[BL]Reborn as the Empire's Most Desired Omega
Chapter 184: Fitting a Facade

Chapter 184: Chapter 184: Fitting a Facade

The tailoring suite had been converted into something unholy. Swaths of fabric hung from every beam like a ritual in progress: charcoal silks, pale cream brocades, and hand-embroidered waistcoats in every shade of betrayal. The lights were too bright. The air smelled like starch and expensive fear. And in the middle of it all stood Evrin, hands on his hips, eyes ablaze with manic focus.

"Absolutely not!" he snapped the moment Lucas stepped through the door. "I told you, no blue-gray. It washes him out unless we tan him, and we are not doing that again."

"Again? What do you mean again?" Lucas asked, each question rising in pitch.

Evrin spun on his heel, already advancing like a tailor possessed. "We had the heir of Lancaster house get tanned to match his favorite color. One of my finest works."

Lucas took an instinctive step back, hands halfway raised like Evrin might actually lunge at him with a bronzing spray.

Trevor had fled the moment they reached the stairs, whispering something to Benjamin about "personal safety" and "button placement-induced trauma." Lucas now understood.

"You tanned a noble to match a color palette?" he asked, incredulous. Correct content is on NovelFire)

Evrin didn’t even blink. "He wanted gold accents. He became the gold."

From the corner, Serathine gave an approving nod. "He looked divine, if a little... glazed."

"Like a roast pheasant," Cressida muttered, unimpressed.

Evrin clapped his hands once, and two assistants emerged from the fabric jungle with the precision of trained assassins, each bearing a garment bag so heavily embroidered it practically whispered bank account numbers.

Lucas sighed as one bag was unzipped, revealing a high-collared jacket in a shade of silver so sharp it bordered on weaponized moonlight. "That looks expensive."

"It is expensive," Evrin replied, already circling again. "So is failure. And you, darling, are not going to fail. Arms up."

Lucas obeyed with a grumble. "You know, I was promised tailoring, not an exorcism."

"You get both," Evrin said sweetly. "One for your shoulders, the other for your posture."

As the jacket slid over his arms, Lucas caught sight of himself in the mirror. The transformation was immediate: less man, more statement. The kind of figure you’d see in a painting, backlit by prophecy and bad decisions.

Serathine leaned forward slightly, eyes sharp. "The cut works."

Cressida adjusted her teacup without looking up. "Lengthen the sleeve by half a finger. Otherwise, he’ll look like a child at court."

Evrin was already pinning. "Heaven forbid."

Lucas turned from the mirror slowly. "Do I get any say in this?" View the correct content at NovelFire.

Serathine gave him a soft, dangerous smile. "Yes. We just don’t need it."

Cressida tilted her head. "You wanted to stand beside Trevor and not look replaceable, didn’t you?"

Lucas opened his mouth. Closed it. "...Fair."

—

Evrin took one stunned step back, hands clasped to his chest like a prophet receiving divine confirmation. "Oh," he whispered. "This isn’t a wedding. This is a declaration."

Lucas stood before the mirror, draped in the final suit, the last iteration, the one no one dared to imagine until now.

Gone was the soft silver restraint. In its place: regality incarnate. The final suit had changed, by Evrin’s demand and Serathine and Cressida’s eerie agreement, into something more commanding. More imperial. More Lucas, even if he didn’t yet realize it.

The ivory shirt was crisp and high-collared, embroidered with gold filigree that swept across his chest like a royal crest blooming into armor. The design crept over one shoulder, then wrapped down his sleeve in gleaming arcs that caught every flicker of light. The buttons were polished pearl, rimmed with the faintest halo of sapphire, so subtle you’d miss it unless you were meant to see it.

The trousers were high-waisted and midnight plum at first glance, but shifted slightly, and the fabric shimmered in shades of merlot and crushed velvet. The embroidery along the leg was now done in a muted gold, less to shine and more to whisper. Power didn’t need to shout.

And then, the coat.

Draped from one shoulder in a single elegant sweep, the coat-cape was violet-black shot through with wine-red lightning, the edge lined with gold piping so thin it vanished when still and reappeared with movement. Every turn made it flare like spilled ink under candlelight. A nod to Trevor’s signature palette. A promise that this union was not just survival, but sovereignty.

Evrin adjusted the final chain at Lucas’s hip, red-tinted steel laced with tiny amethysts. "There. Now you look like a man who could ruin a coronation just by walking in late."

Serathine stood slowly, one gloved hand on her chin. "That is not a duchess."

Cressida’s voice was proud and lethal. "That is a prince who hasn’t needed a title."

Lucas looked at his reflection. He didn’t speak.

He didn’t need to.

His eyes flicked toward the mirror, then toward the coat. The color matched Trevor’s gaze almost exactly, that particular shade of imperial violet laced with heat and ruin.

When he finally turned back toward the others, the air in the room shifted, like a throne had just been claimed.

His voice was low. Uncertain.

"This is not me."

Serathine rose first, her silhouette a study in precision and power. "No," she said softly, kindly. "It’s the Duchess."

Lucas blinked.

Cressida stepped forward, brushing a nearly invisible wrinkle from the cuff. Her voice was colder. Sharper. "Lucas is for Trevor. For us. For the people who’ve earned the truth of you."

She stepped back, letting her words settle like judgment.

"Let the rest see the facade."

Evrin said nothing. He only tightened the last clasp at Lucas’s side, the wine-red catching a sliver of gold light from the window.

"You two are a war in dresses." Lucas said, chuckling.

Cressida didn’t flinch. "And you’re the crown we dressed it for."

Serathine’s smile was all quiet pride and perfectly calculated menace. "What did you think this was, darling? A ceremony? It’s conquest. You just happen to look flawless doing it."

Lucas chuckled again, but there was something breathless under it now. "Gods. I should’ve run when Benjamin offered me the goat."