilian wandered into the garden.
Cool air kissed her bare arms as she stared up at the dark sky. Stars shimmered above, silent and unreachable—like her freedom.
A tear escaped her lashes before she could stop it.
Would she ever escape this?
Would she ever feel like herself again?
She wiped the tear quickly, lifting her chin.
She would not allow herself to break.
She turned to head back inside—and moved too fast.
Suddenly, she collided with something.
No—someone.
A sharp gasp left her lips as the impact sent her stumbling back.
Her foot twisted on the edge of the marble path, and she crashed to the ground with a painful thud.
Pain shot through her ankle. She winced.
"Shit," a low voice muttered.
Killian.
Before she could process anything, strong arms wrapped around her, lifting her off the ground like she weighed nothing.
Her breath caught in her throat.
She was in his arms. Cradled against his chest. Surrounded by the warmth of his body and the scent of something dark and expensive.
She hated this.
She hated how her heart skipped in his presence.
She hated how his touch burned through the layers of silk.
But she couldn't move.
Their eyes met—his gaze piercing, unreadable in the shadows.
His hold tightened as he shifted her higher in his arms.
Then her ankle flared with pain again.
She gasped, involuntarily.
He noticed.
Without a word, he adjusted his grip and stood fully, carrying her through the garden like she was weightless.
Lilian stiffened. "No—put me down," she whispered, her voice sharp.
He didn't look at her. "You're hurt."
"I said I can walk—"
"I said you can't."
His tone was cool. Final.
Humiliation surged through her, but so did something else. Something hotter. Something she didn't want to name.
She clenched her jaw and turned her face away.
She hated the sight they must've made.
Her, in his arms.
Him, holding her like she was something fragile.
But the worst part?
The part she couldn't speak aloud?
For a fleeting second, she felt safe there.