[BL]Reborn as the Empire's Most Desired Omega
Chapter 156: I didn’t deserve to die yet.

Chapter 156: Chapter 156: I didn’t deserve to die yet.

The words blinked softly against the screen, steady in their heartbreak. ’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.’

Trevor exhaled, slow and ragged. The kind of breath that didn’t bring relief only made space for more fury to settle. His fingers flexed once on the edge of the tablet, the weight of it nothing compared to the guilt pressing against his spine.

Lucas didn’t beg. He didn’t curse. He hadn’t even written in anger. Just quiet, terrible desperation that no one had witnessed.

Or, worse, that some had seen but turned away anyway.

Trevor reached for Lucas without thinking, gently brushing through the pale strands of hair at the crown of his head, taking care not to wake him. Lucas stirred faintly but did not awaken; he remained curled close, trusting him enough to sleep fearlessly.

And that trust...

That trust made Trevor want to burn down kingdoms.

He looked back at the screen.

’I didn’t deserve to die yet.’

Trevor had fought in wars, stood before men who ordered executions with a flick of the wrist, and looked into the eyes of warlords who believed cruelty was a form of strategy. He had witnessed monsters in boardrooms and on battlefields, men who razed towns and left with medals. And yet, they had died cleaner, simpler deaths. Received more mercy than a young man who had committed no crime other than being born in the wrong type of rare. The only difference was Lucas had been a dominant omega, which made him valuable. This made him disposable.

Trevor let his head fall back against the headrest, his eyes tracing the grooves of the ceiling above. The tablet rested on his lap, but for a moment he didn’t look at it. Couldn’t. Not because he was afraid, but because he needed to cool the rising heat in his chest before it boiled over.

There was more to read. Dozens of entries, maybe more. But the tone had changed after the first. The following memories were more structured, more data than diary. Lucas had organized them like case files, separating facts from feelings with painful discipline. The first entries had the weight of raw recollection, fragmented and emotionally threadbare, but as Trevor read further, the structure became clearer. Paragraphs gave way to bullet points, dates emerged, and each file began to resemble evidence rather than memory.

He wasn’t just remembering anymore. He was documenting.

And he did it because Trevor had asked after learning that Lucas could remember.

Lucas had nodded back then, but Trevor hadn’t pushed. He hadn’t asked again. He hadn’t needed to.

Trevor would prefer it if Lucas didn’t remember. There was no need for Lucas to relive the literal hell he’d been through, and Trevor was confident that Serathine would find him when she did. He would face almost the same fate.

Trevor now saw the outcome of Lucas’s writing. Names. Locations. Terms used in the old contracts. Notes in Lucas’s steady, slanted handwriting, some from memory and others clearly added after recent encounters.

There were entries tagged after Christian’s encounter with Lucas at the Baye Gala, marked by a single line:

’Same eyes. Same smile. But softer now. He’s pretending even to himself.’

Another under Misty:

She still lies the same way—too fast, too smooth. She forgot what my silence used to mean.

Another under Ophelia’s name:

’She will never change. Don’t trust her.’

And one—new, raw, and chillingly brief—below Jason Luna’s name:

’He looked me in the eyes. He believes I hold the key to everything he has been denied until now. It’s the same look as before.’

Trevor didn’t move. His hand slid slowly along the edge of the tablet, anchoring himself there, gaze still on that last sentence. The room was quiet, save for the soft breath of the man sleeping beside him, curled in loose sheets, still unaware that the ghosts hadn’t stopped chasing.

But he would never allow Lucas to meet these ghosts again.

—

The morning crept in quietly through the gauzy curtains, casting pale light on the polished floor and silk-strewn bed. It was too early for Lucas, as evidenced by the dryness in his throat and the heaviness in his limbs.

Trevor’s voice was low near his ear, coaxing rather than commanding. "Lucas. Wake up. The physician’s here."

A groan escaped before Lucas could stop it, his hand fumbling blindly across the sheets for relief. Instead, he found Trevor’s wrist to be warm, steady, and annoyingly awake.

"I don’t want to," he muttered, his voice gravelly and dusty. "My mouth tastes like cotton."

Trevor huffed a quiet laugh. "You didn’t drink enough water yesterday. You’re flushed. Come on, you need to be checked." View the correct content at NovelFire.

Lucas peeled one eye open, regretted it immediately, and buried half his face back into the pillow. His body was too warm, his skin overly sensitive beneath the sheets, and his scent, rich with rising pheromones, was no longer subtle.

"It’s too soon," he muttered, half in protest, half in disbelief.

"It’s not," Trevor said simply. "It’s close enough that Windstone nearly sealed the entire hallway. You’ll be fine once she sees you. Then you can go back to pretending you’re not burning from the inside out."

Lucas managed to lift his head, hair mussed and sticking in all directions. "You’re enjoying this," he accused, voice thick with sleep.

Trevor, already dressed in a crisp white shirt with the sleeves rolled to his forearms, arched a brow. "I’m enjoying the fact that Windstone made your favorite tea and you’re missing it."

Lucas groaned again but dragged himself upright, blanket still clutched around his waist like a makeshift robe. His limbs ached, not from illness, but from a strange, telltale heaviness that made his body feel both full and hollow at the same time. Heat was close, too close. Even his breath felt warmer in his own mouth.

Trevor stepped back, giving him room. "There’s water on the table. Try not to bite the doctor. She’s nicer than she looks."

Lucas, half-standing now, blinked at him blearily. "If she pokes me without warning, I’m biting you instead."

"Deal," he answered with a wide smile, the kind that crinkled at the corners and made Lucas suspicious.

Lucas narrowed his eyes, still half-swaddled in blankets, hair a mess, lips chapped from sleep and thirst. "You’re not supposed to agree to that."

Trevor stepped closer, leaned just enough to brush his hand down Lucas’s spine through the fabric. "I’m not supposed to want you like this either, but here we are."

Lucas scowled, but his body betrayed him: his skin warmed to the touch, his hips shifted slightly, instinct indicating irritation. He grumbled and turned toward the bathroom, dragging the blanket behind him like a defeated general marching to the front lines.

"You’re insufferable," he muttered.

"Unquestionably," Trevor called out after him. "But I’m also the one ensuring that Windstone doesn’t bar the door with cold towels and judgment if you arrive late."

Lucas waved a dismissive hand over his shoulder, but Trevor noticed a faint curl at the corner of his mouth.