[BL]Reborn as the Empire's Most Desired Omega
Chapter 194: Beginning of a trap

Chapter 194: Chapter 194: Beginning of a trap

The holding facility wasn’t a dungeon in the old sense, modern concrete walls, reinforced glass panels, and the steady hum of fluorescent lights gave it a sterile, almost clinical air. But the effect was the same. It smelled faintly of disinfectant and metal, and the silence pressed in like a vice. NovelFire

Misty sat on the edge of the narrow cot in her cell, a state-issued gray hoodie drowning her frame, her hair limp and unwashed. The cuffs around her wrists weren’t iron shackles but sleek black restraints with blinking security nodes. She flinched at every sound beyond the reinforced door, the shift of boots in the hall, the murmur of guards exchanging words.

She heard him before she saw him. The cadence of his steps was unmistakable, measured, deliberate, each one a reminder that he had no reason to rush. Correct content is on NovelFire)

The reinforced door sealed behind him with a quiet hiss, and the faint vibration of the locking mechanism seemed louder than it should have been in that sterile little room. Caelan’s presence filled the space, not with noise or threat, but with the kind of weight that made Misty’s breath catch.

The man who stood there was immaculate, with crisp lines of his coat, polished shoes that caught the strip light above, and that controlled fall of brown hair with just a dusting of silver at the temples. Power radiated from him, cold and effortless, a far cry from the restless, searching young man she had once entangled herself with.

"Misty."

Her name was spoken evenly, not as a greeting, but more like a verdict.

She shifted on the cot, the restraints at her wrists clicking softly. "You... you came yourself," she said, trying for steadiness but hearing the tremor anyway.

Caelan moved closer, each step slow and measured. "I like to see certain things with my own eyes." His gaze swept over her disheveled hair, the inmate uniform, and the bare face stripped of jewels and polish. "You’ve... adapted to your surroundings."

Misty’s chin lifted slightly, a flash of old pride surfacing even through the fear. "How do you feel, Caelan? How do you feel knowing that now everybody knows what I did? Your little image, which you care so much about, is gone."

Caelan chuckled slowly and deeply, completely engrossed in peril. "Well, now everybody knows that you sold your child and all your lies. You did me a favor, really, by speaking in the court about it."

"What?"

As you can see, you are now the ideal prey for a man’s hunt. Because he will come for you and your daughter." Caelan’s words landed like a blade, quiet but devastating.

Misty’s breath stuttered. She gripped the edge of the cot until her knuckles whitened. "You’re lying," she whispered, though the tremor in her voice betrayed her. "You’re just... just trying to scare me."

Caelan’s expression didn’t shift. If anything, his calm only deepened, the faintest ghost of a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. "Scare you?" His voice was low, almost conversational. "No, Misty. I’m telling you the truth."

He stepped closer, close enough for the sterile light to catch the silver threads at his temples, close enough that she could see just how far removed this man was from the one she had once known. "Odin is already on his way," Caelan said softly. "And I have no reason to stop him."

Misty’s composure cracked, her breath quickening as panic bled into her eyes. "Caelan... please... you can’t let him near me; you can’t let him near Ophelia." Her voice shook, desperation spilling into every word. "I’ve told you everything I know. Everything. I’ll tell you more. I’ll tell you whatever you want... just... just keep him away from us."

Caelan’s gaze hardened, though his tone stayed deceptively calm. "You think you have more to bargain with," he said, almost to himself. He let the silence stretch, letting her hear her own frantic breathing echo in the sterile room.

Then, with a soft, humorless chuckle, he shook his head. "You have nothing left I want, Misty."

Her eyes went wide, the last threads of pride snapping as her voice rose. "I can help you! I can..."

"You can’t even help yourself," Caelan cut in, his words sharp as glass. He leaned down slightly, his shadow falling across her as he spoke, slow and deliberate. "Odin doesn’t need my permission. And after what you’ve done... I see no reason to protect you."

Misty’s hands trembled in her restraints, her breath coming in ragged gasps. "Caelan, please... please..."

But he was already turning, adjusting his coat with precise, unhurried movements as he walked toward the door. He didn’t look back when he spoke again, his voice dropping to a quiet, merciless finality.

"Sleep lightly, Misty. You’ll want to be awake when he arrives."

The door slid shut behind him with a hiss, leaving her alone in the too-bright cell, her pleas swallowed by the hum of the fluorescent lights... and the weight of the truth settling like lead in her chest.

—

The corridor outside the cell was quiet, but Caelan’s stride never broke, his coat cutting a dark line through the sterile light. Two guards fell into step behind him automatically, but he didn’t slow, didn’t speak, until the secure elevator sealed and carried him upward toward the executive floor of Blackridge.

Sirius was waiting in the operations room, a narrow, glass-walled hub lined with monitors and soft-glow panels. The Crown Prince stood with his arms folded, silver-eyed gaze locked on a live feed from the southern perimeter.

"She didn’t give you anything new, did she?" Sirius asked without preamble, voice flat, though there was a shadow in his expression, he knew the answer before he’d asked.

Caelan stepped in, the door locking behind him with a click. "Nothing useful," he said. His tone was calm, but there was an edge to it, something cold and deliberate that made even the tech officers glance over and then quickly back to their screens.

Sirius turned slightly, studying his brother, reading the tension in the set of his shoulders. "You look like a man already building the next move."

Caelan moved to the central console, hands braced on the edge as his eyes scanned the surveillance feeds. "Set the trap," he said, low but clear.

Sirius straightened. "For Odin."

Caelan’s eyes narrowed on a particular feed, one zoomed on the outer checkpoint where black SUVs carried out night patrols. "I want him alive," Caelan said, his tone shifting to that deep, commanding register that silenced a room. "Every entrance, every blind corner, wired. Stagger the patrols so he thinks there’s a window. Let him crawl through."

"You’re certain he’s coming?" Sirius asked, though there was no challenge in the question, only the need to understand the depth of the play.

Caelan’s gaze flicked toward him, green eyes sharp enough to cut. "He’s already on the move. Misty’s fear was real enough, and Odin has never been able to resist unfinished business."