[BL]Reborn as the Empire's Most Desired Omega
Chapter 70: Not a Guest

Chapter 70: Chapter 70: Not a Guest

The doors to the private wing opened without a sound.

Lucas didn’t ask how they were timed so perfectly, or if someone was watching from behind the walls. He already knew the answer. Places like this weren’t built to be discreet—they were built to never be caught failing.

The hallway was long and dimly lit, but not cold. The sconces glowed low, casting their shadows in thin, sharp lines against dark stone and deep wood. Paintings lined the corridor—none of Trevor. All of them brutal in technique. Cold landscapes. Warships. One of a bird mid-hunt, talons already sunk into its prey.

Lucas said nothing as they walked.

Neither did Trevor.

When they reached the doors to the private dining room, Windstone was already there. The table inside was set for two. Not opulent, but curated—silverware polished, plates spaced precisely, glasses waiting.

Windstone bowed once. "Your preferred tea has been prepared. Dinner will be served as soon as you’re seated." View the correct content at NovelFire

Lucas raised an eyebrow. "You knew what I liked?"

Windstone didn’t blink. "I would rather resign than not know the basics about the new duchess of this house."

Lucas let out a low exhale, almost a laugh, almost not. "Right."

Trevor pulled out the nearest chair for him. He didn’t make a show of it. Just stood there, waiting.

Lucas sat.

Trevor joined him a moment later, calm as ever, one cuff slightly misaligned—the only visible indication he’d just made a public threat on his behalf.

Dinner was served quietly.

Roasted fish, citrus glaze. Spiced rice. Charred greens with crushed almonds. A small loaf of bread, still warm. Butter—unsalted, just as he preferred.

Lucas took the first bite without speaking.

Trevor didn’t touch his plate until Lucas had.

After the second mouthful, Lucas finally glanced up.

"I thought this was a military estate. Not a curated restaurant."

Trevor lifted his glass with an amused expression on his face. "You think I was raised on field rations?"

"Maybe MREs," Lucas replied, cutting into the fish with deliberate ease. "Something sterilized. Sealed. Unbothered by taste."

Trevor didn’t argue. "Not inaccurate. But I ate better than most."

Lucas chewed once, then set his fork down. "You still do."

"I’m not the only one at this table."

Lucas didn’t respond. Not immediately. He took a sip of tea, then glanced at him over the rim of the cup.

"Did you plan this far?"

Trevor leaned back slightly. "Define ’this far.’"

Lucas tilted his head. "Marriage. Estate. Dinner. Me."

A pause.

Then Trevor said, calm as ever, "I didn’t expect the timing. But the outcome was always possible."

Lucas set the cup down. "You were waiting."

Trevor nodded once. "Yes. You could say that."

He didn’t blink. "I came to the Capital because Serathine forced me to. But you made me change my mind."

A pause.

"That itself is impressive."

Lucas didn’t answer right away. His fingers traced the rim of the porcelain cup, absently, without thought. He wasn’t used to being the reason someone stayed. Much less was admitted aloud.

He looked at Trevor, trying to understand the man in front of him.

"And what exactly changed?"

Trevor set his cutlery down. He hadn’t eaten much—just enough to keep pace. He hadn’t come here with an appetite. He came to make sure Lucas was fed, and that he was safe.

He leaned back in his chair.

"A lot of things," he said. "But there will be a moment to talk about them."

He looked at Lucas, steady. "Now finish your dinner. I’ll show you our room."

Lucas paused. Fork halfway to his mouth. "Didn’t you mean yours?"

"No," Trevor said.

There wasn’t hesitation in it. Just fact.

"I can use a guest wing," Lucas offered. "You don’t need to—"

"There is no guest wing for you."

Trevor’s voice didn’t rise. It didn’t have to.

"You are not a guest. You’re not visiting. You’re not being accommodated. You are my spouse now."

Trevor’s voice didn’t shift, but his eyes flicked to Lucas’s face and caught the hesitation there—a flicker, a pause too quick to pass unnoticed.

He smirked, full teeth, clearly having fun.

"We will just sleep," he said, leaning back in his chair. "The bed is big enough that it won’t touch the other."

Then, quietly, mocking just enough to sting but not hurt: "What were you thinking of?"

"Running to Saha," Lucas answered, the words smooth as silk, delivered with a smirk that didn’t quite reach his eyes—but lingered anyway, like he knew it would land.

He wanted to say that he was above Trevor, that he could ignore this game, but he wasn’t, and they both knew it.

He was enjoying this.

He set his napkin down with deliberate care, the movement quiet, practiced.

"I’m finished," Lucas said, voice calm, neutral."We can go."

Trevor didn’t move at once.

He sat back slightly, fingers idly turning the table knife between them, his gaze resting not on Lucas’s face, but on the half-finished plate in front of him. He hadn’t said anything before—hadn’t pushed, hadn’t asked—but he’d noticed

At Serathine’s table, Lucas barely touched anything.

But this was different. This was too little after a day that demanded too much.

Trevor set the knife down.

"Take another two bites for me," he said, voice quiet but firm, not quite a request. "And we can go."

Lucas didn’t respond immediately.

He looked at the plate, then at Trevor, like he wanted to argue. View the correct content at NovelFire)

Instead, he picked up the fork again, movements calm, deliberate, the same way he handled everything he couldn’t afford to react to.

Lucas didn’t know why he listened—why he didn’t throw the suggestion back, cold and polite, the way he had learned to do with people who asked for too much.

But he did as Trevor asked.

He wasn’t hungry. He hadn’t been in years, not really. Hunger had become something else entirely—blurred under control, dulled into compliance. Misty had made sure of that. She’d taught his body how to survive on less. Just enough to live. Just enough to pass. Just enough to look like a pitiful omega—fragile, wan, easy to pity, easier to ignore.

He took another bite.

Then one more.

The food tasted like nothing. Or maybe everything. He couldn’t tell.

But Trevor didn’t rush him.

And when he set the fork down for the last time, there was no comment. No praise. Just silence. The kind that let him keep his dignity.

Trevor stood. "Now we can go."