[BL]Reborn as the Empire's Most Desired Omega
Chapter 96: Mine.

Chapter 96: Chapter 96: Mine.

Trevor exhaled, slow and tight. "He’s been used his entire life. I won’t be another name on that list."

Dax finally leaned back, lifting his glass again, swirling the wine without drinking. "Then don’t be."

He held Trevor’s gaze as the lantern light caught the deep purple in his eyes. "Mark him. Don’t make it about rut or territory or fear. Tell him the truth. Tell him what you know. About Agatha. About Christian. About what he was nearly sold into."

Trevor’s jaw tightened, eyes narrowing. "That truth could break him."

"No," Dax said, his voice cutting through the space between them. "Keeping it from him will."

There was silence then, the kind that didn’t weigh heavy, but sharp. Like the edge of a sword being pressed, gently, to a throat.

"You want to give him a choice?" Dax continued. "Then give him all of it. Let him react first. Let him fight, if he wants to. Let him run, if he needs to. But let him decide what happens next."

Trevor’s hands flexed once at his sides, the only sign of what that idea cost him.

"He trusts you," Dax added, quieter now. "Don’t mistake that for fragility. He’s survived things most wouldn’t even speak of. If there’s one thing Lucas deserves, it’s not protection. It’s clarity."

Trevor didn’t speak. NovelFire

But he didn’t argue either.

Dax finally took a sip of his wine and said, almost like a closing remark, "Three months, Trevor. Not to win. Just to show him what’s really at stake."

Trevor nodded once—slow, bitter, resolute.

"I’ll tell him," he said.

"Good, because the second the three months are up, I’m on my way."

Trevor didn’t flinch. Not outwardly.

But the pause that followed was the kind of silence that cracked empires. A stillness born of restraint, of calculation, of everything he didn’t say because the weight of it might level the room.

He looked at Dax, really looked at him. At the easy confidence. The smile was tucked just beneath the rim of the glass. The threat was dressed in civility.

And then, with a voice like frost:

"Then I hope you enjoy the view from second place."

Dax let out a quiet, amused breath through his nose. "Still arrogant."

"Still right."

Their gazes held across the flickering candlelight—two men born to command, to conquer, to carry nations on their shoulders—and in the center of that unspoken war sat a single truth with green eyes and a pulse full of lightning.

Lucas. NovelFire

The keystone neither of them could afford to lose.

Dax broke the stare first, downing the last of his wine before setting the glass aside. "Well," he said lightly, "I suppose we’re officially keeping score now."

Trevor turned for the door. "No," he said. "You’re the one trying to catch up."

Dax smiled to himself, teeth sharp in the dark. "Three months."

"Take a calendar," Trevor replied, without looking back. "You’ll need the reminder when you lose."

And then he was gone—swift, quiet, inevitable.

—

The suite was dim when Trevor stepped inside, the golden sconces softened to low warmth, casting long shadows across the carved moldings and velvet-lined walls. Everything here screamed control, comfort, and indulgence. But it was still unfamiliar. Still Dax’s.

And Lucas was sitting on the edge of the bed, barefoot, robe loose around his frame, half-laced in the front like he hadn’t decided whether he was going to sleep or run.

He didn’t look up right away. His fingers were curled around the stem of a crystal glass, the wine inside untouched. The ring on his hand caught the light first—alexandrite, deep violet with flecks of stormy green. Trevor’s color. But also Dax’s.

"Did he say anything?" Lucas asked without preamble, his voice calm but not detached. That in itself was a warning.

Trevor shrugged off his jacket and didn’t answer right away. Instead, he crossed the room with measured ease, each step deliberate. He was good at many things. Lying to Lucas wasn’t one of them. And right now, honesty felt like both a knife and a promise.

"He said you deserve the truth."

Lucas’s gaze flicked toward him, then steady, unreadable. "That’s a first."

Trevor didn’t smile. "He’s not wrong."

Silence again, but it felt less like a void and more like the moment just before a wire snaps.

Lucas set the glass down on the table beside the bed, the faint clink precise. Then, softly, "Are you about to tell me something that’s going to make me regret not escaping through the bathroom window when I had the chance?"

"No." Trevor’s voice was rough. Honest. "But I’m about to give you the choice to hate me."

Lucas blinked. Just once.

And then, without theatrics or fear, "Okay."

Trevor sat beside him, carefully, knees brushing. Not touching beyond that. Not yet.

He inhaled once. Then said it all.

About Agatha. About Christian. About the contract Misty signed, the clause she never meant Lucas to find. About what they intended to turn him into. Not just a possession, but a catalyst. A key. A pawn sharpened into a biological weapon of leverage and desire.

Lucas didn’t speak during it. Not once. But his posture changed. Slowly, almost imperceptibly. Shoulders pulling back. Chin lifting. Hands still.

When Trevor finished, it was quiet again. But not empty

Lucas exhaled, long and slow. Then he leaned forward, elbows on his knees, staring at the floor like it might flinch.

"Well," he said quietly, "that confirms a lot of what I suspected."

It wasn’t bitter. Not yet. It was something heavier, like the moment right before the glass cracks under pressure. He rubbed the base of his thumb against his palm, a grounding habit he hadn’t realized had returned. The suite was too quiet now. Even the golden light above them seemed to hesitate.

Trevor didn’t move.

Lucas’s voice dropped again, softer this time, like he wasn’t speaking to Trevor at all. "They always talked about me like I was fragile. Like if they just wrapped enough lies around me, I’d stay whole." His fingers flexed once. "But that’s the problem, isn’t it? Wrapping something too tightly just makes it shatter faster."

Lucas’s jaw worked once before he went on. "The contract. Agatha. Christian. All of it, I kept thinking, maybe I was paranoid. Maybe I was just broken enough to imagine it." A sharp breath followed. "But you confirmed it. And I don’t know if I want to scream or thank you."

That made Trevor speak, his voice low but certain. "Then do both. If you need to."

Lucas finally looked up, and his eyes weren’t glassy or hollow. They were alive, furious and aching, and whole, somehow, despite everything.

"No," he said, shaking his head. "Not now. Right now, I just need to not feel like the room’s going to swallow me."

Trevor stood up and moved in front of him, lowering himself into a crouch so they were eye level.

"I’m not going to swallow you either," he said quietly.

Lucas stared at him for a beat. Then, finally, the sharp edge in his posture softened. Not gone, but dulled, like a blade cooled in water.

"You’re an idiot," Lucas muttered. "You could’ve just kept lying. I probably would’ve believed you."

Trevor gave a faint huff. "No, you wouldn’t have."

Lucas’s mouth twitched, somewhere between a laugh and a sigh. "No. I wouldn’t."

They stayed like that, eye to eye, silence breathing between them like a living thing.

Then Lucas reached out, slow and unsteady, and pressed his hand to Trevor’s shoulder. "You have three months, right?"

Trevor blinked. "That’s what he said."

Lucas nodded, then leaned in. Just his forehead against Trevor’s. His words came low, like a secret between two people who had already lived through the worst.

"Then don’t waste a single second pretending you’re not already mine."