[BL]Reborn as the Empire's Most Desired Omega
Chapter 155: The First Life.

Chapter 155: Chapter 155: The First Life.

Trevor stared at the screen, at the brittle, meticulous lines of Lucas’ memory, as if they would suddenly undo themselves and vanish before he could finish reading. But they didn’t. They waited. Heavy. Patient. Measured like confession, shaped like sorrow.

There was no date or number on the files; only the last modified icon provided him with a sense of order, and he chose to begin with the oldest.

The file opened with brutal simplicity: no title, no Chapter, just a block of clean text waiting like an open wound with blood between the lines.

’How can I describe what happened in my previous life? I don’t know where to begin, other than the day I died.’

Trevor’s breathing slowed while he read. The words weren’t dramatic, but they were laced with the uncertainty of a man who couldn’t believe he had another chance.

’It was summer. One of those burning weeks where the walls sweat and the air goes stale before noon. They turned on the floor heating; I can still feel the hot marble on my skin. I despised hot weather, and I still do. Christian knew this.’

Trevor couldn’t even blink. The words crawled under his skin, slow and relentless.

They turned on the floor heating.

Something in his chest twists. Not violently, but with the quiet sharpness of a blade placed perfectly.

Lucas’s voice in the file was plain, factual, and disarmingly restrained, like a dam holding back a thousand unspoken words. Rage. Pain. Loneliness so complete it became part of the air.

’I despised hot weather, and I still do. Christian knew this.’

Trevor lowered the tablet for a breath but didn’t look away from the glowing screen. The soft rhythm of Lucas’s sleeping breath beside him grounded the rising weight behind his sternum.

Trevor’s thumb hovered over the edge of the screen, hesitant for the first time in years. The lines weren’t just sentences—they were marrow-deep recollections, scraped out and laid bare like sacrificial offerings.

’I think it was Christian’s main estate.’

The words settled heavily in the room, stark against the hush of deep night and the distant hum of the estate’s backup systems. Outside, the wind stirred against glass. Inside, the world narrowed to Lucas’s steady breaths and the screen still glowing like a wound that refused to scab.

Lucas hadn’t moved. One arm curled close to his chest, his knuckles pale where they touched the linen sheets. He looked young, too young for the events he had witnessed, for the kind of memory that could bleed into nightmares even in the comfort of silk bedding and jasmine-scented air.

Trevor returned to the tablet, spine straight, jaw clenched.

’At that point I didn’t know anymore, but three years back I was sent by Misty with a collar to Christian’s main manor.’

A gift. A parcel. Not a person.

He swiped down, slow and deliberate.

’At first, I thought everything was fine. He paid attention to me and seemed genuinely interested in getting to know me.’

Trevor could see Christian’s curated warmth, the kind of charm that could seduce an empire while also slitting a throat the next morning. It was never real. It didn’t have to be.

’Then the heat never came, the child he desired never appeared, and the bond disintegrated days after it was formed. And everything was my fault.’

Of course it was. Of course they told him that. Blame made compliance easier. Made pain more bearable.

Trevor tightened his grip on the tablet.

He remembered what Serathine once said: "Some people teach obedience through reward. Others by starvation. Misty and Christian chose both."

The collar. The bond. The silence. The rot.

It was sickening, but he pushed through the rest of the file; it was the older one, one that had not been touched since its creation.

’There was food on the table. Not in reach. A plate of candied oranges. They glistened in the light that filtered through the curtains, catching like jewels. I counted the days by how fast they rotted. No one took them away. No one replaced them. I think they wanted me to see them turn, to smell what I couldn’t have. It worked. I dreamed about those oranges every day until the flies came.’

Trevor’s chest tightened, with a dull and low pressure that anger alone could not explain. Not when the cruelty was so trivial. So deliberate.

Oranges. Flies. Heatwaves and silence. Lucas had measured time not with a calendar but with the decay of fruit that had been left just out of reach. They didn’t just hurt him. They destroyed every piece of Lucas. They showed no mercy for the product they used.

’That happened in the last months. The months after reaching twenty-five years of age, I’ve been drugged into a state of permanent heat. Of permanent visits from other alphas only because I dared to say that maybe... maybe Christian was the one who couldn’t have a child.’ View the correct content at NovelFire.

Trevor’s vision blurred for a moment before he blinked it away. It wasn’t the tears that scared him; it was the clarity. The simplicity with which Lucas wrote it, as if the horror was already so profound that it required no further emphasis.

There was only one word that described those who hurt Lucas.

Monsters.

Not in the fantastical sense, with no fangs, claws, or snarling in the dark. Just people. People dressed in designer clothes and polished shoes, making decisions in daylight and closing doors behind them. Monsters who spoke softly, smiled at public events, and debated lineage and purity while preying on someone else’s pain.

His hand curled into a fist against his thigh, barely able to resist the urge to get out of bed and kill everyone involved.

The tablet rested on his lap, the screen dimming slightly. He tapped it back to life and read the next line, knowing full well that the worst was still ahead. But he wouldn’t look away.

’They left me to die. Then I awoke, and all I could think about was how desperate I was when I realized I didn’t deserve to die yet.’