Chapter 306

Lillian Prescott moved with effortless grace. Every gesture carried an air of sophistication. "It's been too long, Aunt Beatrice."

Her voice softened when she noticed Dominic's presence. "You're here as well, Mr. Blackwood..."

Dominic gave her a polite nod.

Beatrice rose to greet her warmly. "Make yourself comfortable, Lillian. This isn't the office—no need for formalities. Call him Dominic."

"Is that really appropriate?" Lillian's question was directed at Beatrice, but her shy gaze flickered toward Dominic.

Beatrice took Lillian's delicate hand, excitement bubbling in her voice. "It's just a name. He's not the type to fuss over something so trivial! I was just wondering why you hadn't visited in over a week, and here you are."

Dominic's brow furrowed slightly.

He hadn't realized his mother had grown so close to Lillian.

A faint blush colored Lillian's porcelain cheeks at Beatrice's words. "I brought you a gift, Aunt Beatrice. Remember that ruby tiara we saw at the jeweler last month? It was sold out, but when I visited again, they had a similar design. I thought of you immediately."

She produced an ornate wooden box and handed it over.

Beatrice opened it—there lay the exact tiara she'd coveted.

The piece was exquisite, crafted with floral motifs, adorned with pearls and sparkling gemstones. Each stone gleamed under the light, luxurious without being garish.

Beatrice was enchanted.

Though she lacked refined manners, she had an eye for fashion. When silent, she could easily pass for high society.

She traced the tiara with reverence. "You're too thoughtful, Lillian. If only my son showed half your consideration."

Lillian smiled sweetly. "I'm sure Dominic adores you, Aunt Beatrice. He's just preoccupied with work."

The reassurance soothed Beatrice.

She placed the tiara atop her perfectly styled curls and posed. "How do I look, Lillian?"

Dressed in a deep-blue couture gown, Beatrice radiated timeless elegance. Age hadn't dimmed her beauty—only refined it.

"Stunning," Lillian praised. "The tiara suits you perfectly, and the gown is divine."

Beatrice beamed. "Such flattery! I'd kill for a daughter like you. Dominic picked this gown for my birthday."

"His taste is impeccable," Lillian continued smoothly. "I could never have chosen something so fitting."

"If you like it, I'll have him get you one too," Beatrice offered.

Lillian lowered her lashes, silent.

Beatrice sighed dramatically. "I should've had a daughter. Look how sweet Lillian is—remembering my preferences. What do you ever do besides vex me?"

Dominic didn't respond. He reclined on the sofa, eyes fixed on the financial news.

As Lillian chatted with Beatrice, her gaze kept drifting toward Dominic. The longing in her eyes was unmistakable.

Beatrice noticed but said nothing. Their conversation stretched on.

When the hour grew late, Lillian rose to leave.

Rain pattered outside, the north wind biting. Stepping from warmth into the chill, Lillian shivered. Beatrice insisted she stay, but Lillian knew her father expected her home.

Seizing an opportunity, Beatrice turned to her son. "I won't sleep a wink knowing she's traveling in this weather. Escort her home."

Despite the cold, the city pulsed with life. Traffic flowed steadily on the expressway.

Blackwood Manor stood east of the city, nearly an hour from the Prescott residence.

Lillian's heart raced as she settled into the plush leather seat, warmth enveloping her.

She glanced at the striking man behind the wheel. "Thank you for this," she murmured.

"Don't mention it," Dominic replied flatly.

His expression darkened at the congested road ahead.

Why is everyone out tonight?

All he wanted was to be with Evelyn, free from pretense.

Silence stretched between them.

Lillian attempted conversation, but Dominic's disinterest was palpable. Eventually, she quieted, inhaling his crisp, masculine scent.

Lost in fantasies of how to bridge the distance between them, she was startled when the car halted.

"We're here." Dominic parked before the Prescott estate.

Lillian blinked at the gates, then at his chiseled profile. Impulsively, she leaned in—brushing her lips against his cheek—then fled, face burning.

Dominic froze. Disgust twisted his features. He snatched a handkerchief, scrubbing at his skin before tossing it into the trash.

The silver car roared to life, vanishing into the night like a shadow.