[BL]Reborn as the Empire's Most Desired Omega
Chapter 114: Room seventeen

Chapter 114: Chapter 114: Room seventeen

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

"True," Dax said, tone light. "But I’m your effective petty bastard. And Dever just got Jason to crack his first canned line."

Trevor’s gaze flicked back to the screen.

Inside the room, Dever had shifted his weight, now lounging just enough to seem disinterested, fingers tapping idly against the blank datapad.

"You’ve got a clean record, Luna," Dever said casually, tapping his stylus against the edge of the datapad. "Impressive, actually. Transfer clearance, high adaptability, no reprimands. Almost like you were trained for the palace."

Jason met his gaze without flinching.

"Well, everyone was talking about how easy the money was made here," he huffed, offering a thin smile. "I didn’t know I’d have to walk on eggshells more than being in action."

Dever chuckled like he agreed. But his eyes said he didn’t.

"Yeah, welcome to high society," he said. "One wrong glance and you’re either promoted or poisoned." Correct content is on NovelFire)

Jason laughed under his breath. "Wouldn’t be the first time I’ve had to watch my tone around people with titles."

"No," Dever replied smoothly. "But it might be the first time someone’s watching yours."

A beat of silence.

Jason’s grip on the water glass didn’t tighten—but he stopped spinning it.

From behind the screen, Dax gave a quiet whistle. "And there it is."

Trevor, arms folded, said nothing. He was watching the pupils. The microreactions. The pause.

"Want me to send Dever deeper?" Dax asked, voice low.

"No," Trevor said. "He’s already sweating beneath the surface. Let him sit with it."

Inside the room, Dever stood and rolled his shoulders. "Anyway. That’s all I needed. Just ticking boxes before the nobles start crying again."

Dever gave a casual shrug, all loose limbs and forced friendliness. "You’re clear. But don’t stray too close to the Fitzgeralt side again."

He tapped the corner of the table twice, like punctuation.

"The Grand Duke is really sensitive when someone watches his new wife too closely."

Jason tilted his head slightly, polite and unreadable. But something flickered across his eyes. Just for a second.

Dever didn’t stop.

He leaned in a little, his voice dropping into something conspiratorial. Almost kind.

"You might not know this," he said with the gentle smugness of a man who gossiped for sport, "but His Highness had his eyes on the Grand Duchess too. And he’s not the kind of alpha to give up on what he wants."

Jason blinked, too slow.

"What?" he said, with the flat surprise of someone trying to act like the world still made sense. "So now they’re going to fight over an omega?"

His voice had the right cadence. The right scoff. But Dever saw it. Trevor saw it. Dax saw it.

The man was lost.

Dever let it breathe for half a second, then threw a bone, soft and serrated.

"Well, you wouldn’t know," he said, dropping his tone to something almost gentle, "but the Duchess wasn’t treated too well by his own mother."

Jason didn’t respond.

"And Trevor gave him time before claiming him," Dever continued. "Didn’t even mark him. No claim on the neck. Not even pheromones on him."

Jason’s grip on the glass finally stilled.

Trevor, watching from the surveillance room, said nothing, but his gaze sharpened.

Jason cleared his throat. "Didn’t mark him?"

"No," Dever said, tone deliberately careless. "Rumor says the Duchess still has nightmares. That he flinches when someone raises their voice. That the palace needed a week to stop smelling like fear after his first night there."

Jason stared at the glass. "And they still let him marry?"

Dever didn’t miss a beat.

"Let?" He huffed a quiet laugh. "The young man is the heir of D’Argente. If you ask me, he was adopted only to be married off to Fitzgeralt."

Jason’s eyes lifted slightly, Dever’s words getting his attention for the first time.

Dever smirked like he’d struck a vein.

"They didn’t even have a wedding."

That part he delivered with just the right amount of disdain. Not too much. Just enough to make it sound like a scandal that had been dressed up as diplomacy.

Jason blinked once, slow and deliberate. "No wedding?"

Dever leaned back, letting his tone soften into something almost sympathetic. "No. There was a shallow ceremony with bishops for legal reasons, but no one knows anything more than that."

He let that sink in.

"Lucas wears a ring, though," he added, voice low and full of implication. "A single stone. Alexandrite—same color as the King’s eyes."

Jason didn’t move. But something behind his stillness tilted.

"And he saw that as an invitation," Dever finished, almost gently.

Jason’s fingers curled once on the table, subtle enough to be missed by most. But Dever wasn’t, and neither were the men watching from behind the screen.

In the surveillance room, Dax leaned forward slightly.

"Well, well. That hit."

Trevor said nothing.

Jason looked back down at the glass like he was trying to see something through it. His voice, when it came, was neutral. But too neutral.

"And the King?"

Dever raised an eyebrow, pretending to be surprised. "The King of Saha? Oh, he was very interested. But too late. Or so they say."

Jason’s expression didn’t shift much—but the stillness was different now. Not measured. Predatory.

"This is why they’re so sensitive about that girl entering the gardens?" he asked, voice casual, too smooth.

"Yes and no," Dever replied, adjusting his tone like he was finally confiding something real. "She was brave—or stupid—enough to call the Grand Duchess a whore in front of two nobles and a palace steward."

Jason’s eyes snapped to him, just briefly. The mask didn’t fall, but it tilted.

Dever gave a dry chuckle, rubbing the back of his neck like a tired civil servant. "Now the higher-ups are giving me shit about it. Saying I let a political embarrassment slip through the wards."

He let out a slow sigh, shook his head. "Not about security, mind you. No one cares about the breach itself. Just the optics. Just that someone insulted the pretty little duchess who isn’t marked, isn’t bonded, and apparently—might not be untouchable."

Jason didn’t answer.

But they saw how he weighed what he found out and his next steps.

"Oh, time flies," Dever said lightly, rising from his chair and giving an exaggerated stretch. "Sorry again for keeping you here on your free day."

Jason stood, expression blank but steady.

"You’ll be compensated for the time, of course," Dever continued, tapping at his datapad like the conversation hadn’t just quietly set a man’s instincts ablaze. "I’d appreciate it if you kept this discussion between us and sent Albert in, will you? He’s next on the list."

Jason gave a faint nod.

"Understood."

And with that, he left—no hurry, no tension in his shoulders, but something unmistakable had shifted. In the way his hands stayed still. In the way he didn’t look back.

The door closed behind him.