[BL]Reborn as the Empire's Most Desired Omega Chapter 179: Defect to another family

The manor had grown quiet by evening, as if even the ancestral ghosts were smart enough to give them a break. Outside, the sky bled warm amber into dusk, the kind of luxury hour that softened marble and made the walls of old money seem less suffocating. Inside, Lucas was soaking in a clawfoot tub the size of a diplomatic negotiation table, eyes half-lidded, head resting on a folded towel, and every muscle in his body singing a hymn to stillness.

The water stead faintly around him, infused with sothing expensive and faintly floral, probably one of Cressida’s terrifyingly elegant "gifts for relaxation," which slled like crushed ambition and lavender.

Across the adjoining marble room, through the slightly fogged glass, the soft sound of a running shower played like background music. Trevor was in there, humming sothing off-key and classical with the stubborn confidence of soone who thought he could sing.

Lucas didn’t open his eyes when the door creaked.

"I know that’s you," he said lazily. "You always walk like the house belongs to you."

"It does," Trevor called from the shower, voice echoing just a little. "Along with your left shoe, three hairbrushes, and my soul, apparently."

Lucas let out a small, amused breath and sank further into the water until it lapped gently against his collarbones. "You forgot the social calendar from hell and a hawk."

"Ah, yes. The hawk. I nad it Regret."

Lucas finally cracked an eye open, smirking. "That’s shockingly self-aware of you."

The water shut off with a hiss. A mont later, the shower door opened and Trevor erged, towel around his waist, hair damp and curling in loose, deliberate disobedience. He crossed the marble floor with the kind of ease that made Lucas’s life feel dangerously well-decorated.

"You’ll wrinkle," Trevor said, drying his neck.

"I’ll drown," Lucas replied. "It’s fine."

Trevor stepped close and leaned down, brushing a kiss over Lucas’s temple. "If I join you, the staff will delay dinner by another hour. Again."

"I’m not stopping you."

Trevor smiled against his skin. "You’re not encouraging either."

"Because I’m enjoying the illusion of solitude before the next wave of silk-covered chaos."

He stood upright again and headed toward the walk-in closet. "Dinner’s casual. I already threatened Windstone not to monogram the napkins."

Lucas made a small, pleased sound. "Luxury."

By the ti he erged from the bath, skin flushed and towel wrapped loosely around his hips, Trevor was buttoning a soft navy shirt, sleeves rolled, collar undone, perfectly dressed for private elegance and morally suspicious sches.

Lucas slipped into tailored black trousers and a cashre pullover, hair still damp, cheeks pink from the heat.

When they finally entered the private dining room, it was lit low with golden lamps, the long table set only for two, and a tray of dishes placed at one end like an offering to the gods of modern nobility.

Trevor pulled out Lucas’s chair and kissed his cheek before he sat. "You didn’t run. I’m proud."

Lucas arched a brow as he settled in. "Don’t tempt . There’s still dessert."

Trevor grinned, lifting a glass. "To surviving the luncheon, the hawk, and the slow unraveling of royal secrecy."

Lucas clinked his glass against his. "And to the inevitable war between Serathine and Cressida."

"That... and so complications." Trevor said while picking up his silver cutlery, his platinum ring shining in the low light.

"Complications?" Lucas raised his right brow, bracing for what Trevor was about to say. Surely it couldn’t be worse than the hawk.

"Yes. Misty had declared at the trial that you are Caelan’s son." Lucas almost dropped his cutlery.

It was worse than the hawk.

Lucas set his utensils down with deliberate slowness, as if moving too fast might summon a fresh horror from the chandelier.

"I’m sorry," he said, very calmly, "did you just say my mother—the woman currently on trial for forgery, trafficking, and cris against sanity—decided now was the right ti to announce my bloodline like a novelty dessert at a court banquet?"

Trevor didn’t flinch. He cut a slice of roasted sea bass with clinical precision. "Yes. Right between the second witness statent and her lawyer realizing they’d been handed a hand grenade instead of a defense strategy."

Lucas blinked once. Then again.

"She told the imperial court that I’m the Emperor’s illegitimate son."

Trevor nodded. "Verbatim, in fact. She claid you were born of a sumr liaison, died of a heart defect at a week old, and that she alone bore the burden of hiding the truth to protect everyone involved."

Lucas stared at his plate. "You’re making that up."

"I wish I was. But she even offered to submit to a paternity test, just in case the court thought she was bluffing."

Lucas leaned back in his chair like a man physically distancing himself from fate. "Of course she did. Of course the woman who once tried to sell would now attempt to use as a political landmine."

Trevor poured more wine into Lucas’s glass, entirely too calm. "The royal guard was already prepared. Caelan had suspected she might try this, it’s why he waited before attending the trial himself. Her entire lie was already docunted and cross-referenced. She claid you died, rember? But he was told the truth later, through a third party."

Lucas took a long sip of wine. "So what you’re saying is, she managed to humiliate herself, implicate the clergy, and drop an imperial scandal, all in one sentence."

Trevor smiled, sharp and affectionate. "My husband really does co from royalty."

Lucas groaned into his glass. "I am going to need so much therapy."

"...I was hoping for peace," Lucas said eventually, voice low, as if admitting weakness to the furniture might get him disowned. "Or at least a quiet sumr. One where I wasn’t the main course at every political banquet."

Trevor reached across the table, took Lucas’s free hand, and turned it palm-up, tracing a slow circle into the skin with his thumb. "Peace is a luxury for people without titles. And certainly not for people with your lineage, love."

Lucas snorted. "Wonderful. I didn’t ask for the lineage."

"And yet it fits you frighteningly well," Trevor murmured, gaze catching his. "You’re dangerous when cornered. Regal when angry. And you just insulted a count without raising your voice."

Lucas didn’t smile, but his fingers tightened slightly around Trevor’s. "You’re not supposed to enjoy that as much as you clearly do."

"I’m your husband," Trevor replied. "It’s in the vows. Cherish, protect, and take unholy pleasure in your ability to verbally assassinate soone."

Lucas closed his eyes for a mont. Then, with all the solemnity of soone negotiating their soul: "If Serathine and Cressida force into another wedding outfit with a cape, I will defect to another family."

Trevor leaned closer, brushing a kiss to Lucas’s knuckles, voice velvet and just this side of a threat. "You defect, I start a war."

Lucas tilted his head. "Would you win?"

Trevor’s smile curved slow and sure. "They’d never find the bodies."

Lucas finally smiled, weary but real. "Fine. I’ll wear the cape."

"Good," Trevor said, releasing his hand to lift his wineglass again. "Because it’s already being tailored."