[BL]Reborn as the Empire's Most Desired Omega
Chapter 71: Drifted

Chapter 71: Chapter 71: Drifted

They walked in silence through the east wing, the lamps casting soft gold across the hallway’s stone floors. The warmth of the day still clung to the walls; ceiling-high windows let Lucas see the city beneath the estate of Fitzgeralt, scattered with lights and shaped by distance. He hadn’t had the time to take in the view when they landed and hadn’t looked for the silhouette of the castle. But something told him it wouldn’t compare—that even the Imperial Palace couldn’t compare to this.

This wasn’t a fortress dressed up as power. It was power dressed down as home.

The corridor was long and quiet, designed for discretion. No staff. No sound beyond their footsteps. Lucas’s hand was still on Trevor’s arm, fingers light but steady. He was used to walking alone, used to holding his own weight—politically, physically—but tonight, he didn’t pull away.

He was tired. And the meal, as light as it had been, only made him sleepier.

"Should I carry you princess style until we reach the bathroom?" Trevor asked, voice low and amused, not bothering to hide the fact that he’d been watching Lucas drift step by step into something dangerously close to sleep.

Lucas’s eyes narrowed with the slow, reluctant defiance of someone too tired to be properly offended.

"I’m not drunk," he said, flatly.

"Didn’t say you were," Trevor replied. "Just sleepy. Lightweight."

"I had rice and tea."

"A deadly combination. Here." Trevor stopped in front of the double doors and pushed them open with one hand, the polished brass handles catching a slice of corridor light.

The bedroom was... huge.

Lucas stepped in, slow enough to register the sheer scale of it. High ceilings, soft lighting, wide-plank wooden floors that radiated warmth even without shoes. A dark rug ran along the base of the bed, woven, expensive in a way that didn’t need to show off. The walls were a muted cream, the furniture was minimal. No clutter. No wasted lines.

The bed sat in the center like it had been placed there by decree—large enough for four people, easily.

"You didn’t lie," Lucas said, dryly. "This could qualify as an apartment, not a bedroom."

"I don’t like being cluttered," Trevor replied, moving past him toward the side table. "Or suffocated." NovelFire)

Lucas’s eyes moved across the space, still barefoot, still wrapped in the comfort of not having to pretend to be alert.

"You know," he said, wandering toward the edge of the bed, "you’re awfully picky for someone who just married a man out of nowhere."

Trevor didn’t look up as he unbuttoned his cuffs. "And you’re awfully calm for someone who asked."

Lucas shrugged, the motion barely there, and turned his head to scan the room for the door to the bathroom. It didn’t take long to find—far wall, recessed into the paneling, the handle flush and modern. Of course it was.

His hand finally let go of Trevor’s arm.

He didn’t say anything.

His mind was shutting down in stages—sharp thought dulled to background noise, movement slowed but functional. He hadn’t realized how long the day had been until now. Until quiet wasn’t a threat.

All he wanted was to wash off the weight of it and sleep before something else happened. Before another decision found him.

The soft wood under his feet didn’t creak. The air was cool but not cold. Everything about the space was designed to be comfortable.

Lucas slipped into the bathroom and closed the door behind him.

—

The bathroom was as grand as the bedroom.

High windows let in the soft spill of moonlight, filtered through gauze curtains that didn’t quite hide the shape of the city beyond. The walls were warm-toned stone, polished but not cold. A single marble bathtub sat in the center of the room like it belonged there—oval, deep, and already filled, steam curling gently from the surface.

Beside the tub, a soft white bathrobe hung neatly on a carved hook. A pair of slippers sat beneath it, placed with the kind of precision that didn’t happen by accident. The scent in the air was familiar—bergamot, eucalyptus, a hint of something sharper, something expensive and clean.

Lucas didn’t question how it had all been prepared. View the correct content at NovelFire

He didn’t ask if Trevor had planned it himself or simply ensured it was done.

He stepped forward, quiet, almost on autopilot, and let the silence stretch as he reached for the buttons of his shirt. Each movement was slow, precise—not because he was thinking, but because his body had settled into a kind of rhythm it didn’t want to break.

The heat hit him as soon as he stepped in.

Hot water wrapped around his legs, his spine, his ribs, until he was almost weightless in it. He exhaled without meaning to, the kind of breath that left slowly and didn’t come back in a rush. His head tipped back against the marble backrest, and for a moment, everything else dissolved.

The tension left his shoulders first. Then his jaw. Then the space behind his eyes that had been clenched for hours.

He didn’t think. Not immediately.

He just existed—suspended in warmth, his breathing shallow but steady, eyelids low.

He wasn’t overwhelmed.

He didn’t feel like he needed to track the exits, count the windows, or calculate how long it would take to dress and run.

There was no one at the door.

No voice calling him back.

No Misty. No Christian. No weight pressing against his ribs, asking him to be smaller, quieter, obedient.

Just water. And quiet. And the strange, unfamiliar stillness that came with being safe enough to rest.

For the first time in both his lives, he was somewhere that didn’t ask for anything from him the second he let his guard down.

And so, without meaning to, he let it fall.

And drifted.

—

Trevor stepped out of the secondary bathroom, hair damp, sleeves casually rolled, the edge of a towel still resting across his shoulders. The hallway was quiet, dimly lit, the silence expected at this hour.

When he returned to the bedroom, the first thing he saw was the clothes.

Still folded.

The pajamas he’d set out earlier, dark silk, tailored, simple, remained untouched on the bench at the foot of the bed. The kind of detail Lucas would have noticed. The kind he wouldn’t ignore unless something had pulled him away.

Trevor’s eyes drifted to the bathroom door.

Still shut.

The robe and slippers were inside. And the water had been drawn. Everything had been ready. Which meant he should’ve heard movement by now. Water draining. Footsteps. Something.

He didn’t.

Trevor moved toward the door, quietly hoping to hear something.

He knocked once, knuckles firm against wood.

No answer.

Another knock—harder. Sharper.

Still nothing.

He reached for the handle and pushed the door open.

Steam met him first, soft and fading. The lights were still on. The air was warm, but the water’s scent had dulled. The kind of silence that didn’t sit right.

And then he saw him.