[BL]Reborn as the Empire's Most Desired Omega
Chapter 152: Sister (2)

Chapter 152: Chapter 152: Sister (2)

Ophelia closed the door to her suite with a soft click, then stood there for a moment, listening. Nothing. The hush of the corridor beyond was too quiet to be soothing. She pressed her back against the polished wood and let out a shaky breath, her fingers clutching her small clutch bag more tightly than necessary. Her nails dug into the fabric, but she did not stop.

She moved slowly, trying not to look at the mirrored panels along the walls; Serathine had eyes everywhere. But not here. Not in her private room. Not inside the drawer beneath the second vanity, hidden behind the fake bottom that only she could pull up with a sharp twist of her thumb.

Her fingers fumbled on the first try.

"Come on," she muttered, biting the inside of her cheek.

The panel gave way, and the old burner phone slid forward into her palm like a secret reborn. Her heart raced; she had brought this phone with her after Misty decided to run without her. No one told her the truth, but she had known. Misty always had a plan. Always.

She sat on the edge of her bed, cross-legged in her expensive skirt, the fabric creasing beneath her. Her nails tapped against the plastic casing—click, click, click—before she finally powered it on. The screen lit up dull blue, flickering once, then holding. A breath she didn’t realize she was holding slipped through her teeth.

This was the last thread Misty left her. Not in words or notes, but in the rhythm of every plan she’d ever whispered. If things went wrong, if Lucas awakened, if the court turned on them, contact Odin. Lucas may have been the big prize, but she was always the spare key. The backup and the one that wouldn’t be discarded.

She typed with steady thumbs, her knees drawn closer as if to shield the message from the room itself.

Lucas is returning to the capital. He will be present at Misty’s hearings. They won’t let Christian near him, but you need to move. He won’t be unguarded for long. NovelFire

She didn’t read it twice. Just hit send.

The device went silent, like it had never come alive to begin with.

Ophelia leaned back, eyes fixed on the ceiling’s carved patterns. Her fingers played with the hem of her sleeve, tugging it over her knuckles. Her lips pressed together, uncertain, before she finally whispered into the quiet:

"All of this should be mine."

She waited. There would be no response. That wasn’t how this worked. But her gaze lingered on the blank screen a moment longer, as if the absence of confirmation might still carry weight.

The silence stretched taut and whisper-thin, and her stomach churned with an edge she couldn’t name. Not regret. Not fear. Something meaner. Smaller.

Ophelia stood and took precise, soundless steps across the room, slipping the phone into the lining of her jewelry box—a hollowed panel behind the drawer’s back that no sensor would detect unless someone knew where to press. Her movements were careful, but her pulse was still racing, and each thud made her feel more alive than she had in weeks.

She’d played her role well enough so far. The sulking sister, the too-young noble girl wearing borrowed grace and fragile remorse. Serathine had let her stay, let her watch, and even let her ask questions. But Ophelia had seen the shift. The way the duchess looked at her now. Like she saw potential.

She tugged off her shoes one by one and let them fall beside the carved leg of the chaise. Her tights caught on a sharp corner and tore slightly near the knee. She didn’t care. She folded herself onto the cushions, drawing her knees up until she could rest her chin atop them.

Lucas was coming back. He’d always come back.

And the others would greet him as if he were a shattered star dragged from the brink of destruction, beautiful and brave, the kind of broken that made people want to kneel.

But Ophelia knew better. Lucas wasn’t a miracle. He wasn’t even a threat. For the time being, he served as a reminder that she was never supposed to rise.

Unless he fell.

She reached for the remote, turning on the old palace channel Serathine never bothered to block. Her own face had not yet made headlines, but Lucas’s had. The new Grand Duchess. The omega who lived. The one who could undo her mother in court with one look.

"All of this should be mine," she repeated, quieter this time, curling her fingers into the sleeves of her blouse. "And it will be. Eventually."

—

Serathine didn’t look up when David entered. She was still reading, her fingers trailing lightly over the edge of the armrest, nails painted a shade darker than blood. The velvet of her robe whispered against the cushions as she shifted, leisurely, like she had all the time in the world.

David cleared his throat, a habit he never quite broke despite knowing she hated it.

"She moved," he said simply.

Serathine’s eyes flicked to him now. "As we expected?"

"Yes. She sent a message from an unregistered device, most likely the burner phone she thought we never found."

Serathine’s lips curved, but it wasn’t a smile. It was something quieter, sharper. "She really thought I wouldn’t know." NovelFire)

David shifted his weight, careful not to interrupt. The firelight caught the edge of her profile, composed, precise, and far too calm for what had just been confirmed.

"She used the vanity in her suite," he continued. "Drawer with the false bottom. I know she is a teenager, but didn’t she think that you put that there intentionally? It’s your manor after all."

Serathine’s laugh was soft and short, a low exhale more than amusement. "She thinks I’m sentimental. That I leave relics untouched for the sake of appearances." Her fingers brushed over the velvet armrest as she turned slightly toward the flames, eyes gleaming with quiet derision. "But I never leave anything I don’t intend to be found."

David allowed himself the smallest nod. "She believes you’re beginning to trust her."

"She does. And all of it just because I ignored her existence."