[BL]Reborn as the Empire's Most Desired Omega
Chapter 119: A table for two

Chapter 119: Chapter 119: A table for two

The car pulled to a stop in front of a restaurant that didn’t have a name.

The restaurant was closed to the public.

On paper, it sounded reasonable: security, privacy, and all the usual requirements. But Lucas stood in front of the glass-paneled entrance with one eyebrow raised and a suspicion that Trevor had misunderstood reasonable for obscene.

A velvet rope cordoned off the entrance. Staff bowed low. Candles flickered in artful sconces. The marble floors were polished to the point of narcissism, and the long corridor leading into the dining room reminded him uncomfortably of that runway at Fitzgeralt Manor.

Trevor was already waiting.

Of course, he was.

He stood at the base of the steps, dressed in a dark navy suit that hugged his frame like it had been sewn onto him, hair swept back in a way that looked criminally deliberate. His cufflinks matched Lucas’s, obsidian, silver, house crest, and the moment their eyes met, something heavy settled into the air between them.

Possessive. Proud.

And far too pleased with himself.

Lucas stepped out without a word, the click of his shoes sharp against the stone. He took Trevor’s offered arm, not because it was romantic, but because it was easier than dealing with Windstone’s expression of eternal, silent judgment.

"This is excessive," Lucas said as they entered. "Is this what passes for subtlety in your household? Private restaurants and nameplates made of gold?

Trevor’s lips curved into something just shy of a smirk. "Subtlety is for people who are hiding something. I’m not."

Lucas gave him a flat look. "You closed a restaurant."

"I rented it," Trevor corrected, as if that made it better. "Temporarily. Besides, if you’re going to tolerate my company for an entire evening, I figured you deserved bribes."

Lucas allowed himself a faint scoff as they entered the main hall. The lighting was low, deliberate. Tables were set with silver-trimmed crystal and towering arrangements of pale hydrangeas that screamed curated indifference. A string quartet was playing something classical enough to be expensive, but unrecognizable enough to seem avant-garde.

"You do know I can’t eat half the things that usually show up in these places," Lucas muttered under his breath.

"I had the menu adjusted," Trevor said. "Windstone may have threatened the chef. I’m not sure. I try not to listen when he’s using that tone."

Lucas arched a brow. "You brought Windstone?"

Trevor tilted his head toward the far end of the room where, through a barely cracked panel door, Windstone could indeed be seen staring down a waiter with the kind of focus normally reserved for trained assassins.

Lucas exhaled slowly. "He’s going to throw someone into the fountain by the end of the night, isn’t he?"

Trevor pulled out a chair for him, nonchalant. "Only if they forget the way you take your coffee." NovelFire

Lucas slid into the seat with a faint smirk. "Should I be chaotic?"

Trevor raised a brow. "Chaotic?"

Lucas rested an elbow on the table, his voice deceptively innocent. "What would they do if I asked for fries and nuggets?"

Trevor didn’t miss a beat. "Cry, most likely. Then pray Windstone doesn’t hear about it before they fix the plate."

Lucas gave a quiet laugh, reaching for the menu only to set it down again. "That’s tempting."

"You are," Trevor said simply, his tone warm with just enough weight to make it not a joke.

Lucas’s eyes narrowed, amused but not denying it. "Flattery. Bold move."

"Truth. Boldly delivered."

Before Lucas could retort, a waiter appeared with practiced timing and the kind of composure only fear of Windstone could instill. The amuse-bouche was delicate, far too intricate for something meant to be eaten in a single bite, and Trevor raised his glass with casual elegance.

"To chaos," he said lightly.

Lucas clinked his glass. "To nuggets."

Trevor smiled around the rim. "Dangerous little thing, aren’t you?"

Lucas shrugged, reaching for his fork with the reticence of a picky eater inspecting a suspiciously perfect bite of food. "You knew that when you married me."

Trevor’s grin deepened, his eyes never leaving him. "I knew it the moment you insulted my tie at the gala and told Serathine I looked like a disappointed landlord."

Lucas arched a brow, unbothered. "You did. That shade of gray should be illegal."

Trevor hummed, watching him with a lazy sort of fondness. "And yet, I still looked good in it." View the correct content at NovelFire.

"You looked like someone whose tenants hadn’t paid rent in six months and who was five minutes away from committing tax fraud."

Trevor laughed, low and rich, just as the waiter returned to clear their plates. He didn’t speak again until the table was empty, the last wineglass polished, and the lighting dimmed slightly as if the restaurant itself understood the shift in mood.

His fingers played idly with the stem of his glass, his voice softer now. "What’s your favorite color?"

Lucas blinked, caught slightly off guard by the question. "Is this part of the seduction?"

"No," Trevor said, smile still present but subdued. "It’s part of the getting-to-know-you."

Lucas tilted his head, considering. "Black. Or dark green. Maybe that gray-blue color the sky turns before it rains."

Trevor nodded like he’d been expecting something sharp, maybe even dramatic, but not that. Not something so quietly specific. "You like storms."

"I like the warning before the storm," Lucas corrected, his gaze distant for a second. "The stillness. The weight in the air that says something’s about to change, and you can’t stop it."

Trevor hummed, then swirled the last of his wine, watching the way it caught the light. "That tracks. You don’t like chaos, but you know how to use it."

Lucas reached for his water this time, fingers brushing the condensation. "I don’t like surprises unless I planned them."

"Duly noted." Trevor leaned forward slightly. "My turn?"

Lucas raised a brow. "You want me to guess?"

"No," Trevor said, "but I’ll pretend to be insulted if you don’t try."

Lucas considered him, really considered him, from the clean lines of his suit to the slight flush near his collarbone from the wine. "Crimson."

Trevor’s lips parted, then curved. "Why?"

"Because you pretend to be refined, but you’re actually obscene," Lucas said, matter-of-fact. "Like this place. Like how your wine matches your temper."

Trevor laughed again, but there was heat under it. "I do like crimson."

"I know," Lucas said simply.

A pause stretched, not awkward, but heavy with something unspoken. Lucas let it sit before nudging it aside with another question, his tone more casual now.

"What about the rest of your family?" he asked. "You mentioned your mother and your brothers and Alistair. Anyone else I should be worried about plotting to take your seat while I’m distracted?"

Trevor leaned back, one hand smoothing across his thigh as if the movement helped him think. "My mother’s side wouldn’t care to plot. They’d rather host a poetry reading about why titles are a capitalist prison."

Lucas snorted.

"They paint," Trevor continued. "They dance. They fall in love on beaches and forget to tell anyone when they move countries. They think I’m the black sheep for having a schedule."

He paused for a moment. "But my grandma on the other side..."