[BL]Reborn as the Empire's Most Desired Omega
Chapter 157: It’s starting.

Chapter 157: Chapter 157: It’s starting.

Lucas had showered, but only because Trevor bribed him with fresh linen and threats of cold breakfast. His hair was still damp at the ends, brushing against the collar of the dark green lounge shirt he’d pulled on with little effort, half-buttoned, wrinkled, and soft from wear. The matching pants hung loose at the hips, and he walked barefoot, eyes half-closed, cradling a mug of tea as if it held the universe’s secrets.

The doctor was already waiting in the sitting room, standing beside one of the large armchairs, her coat neatly draped over the back and her sleeves rolled up to her forearms. She didn’t bother with bows or pleasantries.

"Grand Duchess," she said mildly, glancing up from the datapad. "You’re late."

Lucas blinked slowly, like the words had to pass through three layers of fog before reaching his brain. "Good morning to you too."

Trevor cleared his throat but did not move from his position just behind the couch, arms folded and hovering with the stealth of a military drone. He wasn’t going to interrupt, but he absolutely would if anything startled Lucas.

The doctor didn’t seem fazed. "I’m Dr. Monica Dixon. I reviewed your files from Palatine. You’re five weeks away from full pheromone drop. Secondary cycle stabilization has begun. Symptoms?"

Lucas lowered himself into the armchair like a prince choosing exile, curling one leg under him and taking another long sip from his mug. The tea was lukewarm now. Betrayal.

"Symptoms," he echoed, voice dry. "Mm, let’s see... crippling fatigue, unexplained rage at doorknobs, and a strong desire to throw Trevor into the garden whenever he tries to wake me up."

Trevor didn’t even blink. "You were promised warm pastries."

"And lied to," Lucas added flatly, eyes narrowing at the memory of a Windstone telling him that he would get food or coffee only after his bloodwork.

Dr. Dixon tapped something on her datapad, unfazed. "Classic pre-awakening irritability. Elevated emotional response, especially toward mates and authority figures. Appetite changes?"

Lucas gave her a look that could’ve curdled milk. "Yes. I want to eat everyone who tells me what to do."

Trevor raised a brow, but said nothing. It was Lucas’ first heat, and it began strongly in the evening, and Lucas, for all intents and purposes, had no idea how to deal with it.

Dr. Dixon’s eyes flicked to Trevor, then back to Lucas. She didn’t comment on the threat. Or the fact that the omega in front of her looked like he hadn’t slept and might spontaneously combust from irritation and overheating.

"I see," she said neutrally, tapping again on her datapad. "And are we also experiencing unprovoked arousal, territorialism, or an overwhelming urge to set things on fire when someone breathes too close?"

Lucas narrowed his eyes. "That seems oddly specific."

Dr. Dixon didn’t miss a beat. "So you are aroused. "Good, it would have been a problem otherwise."

Lucas’s eyes narrowed further, sharp and suspicious. "I didn’t say that."

Dr. Dixon raised an eyebrow, utterly unfazed. "You didn’t have to. The hostility is a classic indicator. You’re flushed, irritable, and you’re glaring like I asked you to recite poetry barefoot in a snowstorm." NovelFire

Trevor made a low sound, too close to a laugh, and immediately tried to disguise it with a cough. Lucas turned just enough to shoot him a look that promised divine retribution.

"I am not aroused," Lucas insisted, tightly, clearly lying to himself more than anyone.

Dr. Dixon hummed like someone who had heard that line a hundred times before breakfast. "Of course not. And I’m a pastry chef. Now. Shirt up, vitals next."

Lucas groaned but complied, yanking the lounge shirt halfway up with a theatrical sigh. "This is humiliation. You know that, right? Medical betrayal."

"I deal with hormone-drunk nobility for a living, Grand Duchess. You’ll have to try harder if you want to break my spirit."

Trevor shifted just enough to help adjust the cuff on Lucas’s sleeve. His touch was firm but gentle, lasting a second longer than necessary.

Lucas didn’t flinch, but he didn’t look at him, either.

Dr. Dixon adjusted the scanner and reached for the cuff with a practiced motion, attaching it to Lucas’s arm as if she had done it a thousand times, which she probably had. "Pulse is elevated. Not unexpected. Shallow breathing, slightly elevated body temperature... You’re either fighting a fever or fighting the urge to jump your mate."

Lucas scowled. "Do you enjoy this?"

"Immensely," she replied, already shifting to take his blood pressure. "You’re textbook. Hormones are peaking, scent is shifting, and irritability is off the charts. And, if I had to guess based on how you keep glaring at Trevor like he’s both the problem and the solution, your cycle’s syncing with bond sensitivity. That means—"

"I’m not jumping anyone," Lucas cut in sharply, yanking his arm back once the cuff deflated. "I can barely tolerate being in the same room as people right now without lighting a match."

Trevor, calm as ever, handed him the tea again like it was a peace offering. "You haven’t thrown anything until now. I call it an advantage."

Lucas snatched the mug, grumbling into it. "I wanted to. You breathe like you’ve got something to hide."

"I do," Trevor said lightly. "Your promised pastry."

Dr. Dixon pretended not to smirk, scrolling through readings on the datapad. "You’re doing fine," she said after a moment. "I’ve seen worse. You haven’t clawed anyone, and you’re still using full sentences. That’s already ahead of the curve."

Lucas muttered something unintelligible, curling deeper into the armchair like a cat in a bad mood. He hadn’t realized just how tight his skin felt until she started touching him, how hot and fidgety and wrong everything felt. Every sound scraped against his skull, every heartbeat felt like it echoed. But it was worse when Trevor stood too close. Worse when he didn’t.

"Tell me the truth," Lucas said after a pause. "How long until this—" he gestured vaguely at himself, at everything, "—gets unbearable?"

Dr. Dixon didn’t sugarcoat it. "Soon. Likely within the next seventy-two hours. You’ll want to isolate somewhere comfortable. Safe. Preferably with the mate you trust most."

"So the one that marked me just days ago?"

Dr. Dixon arched a brow, her tone dry as salt. "Yes, Grand Duchess. The very same mate you’ve been glaring at like he stole your inheritance."

Lucas didn’t blink. "He did steal my pastries."

"That’s not medically relevant," she replied, entirely unimpressed. "But the mark is. You’re entering your first full cycle with a new bond, under stress, and in unfamiliar territory. Your body’s going to demand contact whether you like it or not."

"Good thing I discovered that I enjoy it."