[BL]Reborn as the Empire's Most Desired Omega
Chapter 61: Was There Even a Choice?

Chapter 61: Chapter 61: Was There Even a Choice?

Lucas didn’t answer right away.

He didn’t understand the question because it was too complicated. Not when his name was already echoing in drawing rooms he’d never stepped foot in. Not when every pair of noble hands that had once dismissed him as disposable might now reach for him like an inheritance come to life.

He studied Trevor.

Not the title. Not the offer.

Just the man standing there, patient in a way that felt cruel and kind all at once.

And then, in a voice softer than the scrape of silver against porcelain, Lucas asked, "Was there even a choice to make?"

The words hung there, not bitter, not angry—just tired.

"I either bond," he said, more to himself than to Trevor, "or I’m sold. Again. This time to someone with better manners and worse intentions. A prince. A king. A name with enough weight to keep me locked behind walls no one dares question."

Lucas thought for a while that Misty wouldn’t touch him, that maybe she was busy with Christian’s lawsuit, that maybe she was trying to keep her luxury life, but she seemed set to distroy him and Lucas didn’t know why.

"Why is she doing this? I did nothing to her." Lucas asked without expecting a reply.

"Does the Emperor know?"

"He doesn’t, but with this article, even if we remove it, he will ask and expect results." Trevor said, taking a seat near Lucas.

Lucas didn’t react right away.

He just sat there, posture upright but tense, like a thread pulled too tight across the surface of something fragile. The tea on the table had long gone cold. The food remained untouched. He didn’t move to correct either.

Trevor had said it plainly. The Emperor would find out—if he hadn’t already—and once he did, the situation wouldn’t be a matter of preference or privacy. It would become a matter of national interest. A matter of legacy. The kind of issue that made people disappear into marble palaces and reemerge as consorts, sealed contracts, and heirs in waiting.

Lucas rubbed his fingers lightly against the edge of his sleeve, grounding himself on the fabric like it meant something.

His voice, when it came, was low. Careful.

"Is there someone more powerful than you that could come after me?"

Trevor didn’t hesitate.

"Yes," he said. "One."

Lucas didn’t move, but his fingers paused.

The stillness between them wasn’t fear—not exactly. It was anticipation. A shift in the atmosphere, like the first drop in pressure before a storm.

"Who?" he asked.

Trevor’s voice didn’t falter.

"King Evrin Dax of Saha."

The name fell between them like a sealed document—heavy, formal, irreversible. Correct content is on NovelFire.

Lucas had heard of him before. Everyone had. A man born into violence, refined by ambition, and crowned before he turned twenty-five. Rumor said he’d built Saha’s diplomatic empire on charm and threats in equal measure, that he’d negotiated four regional treaties without lifting a blade—and ended three others with a single word.

He was older now. Still unbonded. Still childless. Still, by every known record, a dominant alpha.

Lucas felt the cold settle across his skin, not like fear, but like inevitability.

"Would he try?" he asked, quieter now.

Trevor didn’t blink. "If he believes the article, yes."

"And if he knows it’s me?"

"He’ll send a proposal first," Trevor said. "Then a delegation. Then a demand."

Lucas’s breath left him in a slow, controlled exhale.

"And if I say no?"

Trevor looked at him—sharp and unwavering. "Then he’ll try to take you anyway."

Lucas didn’t ask how. He didn’t need to.

The worst part wasn’t that someone like Dax might come for him. It was that no one would stop him. Not if the bond wasn’t sealed. Not if the Empire didn’t make its move first.

And Misty—Misty had known that when she sent the message.

She hadn’t just exposed him. She’d offered him up to the one man who could make the rest of the world step back.

Lucas swallowed once, hard, his throat dry, his mind turning faster than he could keep pace with. His fingers tightened on the material of his sleeve, gripping it like it might anchor him—like the thread beneath his hand was the only thing holding him steady.

His knuckles had gone white.

"How much time can we get," he asked, voice quiet but brittle at the edges, "until they start to move?"

Trevor didn’t answer immediately.

Instead, he reached forward, unhurried and deliberate, and took Lucas’ clenched hand in his. He didn’t pry or pull. He just closed his fingers around the tension and began to gently loosen each one from the fabric, unfolding them from the death grip they’d formed.

One finger at a time.

Warm, steady, human.

Lucas let him.

Not because he couldn’t fight it—but because the stillness in Trevor’s touch was the first thing that didn’t feel like strategy.

"Two weeks, maybe," Trevor said, his thumb brushing over Lucas’s knuckles. "No more than that. Not once the article circulates beyond the internal channels. And especially not once it hits Saha."

Lucas’s hand didn’t move.

Trevor held it like it wasn’t something delicate but something worth holding steady.

"But you have to remember," Trevor continued, "we already have a defense in place. Our Houses—and the palace—signed off on our engagement."

Lucas looked up at that.

He had almost forgotten. Not because it didn’t matter, but because it hadn’t felt real. Not yet. Not until now, when the idea of not having it became something dangerous.

"Dax is stronger than me in some areas," Trevor admitted, his voice even, calm. "But not in everything. He still has to respect the boundary line of my domain, and the North has never bowed to Saha—not once. We control the ports, the trade routes, and the defensive line that makes their diplomats think twice before blinking too fast near imperial soil."

His eyes met Lucas’s, unwavering.

"Why do you think I never cared to intervene before?" he said. "Because I knew that if a day like this came, I’d have the power to make my own choices. And now I have something else."

Lucas stared at him.

"What?"

Trevor’s grip tightened slightly. "You."