[BL]Reborn as the Empire's Most Desired Omega
Chapter 145: I’m Your Prize Too

Chapter 145: Chapter 145: I’m Your Prize Too

Trevor watched her until the glass doors closed, then pressed his fingers into Lucas’s hand, firm, steady.

Lucas didn’t move.

His fingers stayed where they were, curled lightly beneath Trevor’s, skin warm and still a little clammy. The weight of that touch should’ve been reassuring. Instead, it made something inside him unravel by degrees.

He didn’t know what to feel. Not clearly. Jealousy had struck first, sharp and irrational, curling low in his stomach when he saw Vivienne’s face. The way she carried herself. The way she looked at Trevor like she once had the right to. For a moment, it felt like history had returned just to mock him.

But Trevor’s voice hadn’t been warm. His eyes hadn’t lingered. His tone had landed like glass underfoot, controlled but cruel in a way only familiarity made possible.

And that’s what unsettled Lucas more than anything.

Because what if everything he remembered had been twisted? What if the man who’d stood beside Vivienne in that old memory hadn’t been this Trevor at all?

’What if I got it wrong?’ Lucas thought. ’What if the memories aren’t true? What if only my torment was real? What if the rest was a product of my decaying mind?’

The questions swirled in his chest like smoke, choking and shapeless, and impossible to catch. The kind that didn’t scream but whispered steadily, cruelly, until you couldn’t tell which parts of your pain were yours and which were planted.

Trevor tightened his grip on Lucas’s hand, grounding him before the spiral could take root. It wasn’t harsh, just enough pressure to remind him he was here, in the present, in this body, at the table of a high-end restaurant with soft lighting, too many glasses, and Trevor and his grandmother watching him with quiet, growing worry. NovelFire

His skin felt too warm. The back of his neck prickled. There was a tremble in his ribs he hadn’t noticed until just now.

"Dear," Lady Fitzgeralt said gently, her tone softer than he’d expected. "We can leave. You don’t have to force yourself."

She didn’t know the truth. Not the weight of the memory or the way Vivienne’s voice had struck through him like a knife carved out of history. But she didn’t need to. She wasn’t pretending it didn’t hurt. She wasn’t telling him to endure it.

She was giving him a way out.

And that, that, was more than most had ever done.

Lucas blinked, trying to focus on the water glass in front of him, the way the condensation slid down in thin, slow streaks. Something to anchor him. Something real.

’Right,’ he told himself. ’This time, I have help. I have people who care. I’m not alone.’

He exhaled, careful not to let it shake. "Thank you," he said, his voice thin but stable. "I still want to try the ice cream you recommended."

Lady Fitzgeralt smiled, her posture relaxing just slightly, like a storm had passed without ever breaking.

"Then I’ll make sure they bring the one with the caramel thread," she said, like they hadn’t just been circling the edge of something darker. "It’s not on the menu, but they’ll have it for me."

"I’m sorry for ruining—"

"Dear," she interrupted, setting down her spoon with a soft click and leaning in just enough to make it feel like a secret, "shut your pretty mouth before your mate kills someone and I have to clean it up."

Lucas blinked, caught between a laugh and a gasp.

"There is nothing to apologize for," she continued, her tone cool and clipped, like steel beneath silk. "You can do whatever you want. You are the Fitzgeralt Grand Duchess."

Lucas stared at her, momentarily stunned. The title sounded too large for him still, like a coat tailored for someone else. But she’d said it so casually, like it was fact. Like there had never been a version of the world where he wasn’t exactly that.

Trevor didn’t speak, but Lucas could feel the weight of his presence beside him, grounding and quiet, dangerously still in that way that always meant he was holding back for Lucas’s sake, and no one else’s.

Lucas swallowed. The weight in his chest hadn’t vanished, but something about her words made it easier to carry.

He laughed softly, the sound unexpected even to himself. It wasn’t loud, but it was real, and it startled both Fitzgeralts enough to make them blink.

"Well," he said, his voice lighter now, smoother around the edges, "let’s then continue with our day."

He turned to Trevor, a flicker of amusement breaking through his expression.

"Do you believe that grandma bought a suit in crimson?" he asked, as if the offense was personal. "For me?!"

Trevor stared at him, momentarily stunned, not by the color, but by the word grandma slipping so effortlessly from Lucas’s mouth. Across the table, Cressida went equally still, porcelain cup paused mid-air as something warm and unspoken passed through her expression.

She hadn’t expected that. And for all her careful composure, the title struck something deep. A quiet surge of pride bloomed behind her ribs, sharp enough to steal her breath for a second.

Trevor recovered first. He narrowed his eyes with mock caution. "Crimson?"

Lucas gave a dramatic nod, as though recalling a crime scene. "Velvet. Gold trim. Lined like I’m a royal sofa. And she told the tailor, I’d wear it with confidence."

"I stand by that decision," Cressida said smoothly, setting down her cup and folding her hands. "You’ll look stunning and impossible to ignore. Which is exactly the point."

Trevor let out a soft whistle under his breath. "I want to see it first."

"You’ll see it when you wear it," Cressida replied primly. "At my evening party next week. I ordered yours too. Matching."

Trevor arched a brow, lounging back in his seat like a man resigned to war. His fingers curled around the stem of the wine glass, lifting it with unhurried grace. "You want to announce the wedding party then, don’t you?"

Cressida took a delicate sip of her tea. "I want the world to understand who holds the cards. A quiet wedding is too subtle for this generation." She set the cup down with practiced grace, her eyes never leaving them. "I’m not losing in front of Serathine."

Lucas blinked. "That’s what this is about?" Correct content is on NovelFire.

"She started the season with a duchess and an heir," Cressida said, her tone clipped like she was still personally offended. "I will end it with a Grand Duchess and a wedding forged in silk, power, and headlines."

Trevor leaned into the back of his chair again, clearly amused. "So it’s war."

Cressida’s smile sharpened. "It’s balance. She wants to dominate the narrative. I want to remind the court that it doesn’t belong to her."

Lucas reached for his water glass, a bit too calmly. "You’re using my marriage as political retaliation."

"Correct," she said, without apology. "And you’ll look glorious doing it."

Trevor tilted his head toward Lucas, feigning sympathy. "You’re the prize now."

"I’m your prize too," Lucas said, narrowing his eyes at the smug alpha beside him.

Trevor’s smirk deepened, all teeth and quiet satisfaction. "I know."

The audacity in his tone made Cressida pause mid-reach for her napkin, one brow arching in mild disapproval. "Don’t be cocky, Trevor. He still hasn’t signed the final estate papers. A few strokes of a pen and you could be the one paraded."

Trevor didn’t miss a beat. "Wouldn’t be the first time I was decorative."

Lucas snorted into his water, setting the glass down before he could actually choke.

"I cannot believe you just said that," he muttered.

"I’ve said worse. Usually in bed," Trevor replied, far too casually.

Cressida waved a hand. "Please, spare me. I haven’t had enough tea to pretend you’re not still in rut."

Trevor leaned toward Lucas with mock gravity. "See? This is why we need to elope."

Lucas didn’t move. Didn’t flinch. He just smiled sweetly, his voice smooth.

"And miss your grandmother’s political coup? Never."