[BL]Reborn as the Empire's Most Desired Omega
Chapter 216: Alpha’s fun

Chapter 216: Chapter 216: Alpha’s fun

The first thing Lucas noticed was the light.

It crept through the curtains like it was trying not to be caught, washing the walls in that pale, early morning hush the manor always wore before it remembered it had servants, guests, and obligations to tend to. The room smelled faintly of cedarwood, clean linen, and Trevor’s scent, comforting and lingering in the folds of the sheets where he’d slept.

Lucas turned his face into the pillow with a small sound, half-protest, half-sigh. The warmth beside him was long gone, but that wasn’t unusual. Trevor always woke before him. Always moved quieter than someone with that many sharp suits and sharper intentions should.

Lucas didn’t open his eyes. He just reached out blindly across the sheets for the phone on the nightstand. His fingers fumbled until they found it, pulling it toward him without lifting his head.

He unlocked it and dialed without lifting his head from the pillow.

The call rang once.

Twice.

Then clicked.

"Lucas," came Trevor’s voice, low and rich, like he hadn’t quite stepped out of wherever he was yet.

Lucas pressed the phone closer to his ear, still sprawled across the bed, eyes half-shut against the grey light. "Where are you?" he asked, voice rough from sleep, not accusing, just slow and warm and laced with the weight of someone who didn’t feel like starting the day alone.

A pause, a faint rustle on the other end. "Didn’t mean to wake you."

"You didn’t," Lucas murmured, rolling onto his back. "The light did. It’s annoying."

"I’ll have the curtains fixed."

Lucas huffed softly into the pillow. "You let them open intentionally. You and Windstone, conspiring against me."

A pause. Then Trevor, absolutely unbothered, replied, "He did mention your tendency to sleep past breakfast if unchecked."

Lucas opened one eye, squinting toward the ceiling like it had personally betrayed him. "He’s a butler, not a spy."

"He’s both," Trevor said smoothly. "You just don’t pay attention."

Lucas groaned, dragging the pillow over his face. "Next time, I’m locking the windows and bribing the maid."

"I already bribed her."

Lucas made a low, wounded sound. "Treason. In my own bed."

"Technically mine."

Lucas lifted the pillow just enough to mutter, "So dramatic for this early."

"You married me."

"I was under pressure."

"You chose the ring."

A beat.

"I regret nothing," Lucas muttered, throwing the pillow aside and finally sitting up, his hair an uneven mess of gold and ash. He rubbed a hand over his face and squinted blearily toward the wardrobe.

"I’ll be down in ten. Unless you say something stupid again and I change my mind."

"Noted," Trevor said, amused. "Nine minutes."

—

Lucas groaned again, but this time with the full weight of someone who knew defeat was inevitable. He swung his legs over the edge of the bed, the wooden floor cool beneath bare feet, and sat there for a moment, half-slouched, half-willing the day not to start just yet.

The silence of the suite felt different without Trevor in it. Not empty. Just... tilted. Like the center of gravity had shifted when the space beside him cooled.

He didn’t look at his phone. Didn’t need to. Trevor was always up first. Lucas had lost count of the mornings he’d stirred only to find the bed already straightened and a cup of coffee waiting somewhere nearby. And if not coffee, then Windstone with that suspiciously polite knock, pretending he wasn’t acting on a direct order.

With a slow breath, Lucas pushed himself to his feet and padded toward the bathroom.

The marble tiles were faintly cold underfoot, the kind of cold that woke you faster than you wanted. He turned on the tap with one hand, let the water run until it reached that perfect in-between, cool enough to shock his nerves awake, warm enough not to curse the day entirely. He splashed his face once, twice, then caught sight of himself in the mirror.

Hair a mess. Pillow lines still faint on one cheek. Eyes half-lidded with sleep and just enough spite to pass for composure.

"Good enough," he muttered.

He brushed his teeth with the casual disinterest of someone who knew his day would demand more effort later. Washed again. Ran his fingers through his hair until it flattened into something that looked almost intentional. Then he wrapped himself in the robe for a moment longer, leaning against the doorframe as he exhaled slowly, watching condensation fade from the mirror.

After a beat, he stepped into the adjoining wardrobe room. Yesterday’s formalwear still hung on the outer rack, smug and stiff in its expensive silence. Lucas ignored it entirely.

He reached instead for a soft dark turtleneck and pulled on a pair of charcoal trousers to match. Casual, but curated. The kind of casual that screamed old money.

His shoes were already waiting by the bench. Of course they were.

He tugged them on, straightened once, then smoothed a palm over his shirt before stepping out into the hall.

The manor was quiet. Polished. Like it was trying to pretend it hadn’t hosted a war disguised as a wedding.

Lucas let the door click shut behind him, then walked, slow and even, toward wherever Trevor was ruining someone’s day.

And if he smiled faintly at the thought, well... no one was around to see it.

—

The manor’s corridors stretched out in a soft hush, bathed in early light that streamed through high arched windows. Lucas didn’t rush. There was something about mornings like this, quiet, hungover from the ceremony, that made him walk slower, like the world had shifted into half-speed and was waiting for him to catch up.

The sound reached him just before the corner. Voices. Familiar. Easy. That low rumble that belonged to Trevor when he wasn’t wearing a crown, and the brighter, more languid drawl that could only be Dax.

Lucas slowed.

"...you’re insufferable," Dax was saying, voice light with amusement. Lucas could imagine the grin that went with it, sharp and amused and entirely too relaxed for someone who had likely ordered a diplomatic crisis last week. "You could let me have fun with Jason too."

Lucas slowed just enough for the words to sink in.

Jason.

The name curdled something low in his stomach.

He wasn’t the type to eavesdrop. Not deliberately. But he didn’t move, didn’t make a sound either, because something in Dax’s tone wasn’t just amusement. It was laced with that subtle undercurrent of old power games, the kind that never truly left a king’s mouth.

Trevor’s reply came after a beat, colder than it had any right to be this early in the morning. "Fun," he repeated. "Is that what you call it now?"

Dax laughed, low and unbothered. "You were always territorial."

Lucas, tucked just around the corner, could picture the look on Trevor’s face. Not amused. Not quite smiling. That expression he wore when he was deciding whether someone deserved to walk away whole.

"Don’t push me, Dax."

"Oh, come on." Dax’s voice dipped, teasing. "I’m not the one who left the remains in a sealed chamber like a warning sign. You know your staff had to mop the ceiling?"

’What?’