[BL]Reborn as the Empire's Most Desired Omega
Chapter 113: An Interview

Chapter 113: Chapter 113: An Interview

The hallway outside the suite was quiet, lined with silent guards who pretended not to see him button his collar and swipe the last trace of Lucas’s scent from his wrist.

By the time he reached the private meeting chamber, Dax was already seated, one arm draped along the curved back of the velvet chair, elegant shoe tapping a slow rhythm against the polished floor. A large folder lay open on the table, half-shadowed by the light filtering through etched glass.

"Fashionably late," Dax said without looking up. "I was beginning to think you’d forgotten how to walk."

Trevor didn’t bother with a response. He took the seat across from him.

Dax finally lifted his gaze. "You reek of pheromones." NovelFire

"This is what you get when you interrupt a couple on their honeymoon."

Dax’s lips twitched, like the ghost of a smirk had tried to form and died halfway. "Should I regret giving you a time limit?"

Trevor leaned back in his chair, not bothering to hide the edge in his voice. "Depends. Do you want him marked before we leave the capital or after Luna stops breathing?"

"Are you going to show your real face to Lucas?" Dax asked, a flicker of amusement lighting his purple eyes.

Trevor didn’t blink. "Of course not. He suspects. But I don’t want my mate to see the worst parts of me."

"Shame," Dax muttered, tilting his head. "The worst parts are always the most loyal."

Trevor ignored that. "So what do you have on Luna?"

Dax’s hand drummed once on the file. "More than we expected. Less than we want."

He pushed the folder across the table. Inside were photographs—Jason Luna in uniform, records scrubbed too clean to be natural, and several timestamps circled in red ink. One photo, the only one not official, showed Luna just outside the Gala’s perimeter. Looking at someone.

Lucas.

"His transfer into the Sahan detail was signed by a man who doesn’t exist anymore," Dax said flatly. "Alias belonged to a cleric who drowned in a military pool three years ago."

Trevor’s fingers stilled over the page. "Convenient."

He leaned back, eyes narrowing. "Why do I have the hunch that the clergy is behind this?"

Dax gave a slow, humorless smile. "Because you’ve been paying attention."

Trevor’s jaw tightened.

"The signature was buried in a set of relocation orders for temple security staff," Dax continued. "Mostly routine. Except this one was backdated. Then overwritten. Then scrubbed. Whoever placed him had clearance, and not the civilian kind."

Trevor’s eyes didn’t leave the page.

"Where is our friend now?"

Dax’s smile didn’t reach his eyes.

"Room seventeen. Top floor. Assigned quarters for Sahan auxiliaries. He thinks we haven’t noticed him rerouting his patrol patterns to pass by your suite."

Trevor’s expression didn’t change, but something under his skin shifted—tightened.

"He’s made four loops past Lucas in the last thirty-six hours," Dax added. "Never closer than ten paces. Never a word. Just... proximity."

Trevor’s jaw tightened. He was itching to get to that room and destroy the living shit out of Jason Luna—rattle his bones, wipe that placid professionalism off his face—but he knew better. Not yet. Not before they had a name to go with the rot.

Dax, watching him carefully, continued, "Matthew Dever. One of my men. Excellent record, bland face, impeccable silence. Perfect to interrogate Luna without raising suspicion."

"To anyone concerned," Dax added, already pulling up the security interface on his tablet, "he’s just a security inspector doing his job." Correct content is on NovelFire

A series of images came to life on the high-definition screen in front of them.

Jason Luna sat at the small table, dressed in his standard uniform. His posture was straight but casual, elbows loose, shoulders slightly slouched to project nonchalance. He spun the glass of water between his palms—not nervous, but measured. A quiet man, waiting for a cue.

The door opened.

Matthew Dever entered with the sort of exhausted grace only career operatives could master. Early thirties, brown hair tousled like he’d run his hand through it one too many times. His jacket was slung casually over one shoulder, shirt sleeves rolled to the elbow, and tie half-loosened—just enough to suggest he’d been dragged from one insufferable noble mess into another.

He sighed as he stepped in, glancing around like he’d rather be anywhere else.

"Sorry for pulling you in, Jason," he said, shutting the door behind him. "I know it’s your free day, but this won’t take long."

Jason didn’t rise. "May I know why I’m here?"

Dever waved a hand dismissively and dropped into the seat opposite him, pulling a small data pad from his back pocket and setting it aside without turning it on.

"Oh, my. I’m sorry if this looks like an interrogation," he said, rubbing at his temple. "You know how it is. Guest wing rotation’s under review. Apparently someone let Vassinger’s daughter into the private garden reserved for the Grand Duchess of Fitzgeralt. You can imagine my headache."

Jason blinked slowly. "I wasn’t on duty during that time."

"No, you weren’t," Dever agreed. "But you were on rotation the night before, and we’re just... cross-referencing patrol overlaps. Not formal. Not even logged. Just internal quality control."

Jason’s expression didn’t shift. "Understood."

He leaned back slightly in the chair, glass still in his fingers. Calm. Watchful.

Trevor, watching from the other room, spoke flatly. "He knows."

Dax didn’t disagree. "He always knew. That’s the problem."

Back in the room, Dever chuckled as he scrolled idly through the datapad—nothing on the screen, just a performance.

"You know how the D’Argente estate is. Big names, delicate sensibilities, and one misplaced bootprint set off an entire scandal."

Jason smiled politely. "Of course."

Dever let the silence sit, then added, "You’ve been around the garden sector a lot this week. Coincidence?"

Jason didn’t blink. "It’s quiet there. Less tension. No one likes to be around the Fitzgeralt rooms. There’s always extra pheromones in the air."

Dever gave a short laugh. "Yeah, Trevor’s got a reputation."

Trevor, from the surveillance room, arched a brow. "Excuse me?"

Dax smirked. "It’s working."

Trevor didn’t blink. "Dax, you are a petty bastard."