[BL]Reborn as the Empire's Most Desired Omega
Chapter 116: The scent

Chapter 116: Chapter 116: The scent

The door closed behind Trevor with a soft click.

Lucas didn’t move.

Not right away.

The stillness that followed the alpha was thick, humid with leftover pheromones and the ghost of Trevor’s mouth still clinging to his skin. The suite, normally calm and airy with the faint scent of bergamot and paper, now smelled wrong. Or rather, right, but too much.

Like Trevor.

Like something territorial and tethering.

Lucas slowly let himself fall back onto the pillows, the tablet forgotten somewhere near his hip, the stylus still resting lightly between two fingers. His breath exhaled in one long, shaky line, eyes tracing the ceiling’s molding with a gaze that barely focused.

’Gods.’

He was not imagining the warmth that still lingered on his neck, nor the pressure where Trevor’s thigh had pressed between his legs. Nor the dull ache curling in his stomach like something hungry and coiled and terribly awake.

Lucas groaned softly, covering his face with one arm.

This was... new.

Not entirely, he remembered enough from before to know how things could escalate, how heat could build in sharp, spiraling pulls. But this wasn’t heat.

This was Trevor.

And that made it worse.

Because it wasn’t just the kiss. Or the robe half-open, his skin pressed against Trevor’s like some half-spoken promise. It was the way Trevor looked at him, as if he could break the world in half and rebuild it with Lucas at the center. The way his pheromones didn’t just stake a claim but wrapped around him, soaking into his skin like a second breath.

Lucas exhaled with a single thought.

’I’m doomed.’

Before he could spiral into what it really meant, into what he felt for the alpha that slept beside him for over two weeks and had known for barely a few months, a knock pulled him back to reality.

The knock was polite. Too polite.

Lucas didn’t answer right away. His arm still covered his eyes, but his scent, flushed and muddled, was finally starting to settle back into something less treacherous. He reached for the discarded robe tie, pulled it shut with a quick, practiced motion, and sat up.

Another knock. Two beats again. Then stillness.

He sighed, dragging a hand through his hair, already knowing who it was.

"Come in," he called, tone even, imperial even, though he still tasted Trevor on his lips.

Windstone entered with the solemn grace of a man who had walked in on far worse and refused to flinch at any of it. His eyes flicked once over the room, lingering perhaps a fraction too long on the disheveled sheets and the robe’s loose collar, but he said nothing.

"Your Grace," he said with a bow so perfectly timed it could’ve been etched into stone. "A visitor awaits."

Lucas tilted his head slightly. "Aren’t I still under house arrest?"

Windstone didn’t blink. "By the Grand Duke’s orders, only if you leave the bed."

Lucas huffed once through his nose. "That man’s version of discipline is disturbingly effective."

Windstone didn’t comment. Instead, he continued, "Lady Vanessa Vassinger is at the palace gate. She’s requested a formal audience with you."

Lucas’s brow arched. "She what?"

"She wishes to apologize," Windstone clarified, his voice dry enough to powder the air.

Lucas stared. "Did Trevor threaten to throw her into the fountain?"

"Possibly," Windstone said. "Though, if I may add, he handled it with remarkable subtlety. The kind that involves consequences that never need to be spoken aloud."

Lucas looked down at the edge of his robe. Trevor’s scent still clung to it, stubborn as a confession. "And now she wants to fix her image."

"Very likely." Windstone stepped forward, producing a small envelope. "She insisted the apology be accepted in person."

Lucas took the letter without opening it. He turned it in his fingers like it might change shape if he stared hard enough.

"She’s in the secondary guest parlor?"

"Yes. With water that is intentionally lukewarm. Per your standing preferences for mild punishment."

Lucas almost smiled.

Almost.

Then he looked up, something cooler sliding into his gaze. "Ten minutes. And then escort her in."

Windstone bowed again. "As you wish."

He paused at the door, just before exiting. "Shall I have the scent neutralizers brought in?"

Lucas shook his head. "No. Let her breathe it."

Windstone inclined his head, something like satisfaction flickering behind his eyes before he slipped out without another word.

Lucas stood and crossed the room slowly, discarding the tablet onto the side table as he went. The robe hung loose at his frame, but he didn’t tighten it again. Instead, he walked to the tall mirror beside the wardrobe, studying his reflection with a kind of clinical detachment.

His lips were a little swollen. His cheeks flushed. He looked...

Wanted.

’Good. Let her see it’.

He dressed in light trousers with a black shirt and a watch received from Serathine that screamed old money.

Lucas turned away from the mirror, spine straightening with the kind of grace that didn’t need announcing. He chose light trousers in ash-grey and paired them with a black shirt—fitted just enough to whisper of his frame without flaunting it. The cuffs were sharp, the collar clean. Around his wrist, he fastened the vintage watch Serathine had given him—the one with the lacquered face and subtle gold inlay, ticking with quiet arrogance.

It didn’t shout power.

It murmured, legacy. NovelFire

He brushed a hand through his hair once, checking only briefly that the faint flush on his skin had faded to something less damning. The pheromones had settled. Barely. He wouldn’t douse himself in scent blocker. Let the room speak for itself.

By the time Windstone returned, Lucas was seated with a tablet in hand, stylus tapping against the edge with the same rhythm nobles used to test patience at court.

Windstone opened the door with a soft nod. "Lady Vanessa Vassinger."

Lucas didn’t rise. He didn’t smile.

Vanessa entered with too-bright eyes and a rehearsed expression that balanced somewhere between contrition and pride. She wore dark colors, formal and with the intention of looking remorseful. Correct content is on NovelFire.

"Lady Vassinger," he said, his voice polite but cool. "You’ve come far."