[BL]Reborn as the Empire's Most Desired Omega
Chapter 120: Let’s Call It a Date

Chapter 120: Chapter 120: Let’s Call It a Date

Trevor’s tone shifted, still warm, but grounded now. "But my grandma on the other side... she ran the estate for forty years before anyone realized my uncles were useless."

Lucas arched a brow. "Efficient and brutal. I like her already."

"She doesn’t trust elevators, has very loud opinions about cufflinks, and can recite estate law in her sleep," Trevor went on, tone affectionate but laced with awe. "She once made a minister cry at a luncheon for misquoting an inheritance clause. And she plays cards with war criminals for fun."

Lucas narrowed his eyes, intrigued. "Please tell me that last part isn’t a metaphor."

Trevor leaned in slightly, the corners of his mouth lifting. "It isn’t. Last year, she beat a retired general at poker and took his villa. Said it was compensation for wasting her afternoon."

Lucas blinked. "That woman sounds like a menace."

"She is," Trevor said proudly. "She keeps my father’s side of the family under her heel. They still believe they could outplay her for the inheritance. She lets them believe it." NovelFire

Lucas nudged a piece of steamed vegetable to the side of his plate. "So... won’t she want a formal wedding? Something ceremonial? Traditional vows and imperial-grade embroidery?"

Trevor sipped from his glass before answering. "Oh, she’ll want something. Not for the sake of appearances, she couldn’t care less about society. But she’s going to want to see you. Soon."

Lucas looked up slowly. "You mean meet me."

"I mean inspect you," Trevor corrected, eyes glinting. "She’s likely already bribing Windstone to get through the front gates. If she hasn’t offered him a watch or rare tea by now, I’d be shocked."

Lucas set his fork down. "Should I be flattered?"

Trevor shrugged, still amused. "Windstone only accepts bribes from people he respects."

Lucas gave a faint, exaggerated sigh, pushing his barely touched plate to the side. "Good to know."

"Hmmm..." Trevor’s eyes were on the plate, exiled to the side of the table, his tone suspiciously mild. "Is this a statement? A protest? Or are you just trying to get dessert faster?"

Lucas rested his chin on one hand, unapologetic. "It’s a silent rebellion. Those vegetables were too well-behaved. I don’t trust them."

Trevor leaned forward slightly, the corner of his mouth twitching. "You know I had the chef adjust the entire menu. Windstone threatened him in four languages. That plate was a diplomatic masterpiece."

"I’m not diplomatic," Lucas said, tone light. "And I like dessert."

Trevor picked up his glass, taking a long, thoughtful sip. "You’re lucky you’re pretty."

Lucas gave a slow, crooked smile. "Don’t pretend like that wasn’t already your plan. Feed me something expensive, look at me like I’m your last good decision, and hope I forget about the absurdity of this restaurant."

"Has it worked?" Trevor asked, setting the glass down with a soft clink, his gaze not leaving Lucas.

Lucas tilted his head, pretending to consider. "Maybe. But I just prefer simpler meals." He gestured to the plate. "This looks like it defends a thesis before you eat it."

Trevor let out a low chuckle. "A thesis titled ’Form Over Function: The Tragedy of Haute Cuisine.’"

Lucas gave him a sidelong glance, unimpressed but faintly amused. "That raspberry has a mortgage and a book deal."

Trevor leaned back just slightly, one leg stretching under the table until his knee brushed Lucas’s.

It was casual. Almost. NovelFire

Except it wasn’t.

Lucas’s fork paused halfway to his mouth.

Trevor didn’t withdraw.

The pressure on his leg lingered, the heat from Trevor’s body leaking into Lucas, light but insistent, a wordless tether between them. His voice, when he spoke again, was steady, too steady.

"I can have them bring you something else," Trevor said, not looking at the plate this time, but at Lucas. "Something real. Something warm."

Lucas didn’t move, but his fingers tightened around the base of his glass. "You sound like a man offering himself on a silver platter." Said Lucas with a smile on his face, one too innocent for the implications.

Trevor’s lips curved, not quite into a smile, more like a challenge barely restrained. "Wouldn’t be the worst thing on the menu tonight."

Lucas arched a brow, swirling the last of the wine in his glass, the stem cool between his fingers. "That depends. Are you seasoned properly?"

Trevor leaned in just enough for the candlelight to catch in his eyes, low and molten. "I’m marinated in desperation and bad decisions. House special."

Lucas laughed, soft but sharp, trying to ignore the heat spreading beneath his skin. "You forgot arrogance."

"Oh no," Trevor said, voice low, the toe of his shoe brushing just beneath the hem of Lucas’s trouser leg again. "That’s the garnish."

The contact this time was deliberate, slow and unapologetic, drawing a fine line up the inside of Lucas’s calf. It wasn’t overt, not enough to scandalize, but enough to make Lucas still. Alert. Aware.

"Careful," Lucas murmured, not moving away. "You’re playing with fire."

"I’ve already burned," Trevor replied, his tone gentler than expected. "Might as well enjoy the heat."

Lucas’s hand lingered on his glass, but his gaze was all Trevor’s now—unblinking, the wine forgotten. "Should we leave then?"

Trevor didn’t answer right away. He held Lucas’s gaze, the flicker of candlelight catching in his eyes like a spark looking for permission. Then he stood, slow and deliberate, the scrape of his chair almost too quiet beneath the weight of his silence.

He extended a hand. "Only if you want to."

Lucas set his glass down without breaking eye contact. The faintest smile tugged at his lips, dangerous, knowing, already halfway to a yes.

He took Trevor’s hand.

"Let’s go," Lucas said. "Before Windstone kicks out the violinist for playing off-key."

—

The car door shut with a soft click, the interior already dim and hushed in comparison to the restaurant’s golden haze. As soon as Lucas slid in, Trevor followed, closing the space between them with the quiet urgency of a man who had been patient for far too long.

He reached up and tapped the switch, glass slid into place with a smooth hum, sealing them off from the driver. The city lights blurred outside, distant and irrelevant.

Trevor turned to him fully then, his hand finding Lucas’s waist, the other slipping behind his nape, and pulled him in.