[BL]Reborn as the Empire's Most Desired Omega Chapter 42: Revoked

The doors to Christian’s office opened without a knock.

Serathine stepped through like a storm disguised as diplomacy—coat draped perfectly over her shoulders, gloves still on, expression composed but far too still to be called calm.

Christian didn’t look up right away.

He was standing near the wide pane of glass at the back of the room, one hand resting on the windowsill, the other cradling a half-empty glass of sothing amber and ancient.

He didn’t turn.

"You’re early," he said.

"You’re deflecting," Serathine replied.

She didn’t wait for permission. She crossed the room with slow, deliberate steps and stopped a few feet from him, her voice still low, still level—but tight enough to cut steel.

"What did you do?"

He turned then. No arrogance. No guilt.

Just Christian Velloran, face unreadable, gaze like glass with pressure behind it.

"To whom?"

"Don’t play coy with , Christian. We’re past that."

Serathine’s voice was quiet, but it hit like a warning. No edge raised, but the blade was out all the sa.

Christian exhaled slowly, the breath drawing tight across his ribs. He placed his glass on the side table beside him—carefully, like it might matter—and the faint gleam of white bandage along his right hand caught the light. A reminder of the night he shattered a glass without raising his voice.

He didn’t try to hide it.

"I never t him until last night," he said. "Not in person. Not through interdiaries. I never contacted him. Never wrote. Not even a gesture. The contract was real, yes—but I signed it with the understanding that I’d et him as an adult. On equal footing."

Serathine didn’t move. Didn’t blink.

"He saw as a monster," Christian continued, his voice low—not broken, but frustrated, the kind that ca from not knowing whether to defend himself or accept the verdict. "And I don’t know why. Other than—"

He paused. Breathed again.

"Other than Misty."

The na sat in the air like smoke.

Not poisonous. But clinging.

"She poisoned the fra before you even stepped into it," Serathine said. "She built you as the enemy in his head so she could play savior if you ever tried to claim him."

Christian nodded once.

Slow. Tired. But clear.

"She used as a leash," he said. "But I didn’t co to drag him anywhere. I walked through a door. He looked at . And I watched him fall apart."

"Did you know," Serathine asked, her voice quiet but clipped, "that besides us, there is another buyer?"

Christian’s jaw tightened just slightly—not surprise, not denial. Just confirmation of sothing he had already started to suspect.

"I knew there was a clause in one of the alternate versions," he said, steady. "If he didn’t give a child by twenty-five, the full rights would transfer. Bodily custody, relocation, even reproductive authority. It was buried deep in the annex, written as a failsafe. But there was no na. Just a placeholder: Faceless Agatha."

He paused. Then added, carefully:

"I’m not saying I gave her permission. I’m saying I found out too late."

Serathine studied him for a mont, her silence louder than any accusation.

"I’ve already cut every tie with her," Christian continued. "Permanently. There will be a full suit filed for forgery—civil and criminal. My legal team is preparing the submission. She forged my consent with the sa signature I used on the original."

He looked down at his bandaged hand, flexing the fingers once before eting her gaze again.

"I never write my na the sa way twice. There are anchoring points, yes—but not the full form. She traced it. Replicated it. She knew how to make it pass."

Serathine’s lips thinned.

"That’s not fraud," she said. "That’s preditated entrapnt."

Christian nodded once.

"She made him a product. And she dressed us up as the buyers."

The words hung there—not new, but now spoken aloud. Finally real.

And for once, neither of them said what they were thinking:

That Lucas had never been allowed to choose anything.

Not the contract. Not the path. Not even the na on the door he ran from.

Serathine stood silent for a long breath, the weight of that truth folding into the space between them like sothing sharp, unsaid.

Then:

"Do you know anything about that person? Faceless Agatha?"

Her voice didn’t shake. It didn’t need to.

But it was the voice of soone who understood just how dangerous a naless buyer could be.

Christian’s gaze lifted slightly. Not defensive. But wary.

He didn’t trust her. Not completely.

And she didn’t trust him either.

But war didn’t wait for certainty.

"No," he said. "Nothing concrete. Aaron is already searching—quietly. There’s no record of the na. No match in official registries. Not even a trace in sealed noble files. But we both know that ans very little."

Serathine didn’t interrupt.

He continued.

"Misty is more than what any of you believed she was," he said. "I cut her accounts. Locked down every asset I could trace. All her official investnts, every favor she turned into credit. But she’s not dependent on records."

He paused, then added:

"She has cash. Physical. She has storage—off-books, in multiple jurisdictions. And worse than that, she has connections in the underworld. Old ones. People who don’t care about noble nas or court etiquette. Only money."

Serathine’s eyes didn’t move, but her shoulders straightened slightly.

"She’s going to strike," she said.

Christian nodded once.

"She already has," he said. "We just haven’t seen where the knife landed yet."

Christian’s hand hovered over the rim of his glass, the silence between them cold and clean. Outside, the clouds shifted along the skyline—sunlight threatening but never quite arriving.

Serathine adjusted one of her gloves, smoothing the seam along her wrist like she needed sothing to do with her hands.

Then, finally:

"Whatever claims you believe you had on him," she said, voice like satin over steel, "consider them revoked."

Christian’s gaze lifted slowly. He didn’t speak.

She continued.

"Lucas as your mate is no longer an option. It never truly was—but now it’s off the table entirely."

Still no reaction. No flinch.

But sothing in the air pulled taut, like a line between two cliffs beginning to fray.

"He chose Trevor," she said, watching him closely. "He didn’t do it for protection. He didn’t do it for politics. And he didn’t do it to spite you. He did it because, for once, it was his choice."

Christian let the words settle.

Didn’t challenge them.

Didn’t pretend it surprised him.

He just reached down, picked up the folder with the forged contract inside, and closed it slowly.

"I see," he said.

Serathine stepped toward the door, pausing just long enough to add:

"If you care about what happens next, Christian... don’t make the mistake of thinking this is about pride. That boy has survived things you can’t imagine. And now, finally, soone is standing beside him without reaching for a leash."

She didn’t wait for a reply.

The door clicked shut behind her.

Christian stood alone, folder in hand, and stared at the dark glass of the window as the city stretched before him—quiet, sprawling, and full of nas he hadn’t yet learned to fear.