[BL]Reborn as the Empire's Most Desired Omega Chapter 74: Possessive Dukes

Lucas woke up slowly, the warmth of the sheets and the hazy light escaping through the curtains drawn to hide his side of the bed from the sun. He blinked several tis before realizing where he was—and that the last thing he rembered was falling asleep in the bathroom.

His body tensed. He jolted upright and shoved the sheets back, half expecting damp skin, cold tile, sothing undignified—

But he was dry. Dressed. The robe was gone, replaced with soft clothes that slled faintly of bergamot and linen.

His fingers paused at the hem of his shirt.

"Are you awake?" Trevor asked, his voice low and even.

He didn’t look up from the tablet.

Lucas’s eyes snapped toward the sound. Trevor sat near the window, one leg crossed over the other, tablet in hand, a cup of coffee on the table beside him. The light caught his jaw, the curve of his shoulder where the shirt had folded from tension.

"How long have you been sitting there?" Lucas asked, voice raspier than intended.

"Long enough to finish three reports and half a scandal," Trevor replied. "Do you feel like throwing sothing, or should I start breakfast?"

Lucas blinked. "You dressed ."

Trevor finally looked up. "I dried you. You fell asleep in the tub."

"You could’ve left there."

"I don’t leave people underwater," Trevor said. "Even if they’re stubborn about it."

Lucas shifted his eyes to the window, the heat rising from his chest to his cheeks before he could stop it. He wasn’t used to this—wasn’t trained for kindness that didn’t co with strings. Not anymore.

He didn’t think he would be shy. Not after everything.

Not after another life spent unfazed by the disdain in alphas’ eyes, by the cold hands and colder voices asuring him like he was furniture—sothing decorative, sothing purchased, sothing used.

But this—

This wasn’t mockery or demand. It was presence.

Trevor didn’t touch him like he was fragile. He hadn’t claid him. He hadn’t asked.

He’d just stayed.

Lucas pressed his palms flat to the blanket, grounding himself. "You could’ve sent soone."

"I don’t delegate basic decency," Trevor said, still calm. "Even when it’s inconvenient."

Lucas swallowed hard. The silence stretched between them, softened only by the rustle of pages on the tablet and the quiet hum of morning through the glass.

"You are now my husband, Lucas," Trevor said, still not raising his voice. "And maybe it’s a little late for this warning, but I’m possessive of what’s mine."

The words didn’t hit like a threat. Not like Christian’s. Trevor wasn’t warning him. He was warning everyone else.

Lucas smiled. Just barely. But it was real.

He’d done the right thing and his decision to marry Trevor felt like his choice.

Trevor shifted his gaze. The sound of the blanket moving had drawn his attention—but it wasn’t the movent that caught him. It was the smile. That quiet, steady curve of Lucas’s mouth that didn’t look like a performance or a reflex. Just... content.

He stilled.

It was the first ti he’d seen that look on him—unguarded, unforced, untouched by exhaustion or weariness.

Sothing in his chest pulled tight. It didn’t hurt. But it settled with weight.

He wanted to see that again. He wanted to be the reason for it even if he was greedy.

"Are you in the mood for eating?" Trevor asked, voice even.

Lucas raised an eyebrow.

"Windstone is accusing of starving you," he continued, deadpan. "He thinks you didn’t eat the other day because of ."

Lucas chuckled, the sound slipping out before he could stop it. It startled him more than it should have.

He wasn’t used to laughter coming easy.

Lucas rubbed the back of his neck, his eyes drifting toward the door. "He’s not wrong," he said. "You were hovering."

Trevor arched a brow. "I was supervising."

"You were looming. And you didn’t eat either," Lucas corrected.

Trevor didn’t deny it. "That’s my natural state."

Lucas shook his head, the faint smile refusing to leave. He got out of bed with a long stretch, spine cracking, joints popping like he hadn’t slept in a real bed in years.

"Sure," he said.

Trevor didn’t comnt. Just watched.

"Do you have a preference for breakfast?" he asked, voice neutral—casual, but not careless.

Lucas rubbed the back of his neck. "Hmm. Eggs, sunny-side up. Light toast. Coffee with milk."

Trevor’s brow lifted slightly. "Specific."

"I’ve had worse," Lucas replied. "When you’ve been served lukewarm broth and called it a luxury, you start rembering details."

Trevor didn’t answer at first. He turned and pressed a button near the door.

A soft chi echoed once. No announcent followed.

"Give Windstone ten minutes," he said. "He’ll pretend he’s insulted, but he already morized your file."

Lucas rolled his eyes. "Of course he did."

"He also told if you request cereal, he’s staging a coup."

"I could go for so cereal and milk," Lucas said, tone flat. "I haven’t had that in ages."

Trevor looked at him over the rim of his cup. "Don’t provoke the staff before your first al here. Windstone might resign."

"Too bad for you," Lucas said, disappearing into the bathroom without so much as a glance back.

The door clicked shut.

Trevor stood there for a mont, cup still in hand, steam rising like nothing had just been said.

He exhaled once through his nose and set the cup down on the table with deliberate care.

Windstone was right.

Lucas hadn’t just survived everything.

He was sharp. Fast. Already testing the limits of the house like he was deciding whether it deserved him.

Trevor didn’t mind. He found it entertaining, almost grounding. That sharp tongue, that constant shift in control. It was better than silence. Better than the version of Lucas he’d seen at the Gala.

That version hadn’t looked at anyone.

Trevor would give anything not to see that again.

Sothing had been wrong. Deeply wrong.

Lucas had brushed them both off—him and Serathine—with the excuse the physician gave them, then with Dr. Elaine.

But Trevor had seen enough to know the difference between discomfort and trauma.

That wasn’t discomfort.

It was the kind of stillness that ca from surviving sothing violent.

He tapped his fingers once against the table, sharp and precise, looking out the window.

Christian.

He’d only tt Lucas once that night, less than five minutes.

And Lucas had crushed in silence.

Trevor didn’t believe in coincidence. Not when patterns repeated themselves. Not when Lucas flinched from no one else.

He would deal with Christian.

Not today. Not yet.

But soon.