[BL]Reborn as the Empire's Most Desired Omega
Chapter 109: He Didn’t

Chapter 109: Chapter 109: He Didn’t

The attendant who returned was not soft-spoken. He didn’t smile. He didn’t offer her tea or polite courtesies—only a single nod before gesturing for her to follow.

Vanessa’s heels clicked too loudly on the marble floor, each step echoing a little more than she liked. Her fingers tightened on the envelope. Her throat burned from holding back the instinct to scowl.

They didn’t take her to a receiving room or any sitting area meant for guests.

Instead, she was led down a corridor suffused with filtered sunlight, toward a side terrace that overlooked one of the quieter gardens. The scent of morning citrus trees drifted faintly on the breeze. Everything looked clean, deliberate, and expensive. She paused at the threshold as her guide stepped aside.

Trevor Fitzgeralt was already there.

He wasn’t seated, nor lounging like a man enjoying a late breakfast. He stood by the railing, arms crossed, the embodiment of quiet authority. His white shirt was crisp, sleeves rolled just once at the cuffs, the black suit pants tailored to perfection. Gold cufflinks winked in the late morning light—subtle, but unmistakably expensive. Like everything else about him.

He didn’t speak at first. Just glanced once in her direction, then back to the garden below, as if weighing how much of his time she was worth.

Vanessa stopped three steps inside the terrace. Her spine straightened on instinct, shoulders drawn back like a dancer before a performance. The letter in her hand felt heavier now.

"His Grace is still asleep," Trevor said, finally. His voice was even. Crisp as the collar of his shirt. "So you’ll speak with me."

Vanessa offered the envelope with both hands. "This is for him. My apology. I—"

"No need to explain," Trevor cut in, his voice polite—but with all the warmth of marble. "I read the original. And the second version. Your brother had the good sense to send both."

Vanessa paled, lips parting, unsure whether to defend herself or retreat.

Trevor finally turned to face her fully. His expression didn’t shift, but his gaze sharpened like a scalpel.

"I also happen to be on the terrace then," he said smoothly, "with your King."

The implication landed with surgical precision—there was no ’accidental’ audience. No ambiguity. Her little performance in the garden had unfolded beneath the watchful eyes of the two most dangerous men in the palace.

Vanessa opened her mouth, then shut it. There was nothing to say that wouldn’t make it worse.

Trevor didn’t wait for an answer. He stepped forward, gaze still fixed on hers, calm as a loaded weapon.

"I watched you insult my spouse," he said. "On royal grounds. In the King’s garden. Wearing the King’s colors. Surrounded by his staff."

His voice never rose. But the way the temperature dropped around him—that was punishment enough.

"And I didn’t intervene," he added. "Not because I didn’t care. But because I wanted to see if Lucas would need me."

He paused. "He didn’t."

Vanessa felt her knees lock. Her throat dried up. And then—she dropped.

The cold marble bit into her palms and knees as she knelt, the letter slipping from her fingers like a failed offering.

"I—" she started, but her voice cracked on the single syllable. View the correct content at NovelFire

Trevor didn’t flinch. He watched her for a beat, then crouched smoothly to her level. There was nothing rushed in his movement, only the quiet, deliberate grace of a predator who already knew his prey wasn’t going anywhere.

His voice dropped, low and quiet—intimate, almost. Dangerous.

"He doesn’t care about you, or what you said," Trevor said. "But I don’t let insults pass, even if he does."

He studied her face like it was a question he already knew the answer to. And then he tilted his head slightly. Correct content is on NovelFire

"There’s something I don’t understand, Vanessa. You’re an omega too. Why are you so hateful of him, hmm?"

The question wasn’t rhetorical. His tone was too still for that. Like he was dissecting her—layer by layer, down to the marrow.

"I..." Vanessa hesitated, the instinct to lie scraping against something more primal.

She swallowed hard and opened her mouth.

"I don’t hate other omegas," she said slowly, as if testing the words for poison. She was telling the truth and lying at the same time—balancing herself on the edge of guilt and vanity. "His Grace, the Grand Duchess was just... the one who ruined my work for weeks."

Trevor tilted his head, one brow rising with elegant disbelief.

"The luncheon?" he asked, voice edged in dry incredulity. "That fickle thing? Then you’d have to come to me, or to Dax. Not Lucas."

Vanessa’s face tensed. Her nails dug lightly into her palms against the marble.

"I had influence," she said, lower now. "I built something. Spoke with the right people. It wasn’t just about Lucas. It was about what he represents. They didn’t even ask for a reason. They just cancelled everything. Because he was there."

Trevor laughed.

Cold, slow, and so sinister that Vanessa visibly shuddered—despite the heat, despite the late morning sun gleaming off every polished surface like a warning.

"You assumed it was because of Lucas?" His voice was amused, but not kind. "It seems like all the intelligence in your family went to Caesar."

Vanessa opened her mouth, then thought better of it.

Trevor didn’t stop.

"The King does as he pleases. He’s not swayed by charm, politics, or whatever desperate little tantrum you threw when the invitation changed." He stood, a fluid movement that should’ve looked relaxed but didn’t—there was too much weight behind it. "You weren’t denied because Lucas was there. You were replaced."

She stiffened.

"And we didn’t even bother explaining it to you," he continued. "Because your fury, as you call it, doesn’t register. Not to Lucas. Not to me. Not to the King."

Trevor’s eyes narrowed, the color in them sharp as cut glass.

"Now stand up, clean your knees, and deliver your apology when he is awake. If you want to keep the Vassinger name out of the next trade blacklist, you’ll do it properly. No perfume, no lies, and no more of this nonsense about ruined luncheons."

He straightened fully this time, brushing the imaginary dust from his sleeve like the conversation had already ended.

"And Vanessa?" he added without looking back, "If I ever see you speak to him like that again, no amount of Caesar’s connections will save you."