[BL]Reborn as the Empire's Most Desired Omega
Chapter 182: Yes

Chapter 182: Chapter 182: Yes

The room smelled like cedar and clean ink. Morning light filtered through glass cut too thick to let sound through, and the desk in front of Christian Velloran looked like it had never hosted anything as pedestrian as stress. He was halfway through sorting diplomatic briefing folders, most of them unopened, several of them classified, when the encrypted alert blinked once in the corner of his tablet. No sound. Just a quiet pulse of light.

He tapped once.

MOON ID: 0771 - SECURE LINE ESTABLISHED

Jason Moon. One of the best connections Christian had left embedded in civilian disguise. Quiet, fast, and borderline feral in how he handled surveillance. Christian hadn’t expected him to resurface so soon.

The screen darkened for a moment, then lit up with a message, not typed, but handwritten, digitally transferred in a sharp, blocky script that only a few of them still used.

’Target locked. Entry secured under catering subcontract. Fitzgeralt estate perimeter clean.

Public wedding confirmed. All major guests are attending.’

Christian sat back in the leather chair, his black robe opening slightly at the collar, letting a gold chain glint in the sun. His silver eyes narrowed at the message, dissecting it line by line, not for the content, but for what wasn’t written.

He tapped the message again, enlarging it with a flick of his fingers. The script didn’t falter under magnification, Jason had a steady hand even when he was lying. That was the problem.

Christian leaned forward, elbows on the desk, the morning light catching the edge of the ring on his index finger. His thumb brushed it once, an old habit, older than he wanted to admit.

Jason didn’t make mistakes. He didn’t use that script unless it was real. Which meant either he’d gone completely rogue, or someone had given him access to Fitzgeralt manor.

He sighed; Misty’s last rouse at the court had undone everything he had planned; now she was being tried for treason to the crown, and Caelan was gaining more power by outlawing mating contracts without a parliament vote.

Christian was aware that Trevor was now watching what was going to happen, what nobles, people, and the media were going to do to his precious wife, but he was content. At the court, Lucas was standing isolated, but he could feel his pheromones; he wasn’t marked yet. He still had time.

Trevor could have fun with the omega and his toy, then die gracefully and allow Christian to handle the precious doll, Lucas.

Christian switched tabs until he found the last encrypted emails that he sent to nobles that wanted his favor or indebted fools that didn’t know who Trevor Ariston Fitzgeralt was. They planned to poison him and Christian was ready to gain everything from that.

He scrolled past names. Lord Cearwyn. Baroness Markelle. Viscount Reign. All of them had reason to hate Trevor, all of them wanted influence, and none of them cared who Lucas really was, not as long as they could scrape power from the wreckage afterward. Christian didn’t correct them. Let them think Lucas was a prize. Let them underestimate what would be left if Trevor fell.

He already knew Lucas wouldn’t break the way they expected. He’d seen it in court, shoulders drawn back, not defiant, but untouchable. Like he didn’t care about the blood on the floor as long as it wasn’t his. That had thrilled Christian. It had ruined him.

The ring on his finger clicked faintly against the glass. He stopped scrolling.

One message. Still unsent. Addressed to a name only four people in the Empire could decrypt. Vivienne Alostora.

His thumb hovered over the send icon. He could activate the final push now. Or wait. See if the poison was enough.

He waited.

There was always a second poison.

Outside the window, the estate’s front garden was being trimmed again, unnecessarily. He watched the gardener for a moment. Slow, methodical, utterly unaware that a country’s future was being planned one floor above his head.

Christian finally leaned back, fingers steepled.

Jason Moon was in. Trevor was still breathing. Lucas was still unclaimed. And the world was watching, politely, as if the Empire wasn’t already three degrees into collapse.

"Let them have their wedding," he murmured, his voice like a thread pulled tight. "The funeral comes next."

—

The villa was quiet.

Not the kind of quiet that came from peace, but the kind that crept in after too many late nights, too much caffeine, and a stack of research notes that still refused to obey the laws of logic. Vivienne Alostora sat cross-legged on a velvet chaise, a datapad balanced on her knee, stylus dancing across the screen in rapid strokes. She was still in yesterday’s blouse, creased at the cuffs and ink-smudged at the wrist, and her hair was pulled up in a loose knot that somehow made her look more dangerous than tired.

The message came at 08:34, tagged and sealed in a black envelope icon with a violet edge. Old encryption. Discreet. Arrogant.

SENDER: C.V.

SUBJECT: A Favor, With Incentive

Vivienne’s eyes narrowed.

She tapped once.

The message unfolded onto her screen and then again on her tablet in sharp, unmistakable code.

I heard you’ve been trying to talk to him.

You’re not the only one who sees value in him, Doctor.

Help me get Lucas, and I’ll give you clearance. All of it.

You know what that kind of freedom feels like, don’t you?

Say yes. You won’t regret it. View the correct content at NovelFire)

— C.V.

The message timed out and deleted itself mid-glow.

Vivienne sat motionless.

For five full seconds, not even her fingers twitched. Then she exhaled, slow and silent, and closed her datapad.

Of course Christian Velloran knew. Of course he’d found out. She had sent one polite request, just one, through a neutral channel asking to meet the Fitzgeralt spouse, and now the devil had come calling with open doors and everything she’d ever wanted as bait.

Lucas.

That name hadn’t meant anything to her months ago. Now it was the key to research the empire had buried under six levels of ethical firewalls and locked funding.

She stood and crossed the room to her window, looking out over the narrow garden lined with white marble busts of fallen scholars. Her reflection in the glass didn’t blink.

Christian hadn’t said what he wanted with the omega.

He didn’t need to.

Vivienne smiled, but there was no joy in it.

No limits. That was the cost.

She opened a new message.

To: C.V.

Subject: For Science

Body: I want my lab built in the Northern Tower. I want silence, and I want my own staff.

She stared at the blinking cursor.

Then, finally, she typed one more word.

Yes.