[BL]Reborn as the Empire's Most Desired Omega
Chapter 151: Sister (1)

Chapter 151: Chapter 151: Sister (1)

The chandelier in the east salon flickered softly against the warm marbled ceiling, each crystal shard catching threads of dusk like whispered promises. Serathine sat on the chaise near the arched window, a small tray of untouched figs beside her, one hand poised over the silk-creased armrest while the other thumbed through messages on her tablet with the precision of someone accustomed to removing thorns without flinching.

Two messages. One from Dax. One from Trevor. Neither dressed in ceremony.

Dax’s was brief—an update about Jason Luna and a quiet nod toward a pattern she had already sensed. Faceless Agatha was active again, and they were not patient. Trevor’s was longer, coded beneath old agreements and a private seal that hadn’t been used since the night she’d agreed to shelter a child no one wanted. She read it once. Then again. The weight of it settled into her lungs.

Across the room, the soft shuffle of footsteps made her glance up.

Ophelia entered with the kind of feigned grace only taught by tutors who valued posture over presence. She bowed lightly at the doorway, eyes bright with that strange mix of ambition and resentment, and approached without waiting to be summoned.

"David told me you saw your mother the other day."

Serathine didn’t raise her eyes. Her voice cut through the room with the sort of softness that warned of coming storms. Ophelia stilled, not out of guilt but because the lack of scolding felt like the pause before something worse.

"I didn’t stay long," she answered quickly, like a child trying to preempt the lash. "Just long enough to hear her talk about dresses and connections and what she thinks of my handwriting."

"I see."

Silence stretched a little too long.

"You can see her more often," Serathine said at last, as she set down her tablet with deliberate grace. "The Emperor gave the last seal. The dispute between her and Christian will be judged publicly."

That made Ophelia’s spine go rigid.

The way Serathine said it was almost clinical. Just a fact. A dropped coin against marble. But it landed with weight. View the correct content at NovelFire)

"She won’t win," Ophelia said, too fast.

"That is for the court to decide," Serathine replied without glancing up, her tone absent of warmth, absent of comfort. Her fingers moved over the tablet in smooth motions, scrolling through lines of policy, correspondence, and names that still owed her favors. "For now, we watch."

Ophelia stiffened but didn’t speak. She knew better.

Serathine let the silence stretch, then she added, "Lucas is returning today from Saha. He would, most likely, participate in your mother’s hearings."

Ophelia swallowed, and for a second her eyes flicked downward. She didn’t want to ask. Didn’t want to seem shaken. But the weight in her chest tightened all the same.

"He... would testify?" Her voice was thinner now, edged with something close to fear.

"No," Serathine said, eyes still on the screen. "Lucas doesn’t need to testify. He simply needs to attend."

Ophelia didn’t respond, not right away. Because she understood what that meant. The Grand Duchess didn’t have to speak to command attention. His presence alone would draw the eyes of every noble, every citizen, and every official sitting in judgment. And with one raised brow, one flicker of disdain or recognition, he could destroy Misty Kilmer more effectively than any lawyer ever could.

"Do you believe he will want to see me?" Ophelia asked, quieter this time.

And there it was: Serathine did not take Ophelia’s phone or any of her devices; they were closely monitored, but they remained in Ophelia’s possession. Lucas will not come to the capital just for that hearing; she and Trevor will not allow him to be in the same room as Christian again.

Serathine didn’t answer at first. She simply reached for her teacup, its delicate porcelain clinking softly against the saucer, an old sound, dignified and slow, a reminder of how long she had held her throne in this gilded nest of vipers. The afternoon light slid across her rings, glinting against the cold metal as if the sun itself had no choice but to kneel.

"I suppose that depends on what you mean by see," she murmured, her voice laced with the kind of lazy elegance that always made people forget how dangerous she truly was.

Ophelia shifted too quickly, her shoes whispering against the marble.

"I just meant... he’s my brother."

"You shared blood," Serathine corrected, not unkindly. "That’s not the same thing." She set the cup down with a muted click.

Ophelia’s hands tightened around the small clutch she hadn’t let go of since stepping into the room, her shoulders drawn high, too tense for someone trying to appear composed. The anger in her voice cracked against something more brittle beneath.

"I maybe wasn’t the best sister, but I did what I could," she said, spitting the words like a defense she’d rehearsed. "I spoke when Prince Lucius asked; I gave you what you wanted. I can’t do more than that... I’m just a teenager."

Serathine didn’t flinch. She exhaled slowly, like the outburst had confirmed something she’d already known. f r\eeNovelFire.c(o)(m)

"I didn’t say otherwise," she said, calm and unhurried. "I only meant that Lucas will decide if he wants to speak to you. Call him and ask. I won’t intervene."

Ophelia blinked, surprised that Serathine had just handed her the knife and challenged her to see if she could keep it steady.

Her grip on the clutch faltered just slightly. "I don’t even know if he’d answer."

"Then you’ll have your answer," Serathine replied, tone dry, eyes flicking back to her screen as if the conversation were already over. "You said you’re just a teenager. Then act like one. Try honesty. It might surprise you."

Ophelia’s jaw clenched, her teeth grinding together with a force she barely managed to keep behind her lips. "You think I’m lying?" she asked, the words sharp, laced with something between challenge and desperation.

Serathine didn’t rise to it. Her voice remained cool, effortless, like silk drawn over a blade. "It doesn’t matter what I think." She lifted her phone, the screen already lit with an incoming call. "Now, I need to take this."

She didn’t dismiss her, not outright. She didn’t have to.

"You can decide what to do," Serathine added, already turning slightly in her chair, her tone cutting in its neutrality. "But choose wisely. Lucas remembers everything now."