[BL]Reborn as the Empire's Most Desired Omega Chapter 317: Sumon

The next afternoon the sun ca through the tall office windows in slanted sheets of light, catching on the rows of color-coded folders Lucas had stacked across his desk. He had claid the smaller of the manor’s workrooms as his own weeks ago: a modest, clean space with a low sofa, a coffee station, and a desk just large enough for his laptop, two tablets, and a scattering of contracts. Not important enough to be in Trevor’s wing of operations, but important enough that a steady stream of queries, invoices, and schedules ca to him for signature.

He’d been at it since lunch, jacket off, sleeves rolled above his elbows and hair in slight disarray from his fingers treading through it while thinking. The scent of dark roast and fresh ink mingled with the faint trace of Trevor still clinging to his shirt from the night before. His stylus tapped against a tablet as he signed off on another delivery confirmation, eyes moving quickly over the text. These were the things no one noticed at a presentation, the security passes, the car assignnts, and the timing of the catering, but they were what kept an event from collapsing.

A soft chi vibrated across his phone. The display lit up with Serathine’s na.

Lucas’s brow creased; he thought she was busy at the palace. He thumbed to accept and brought the phone to his ear, still scrolling with his other hand. "Sera, what an honor." He said, amused.

"As always, my son." Serathine’s voice drawled from the phone, as amused as Lucas. "You know that tea invitation from Caelan weeks ago? He wants to see you today; a car is already on its way."

Lucas stopped scrolling and leaned back on his chair with a faint creak of the leather. "Weren’t I supposed to have a choice in this?"

"You had a choice in being formally recognized as a prince," Serathine replied, still drawling but softer at the edges. "He respected your wish for that to stay quiet. But he still wants to see you. That was never off the table."

Lucas let the stylus roll between his fingers, watching the light catch on its tal tip. "Today, then."

"Today," she confird. "Private reception hall, east wing. They’ll bring you straight in. Wear sothing presentable, not a suit, but not that shirt you’re in now. You know how he is."

Lucas huffed out a short laugh. "You an the one that still slls like Trevor?"

"I an the one that still looks like you crawled out of a boardroom fire. Don’t object, I know you," Serathine said, and he could hear the smile in her voice. Then, more quietly: "It’s only a eting. But don’t walk in as a guest. Walk in as yourself."

Lucas tipped his head back against the chair, staring at the ceiling. A small pulse of irritation, of nerves, slid under his skin; he tamped it down with a breath. "Fine. I’ll be ready when the car arrives."

"That’s my boy." The line clicked off.

For a long mont he stayed still, the phone still warm in his hand, the hum of the HVAC and the muted city noise pressing against the windows. Then he straightened, set the stylus down and pushed his chair back. In the mirror above the coffee station, he caught his own reflection: hair mussed from his fingers, sleeves rolled, the faintest shadow under his eyes.

With a sigh he stood and began buttoning his cuffs, already ntally rearranging the afternoon. The security passes, the catering schedules, the rehearsals, all of it would have to wait.

Lucas slipped his phone into his pocket and left the workroom, closing the door behind him with a soft click. The corridor slled faintly of polished wood and the sa dark roast that clung to his shirt. Afternoon light slanted through the tall windows as he crossed to the main wing, his footsteps muffled by the runner. By the ti he reached the heavy door of Trevor’s study he’d smoothed his hair back into place and straightened his cuffs, small gestures of composure more than vanity.

Inside, Trevor sat at his desk, a spread of files and two open laptops glowing in front of him. His jacket hung on the back of the chair, tie loose, sleeves rolled. He looked up at the sound of the door, violet eyes montarily softening before the work light returned.

"You’re supposed to be off at three," Trevor said, voice low. "You’re still signing manifests?"

"Not anymore." Lucas closed the door behind him and leaned against it for a mont. "Serathine just called. Caelan wants to see . Today. Private reception hall."

The change in Trevor was subtle but imdiate: his shoulders set, his gaze sharpening from paperwork to threat assessnt. "I’ll clear my schedule," he said, reaching automatically for his phone. "We’ll go together."

Lucas moved from the door to the edge of the desk, palms braced lightly on the wood. "No," he said, quiet but firm. "You’ve got three contracts waiting for signature and a security breach from this morning. You need to stay here. I can handle whatever Caelan wants to say."

Trevor’s jaw flexed once, the only crack in his composure. "Lucas..."

"I an it." Green eyes t violet, steady. "If I’m going to be in these rooms on my own, I have to start walking into them on my own. This isn’t a trial. It’s a conversation."

Trevor set the phone down slowly. "It’s never just a conversation with him."

"I know." Lucas’s mouth curved into a faint, dry smile. "All the more reason to show up without a chaperone."

For a mont Trevor just looked at him, the muscles in his forearm tight where his hand rested on the desk. Then he exhaled, leaning back in his chair. "Fine. But take Windstone with you. And if anything feels off, you call imdiately."

Lucas inclined his head in a small, almost courtly gesture. "Agreed."

He straightened from the desk, smoothing the front of his shirt. "Finish your work, Grand Duke. I’ll be back before dinner."

Trevor’s violet eyes followed him to the door. "You’d better be," he murmured, half promise, half warning.

Lucas only glanced back once, a flicker of amusent breaking through his composure. "Always," he said, and slipped out into the hall.

—

Upstairs, the walk-in wardrobe attached to Lucas’s room still slled faintly of cedar. He opened the wardrobe doors and ran his fingers briefly over the row of jackets until he found one of the newer ensembles Everin had forced on him the previous week: dark charcoal trousers, a soft grey shirt cut close to the body, and a light wool coat the color of pale smoke. Not a suit, but polished enough for an imperial hallway.

He changed quickly, tucking the shirt neatly into the waistband, rolling his sleeves down and fastening the cuff buttons. The faint trace of Trevor’s scent on his old shirt disappeared into the hamper. In the mirror above the dresser, he adjusted the coat once, smoothing a hand over his hair until it fell into place. Green eyes stared back at him, calm on the surface, a small pulse beating under the skin at his throat.

A knock at the door. "Sir?" Windstone’s voice.

"Co in," Lucas called.

Windstone stepped inside, immaculate in his black suit, pale-green eyes taking in Lucas’s appearance in a single sweep. "The car is waiting."

Lucas slid his phone into his coat pocket and picked up his wallet and ID. "Thank you." He hesitated for a heartbeat, then t the older man’s gaze. "Trevor told you?"

"Briefly," Windstone replied. "Private reception hall. East wing."

Lucas gave a short nod. "Then let’s not keep His Majesty waiting."

Windstone opened the door for him and fell into step at his shoulder as they walked down the staircase. Their footfalls echoed softly in the high corridor; staff lted out of their path, bowing or murmuring greetings. Outside, the pale sun caught on the polished black of the imperial sedan idling at the curb. Its tinted windows reflected the manor’s stone façade back at them.

A liveried driver pulled open the rear door. Windstone waited until Lucas slid into the back seat before following him in and closing the door with a quiet, deliberate click. The sll of leather and a hint of cologne filled the car as it pulled smoothly away from the manor.