[BL]Reborn as the Empire's Most Desired Omega
Chapter 85: The Duchess Does Not Forget

Chapter 85: Chapter 85: The Duchess Does Not Forget

Serathine sat in the east drawing room of the D’Argente estate, where sunlight filtered through sheer ivory curtains and touched the floor in narrow golden strokes. A single tea set had been arranged on the low marble table, untouched.

"Madam Wright," she said, without looking up from the thin stack of documents in her lap, "do you know why I called you here today?"

Isabela Wright sat straight-backed in the velvet armchair across from her. She wore conservative grey, a modest brooch at her throat, and her hands were clasped too tightly in her lap to suggest ease.

"I... assumed it was about Lucas," she said carefully.

Serathine lifted her gaze, slow and deliberate. "Lucas D’Argente, yes. My ward. Now, Grand Duchess."

Isabela’s lips parted slightly—whether in surprise or calculation, Serathine didn’t care.

"You were his private language tutor for nearly two years," Serathine continued, turning over the first page. "And yet, in all your monthly updates, not once did you mention the fact that he was being kept out of school registries."

Isabela blinked. "That... wasn’t my place to ask."

"No," Serathine said, closing the file with a snap. "But it was your place to notice."

Silence pressed into the corners of the room like fog.

"He memorized entire lexicons within weeks," Serathine said softly, "yet you continued giving him beginner’s drills and vocabulary lists suitable for a child eight years his junior."

"I—I was following the instructions given by his mother—"

"You were following money," Serathine cut in, voice still velvet, but sharper now. "And you saw a boy who never spoke of his friends. Who flinched at raised voices. Who worked without question but never asked his own."

Isabela’s mouth trembled, but she didn’t speak.

"You stayed quiet," Serathine said. "You all did."

She stood, her motion fluid. Her dress whispered across the polished floor as she stepped to the window and let the light frame her silhouette.

"I’m not here to punish you," she said at last. "But I am deciding whether you are still allowed to teach under my name. So I’ll ask you this once: was there anything in your time with Lucas that you chose to ignore?"

Isabela swallowed hard. Her voice, when it came, was small. NovelFire

"There were bruises. Sometimes. I thought it was from sports."

Serathine’s eyes narrowed. "He never played."

Isabela’s voice cracked in the silence. "I didn’t know what to do," she whispered. "If I reported her, I could lose everything. She—like Your Excellency—is rich. Powerful. With enough lawyers to bury me alive in paperwork and ruin. Excuse me, but I chose my family and my life over one child."

The words hung heavy in the sunlit room, bold in their cowardice.

She walked toward the table, and picked up the thin silver letter opener resting beside the reports.

"I see," she said, turning the blade idly between her fingers, studying the polished edge like it was a mirror. "You chose survival."

Isabela didn’t move.

"I wonder," Serathine murmured, "what Lucas chose when he sat across from you, bruises yellowing beneath his sleeves, voice quiet, eyes blank. Did he choose to survive? Or did he simply endure because no one ever gave him the chance to choose anything else?"

Isabela’s jaw clenched. "I didn’t hurt him."

"No," Serathine said coolly. "You just stood by while others did. That is not neutrality, madam. That is complicity dressed in cowardice."

She placed the opener down with surgical grace and folded her hands behind her back.

"I am not asking for your guilt. I have no use for it. But I’m only giving you one chance to make yourself useful now. Because while you protected your family and your comforts, Lucas had no one. And I promise you—promise—that if I find even a hint of dishonesty in the statement you submit, I will make the life you fought so hard to protect unrecognizable."

Isabela sat frozen, color draining from her face.

"David will show you out," Serathine said, her tone as even as it was lethal. "And if you are very wise, you will start writing."

—

Tom Walton entered moments later. Taller, older, dressed like a man who’d once believed himself above court politics and had since learned to fear it.

"Lady D’Argente," he said with a bow.

"Duchess," she corrected coolly.

He stiffened. "Of course."

"You were his mathematics and logic instructor. For over a year."

"Yes."

She gestured toward the same file. "Tell me, Professor Walton, how a boy with natural fluency in complex sequences and top-tier scores on national aptitude exams somehow remained unlisted in every academy he was qualified to enter."

Tom’s throat bobbed. "It was... irregular. I admit that."

"Not irregular. Illegal."

He didn’t deny it.

"And yet you remained," Serathine said, his voice smooth, reflective, and cold beneath the surface. "Even when his access to materials was reduced. Even when sessions were cut short. Even when payment came in cash with no ledger trace."

Tom Walton’s hands were folded tightly in his lap, knuckles pale. His eyes didn’t meet hers.

"I tried to resign," he said quietly. "Twice. She threatened to report me for inappropriate conduct with a minor. I think you know what that means."

The words landed with the weight of something rotting, long buried but still reeking of power abused.

Serathine did not blink. "I see."

"She said one accusation would be enough," Tom continued, his voice brittle now. "Said even if it didn’t stick, my name would be ruined. That I’d never work again. That my wife would leave me and my son would grow up without a father with a clean record."

Serathine regarded him, silent.

Misty Kilmer had not simply isolated Lucas; she had created a system around him. One stitched together with financial coercion, legal loopholes, and insidious threats that passed for common sense. Anyone who entered that space was rendered powerless before meeting the boy they were supposed to teach.

Even if she was furious with them, Serathine also knew the trap Misty had laid was not just for Lucas. It was for anyone who might’ve stood between him and the life she designed.

Most people don’t choose heroism when they can’t afford rent.

And these instructors... all three had relied on the money. Had built their lives around quiet resignation and the belief that survival was enough.

"There were others," Tom said finally, his voice fraying at the edges. "That joined Misty’s abuse. I didn’t know all of them. But I saw enough. Staff. Neighbors. Men who came to the house late. One of them hit him once, and when I intervened, she threatened me with the charges. That’s why I stayed. I shielded him when I could. That’s the reason she threatened me."

His hands trembled now, just slightly. "I tried. I swear I did."

Serathine said nothing for a long moment.

Then she exhaled, quietly, and sat again, this time slower, as if anchoring herself against the sudden, unwelcome swell of grief she refused to show.

"She made you complicit," she said at last.

Tom lowered his head.

"And now," she continued, colder again, "you will help unmake what she built."

She let the words hang between them, heavy and final.

"You will list the names of every person who crossed that threshold while Lucas was under her care. I don’t care how important they are."

Tom nodded slowly. "Yes, Your Grace."