[BL]Reborn as the Empire's Most Desired Omega Chapter 79: Not dealing with drama

Two hours into the tour, Lucas was no longer certain they hadn’t accidentally looped through another estate.

He was on his third wing, fourth security-locked hallway, and what felt like the seventeenth sitting room—each one more lavish, disturbingly symtrical, and obsessively labeled than the last. The walls glead. The doors whispered open like well-trained spies. The carpets were silent, the temperature perfectly regulated, and the lighting could only be described as intentional.

It was inhuman. Immaculate. Terrifying.

"This is a mausoleum with Wi-Fi," Lucas muttered as they turned into a corridor lined with display cases holding what appeared to be vintage pens.

Trevor, walking beside him with infuriating calm, didn’t even break stride. "They’re war-era fountain pens. My grandfather was obsessed with handwriting."

Lucas stared at him. "Did he also believe in unnecessary cardio?"

"We’re only halfway."

"Halfway?" Lucas stopped, turned on the polished floor, and gestured vaguely at the endless architectural parade behind them. "I’ve aged. I’ve lived and died. There is no halfway."

Trevor smiled. The kind of smile that had staff peeking around corners with full-body confusion.

Lucas caught one of the footn whispering behind a sculpture and narrowed his eyes. "Why are they staring like I’ve dosticated a wild animal?"

"Because you have," Windstone said from behind them, absolutely unbothered. "Sir has smiled four tis. There’s concern."

Trevor didn’t deny it. He gestured toward the next turn. "This way. The archival gallery’s been updated since the last heir crisis."

Lucas blinked. "There was a crisis?"

"There’s always a crisis," Windstone murmured.

They passed a wide doorway into a minimalistic conference room—ten seats, a curved smart-glass wall, and chilled water bottles lined in symtrical rows. Lucas slowed. Eyed the chairs like they might bite.

"I’m not sitting in another climate-controlled room just to be told it’s part of my new duties."

Trevor leaned in slightly. "Then don’t sit. Command."

Lucas turned to him. "You’re really enjoying this."

Trevor didn’t deny it. "You’re good at it. Watching you try not to take over is like watching soone fight gravity."

A maid rounded the corner just then and nearly dropped her clipboard when she saw Trevor smiling again.

Lucas caught the reaction and whispered, "Do I get hazard pay if you beco... warm?"

"I’ll double your wardrobe budget," Trevor said.

Lucas paused, calculating. "I can be emotionally available for cash."

The butler adjusted his glasses. "I’ll inform the household. They’ll be relieved."

Windstone’s tablet buzzed, a subtle chi echoing faintly through the quiet hallway.

He glanced down, frowned just enough to imply bureaucratic doom, and stepped forward. "I need a minute. The security contractor for the west caras is demanding a live confirmation code. Apparently, they’ve miscalculated which century we’re in—again."

Trevor nodded once. "Take the second floor channel. Use the lounge if it’s encrypted."

Windstone gave Lucas a respectful tilt of the head. "Try not to reassign the staff while I’m gone."

"No promises," Lucas murmured.

The butler disappeared through the hallway door with the efficiency of soone who made five people panic by simply being unavailable.

They resud walking, only for Trevor’s own phone to buzz two steps later.

He glanced at it. His expression didn’t shift, but the edge of his mouth flattened.

Lucas noticed. "Sothing urgent?"

"Minor," Trevor said, though the screen remained lit in his hand. "They need confirmation on the cathedral access list. Soone’s trying to attach the Lancaster na again. It’ll take a mont."

Lucas raised a brow. "Take your mont. I’ll wait."

Trevor searched his expression briefly, like he wanted to say sothing else, but didn’t. He handed Lucas the keycard.

"There’s a room ahead on the left. Quiet. No surveillance feed."

Lucas blinked. "You an a normal room."

"I an a room without politics." He stepped back. "I’ll find you in ten."

Lucas nodded once and continued forward.

The eting room was minimalist—glass walls, pale oak flooring, a central table with no chairs, just a long leather bench against one side. It felt like sothing designed by an architect who valued quiet more than comfort.

Lucas stood by the edge, tablet still in hand, eyes drifting toward the panel-lit horizon outside the glass.

For the first ti in what felt like hours, the silence wasn’t loaded. It just was.

And then the door opened.

He turned, slowly. Expecting Windstone. Or Trevor.

It was neither.

The figure who entered didn’t hesitate. No knock. No apology. He was tall and composed, with the kind of walk that didn’t belong to staff.

Lucas straightened just slightly, gaze sharpening.

"I wasn’t told anyone else was part of this tour," Lucas said evenly.

The man smiled faintly. It didn’t reach his eyes.

"I’m not part of the tour," he said. "I’m family."

Lucas sighed like soone who had already lived through three political disasters before breakfast. Of course there was going to be drama. He was alone for five minutes.

"Would you introduce yourself," he asked, "or should I press the button Windstone specifically told not to touch?"

The man lifted his hands in mock surrender. "I’ve co in peace. I’m Alistair Fitzgeralt. Trevor’s cousin."

Lucas didn’t move. Didn’t blink. He just filed that na under complications and stared for one long second.

"Should I be honored?" he asked dryly. "Or checking if you’re here to reclaim the estate your side of the family walked out on?"

Alistair’s smirk curved, a little too practiced. "Ah. So you’ve been briefed."

"I read fast."

"I’m not here to challenge anything," Alistair said. "Trevor won. Fairly. Legally. I’m just... curious. About the person who managed to do what this house couldn’t in two decades."

Lucas arched a brow. "What’s that?"

"Make him stay in one place. And smile."

Lucas didn’t soften.

"So the news travels that fast?" he said coolly. "You know what—never mind. My life with Misty taught sothing valuable."

Alistair tilted his head, curious. "And what’s that?"

Lucas smiled, calm and faintly pitying. "That there’s no point in dealing with drama."

And with surgical precision, he reached over and absolutely pressed the button Windstone had told him not to.

The reaction was imdiate.

A faint click ca from the ceiling—followed by the subtle hiss of a security seal engaging around the periter of the room. The lights dimd by exactly 8%. Sowhere, distantly, the distinct thud of reinforced doors locking echoed down the corridor like a promise.

Alistair blinked. "You’re joking."