[BL]Reborn as the Empire's Most Desired Omega Chapter 104: From Lunch to Retribution

Dax’s grin widened, far too pleased. "Of course. We keep up with the tis. Now it’s PowerPoint duels and public polling."

Trevor made a low sound of despair. "Keep pens away from him when deranged. He almost killed soone over a graph bar with a pen once."

Lucas’s brows lifted. "That sounds like a joke."

Trevor didn’t even blink. "It was during a budget hearing. The delegate tried to prove Dax’s numbers wrong with a bar graph where the values didn’t match the scale. Dax corrected him—with a pen. Through the thigh."

"It missed the femoral artery," Dax said helpfully. "Barely."

Lucas slowly turned to stare at him. "Now I start to understand why Serathine talked about you like you were a demon."

Dax didn’t even flinch. In fact, he looked proud.

"Well, she did have a positive opinion of . Too bad Trevor was the favorite; he got to you first."

"Are you still hung up on that? Do you feel any sha after giving Trevor a three-month warning?" Lucas called him out on his warning without hesitation, and Windstone and Trevor exchanged looks of surprise and pride.

Dax blinked, then laughed—a low, rich sound that made a few passing staff flinch like it might carry consequences. He leaned back in his chair, fingers tapping the rim of his glass with mock thoughtfulness.

"Sha?" he echoed. "Lucas, I don’t even know what that word ans. And I gave Trevor a deadline; I didn’t expect him to speedrun it."

"You gave him three months," Lucas said dryly. "To a man that married the second I asked and now I’m showered in pheromones. I say that’s enough claim for you to leave be."

Dax looked genuinely affronted. "Showered? I’d say lightly seasoned. Maybe marinated at most."

Trevor didn’t even glance up from his tablet. "You’re not helping your case."

Lucas raised an eyebrow. "He leaves his scent on my pillow and my shirts, and everywhere in the suite."

"I hope you don’t complain." Dax said, leaning back in his chair and smoothing a crease in his shawl.

Lucas didn’t even blink. "If I complained every ti he marked sothing, I’d have no voice left."

Trevor, deadpan and still focused on his tablet, added, "He tried once. Got distracted halfway through by marking him again."

Dax made a strangled sound, sowhere between a laugh and disbelief. "You two are worse than teenagers."

"We’re on our honeymoon," Trevor said without looking up. "Legally sanctioned feral behavior, plus I started only this morning."

Lucas gave Dax a razor-edged smile. "Besides, if you’re going to crash our ti off, you don’t get to be scandalized."

"I’m not scandalized," Dax said, lifting his glass with flair. "I’m entertained. Scandal is what I aim for."

Windstone, from the doorway, sighed loud enough to count as a formal objection. "Then please aim away from the floral arrangents this ti. Last ti it took three hours to remove the evidence."

Lucas blinked. "Evidence?"

Trevor: "Don’t ask."

Dax, cheerfully unrepentant: "Definitely don’t ask."

—

Lunch had settled into sothing deceptively peaceful—warm sunlight pooling across the polished table, the scent of citrus and spice lingering in the air, and Dax, for once, not shouting at a minister. He had been convinced by Trevor to accept just a private lunch with them.

That silence was broken by the soft knock at the terrace door.

A guard stepped in, crisp in his uniform, posture as rigid as ever. "Your Majesty, the luncheon proceeded without issue. Minister Halden made a speech, the press took photos, and the Duchess of Ravelle tripped on her hem again—three glasses of wine in."

Dax made a sound between amusent and derision. "Ravelle can’t survive one banquet without committing at least one fashion cri."

Behind the ssenger stood another man—silent, just a touch too stiff, lower ranked, beta. Nothing unusual. And yet Lucas’s breath hitched.

His gaze caught on the second guard like it had struck a wall.

Jason Luna.

The na thudded in his chest before he could stop it. A ghost, not from a battlefield, but from a darker, fouler place. Not one of the shadows who stood silently, but one who had whispered, laughed, and insisted—insisted Lucas scream his na as if pain was sothing to be proud of.

Trevor noticed first. His hand, already half-lifted for a glass of water, froze midair.

Dax’s sharp golden gaze flicked between them—Lucas, suddenly pale and rigid, Trevor, going still—and without missing a beat, he turned toward the second man. "Thank you, that will be all. Dismissed."

Jason didn’t even get a full glance before he turned to leave.

When the door closed behind him, Dax spoke, his tone lighter than before. "Windstone, have Tyler bring the secondary in for questioning. Quietly. I want every assignnt he’s had. Every shift. Every transfer. And who approved them."

Lucas’s breath stopped, his eyes were slightly unfocused, drifting already to silence. He didn’t hear Dax dismissing the guards or his order to find out who he was.

Trevor’s pheromones were seeping into the air surrounding him, bringing him back to reality. Lucas’s hand clenched on Trevor’s and he said the na he despised. "Jason Luna."

Dax’s expression didn’t shift. Not visibly. But the air in the room thinned—like the pressure had dropped around them, the gravity sharpening.

"Windstone," he said again, this ti lower, colder. "Make sure Tyler hears that na."

"I already sent it," Windstone confird, his voice tight. He didn’t look at Lucas—he didn’t need to.

Trevor’s grip was steady. Unyielding. His other hand rose slowly, fingers brushing back a lock of Lucas’s pale hair with deliberate care. His scent deepened—warm, steady, dominant—until it wrapped around Lucas like a shield.

"Is he the one?" Trevor asked, soft but lethal.

Lucas’s lips parted, breath shallow. "One of the only ones who made say it," he whispered. "My na. His na. He wanted to rember it. Said it was the only way I’d understand who I belonged to."

The silence that followed wasn’t empty. It was waiting.

Dax rose from his chair.

No dramatics. No outburst. Just a deliberate, slow push of the chair as he stood and walked to the sideboard, pouring himself a glass of water with the sa hands that had once gutted a man over a graph bar.

"I don’t like when people touch what’s mine," he said mildly. "And I hate when they touch what belongs to soone I respect."

He turned, eyes violet and full of stormlight. "We’ll bury him quietly. Or loudly, if you’d prefer."