[BL]Reborn as the Empire’s Most Desired Omega

A week later, the manor was back to its usual rhythm. No locked wings, no scent-dampeners humming in the vents, no jackets stolen for nests. Just a bright, sunlit clinic room off the south corridor and a curious omega perched on an exam table.

Lucas sat with one leg crossed over the other, platinum band glinting as he flicked idly through a message on his phone. He wasn't nervous; he just wanted to know if their gamble had worked. The soft hiss of the purifier and the smell of antiseptic did nothing to dampen his calm, green eyes, already roaming the room like a cat sizing up a new space.

Across from him, Dr. Marin-Shaye, in her mid-forties, with a grey bob and sharp glasses, scrolled through her file on a tablet. She had the look of someone who had long since lost patience with court theatrics. "Vitals are good. Labs from this morning are clean. Any questions before I start?" she asked briskly.

Lucas tilted his head, a small smile playing at his mouth. "Just the obvious one," he said. "Did it work?"

Before the doctor could answer, Trevor spoke from his lean against the counter, sleeves rolled up, cedar scent steady. "Your scent hasn't changed," he said mildly, as if announcing the time. "You're not pregnant."

Lucas's smile flattened. "You do realize you've just spoiled the reveal, right?"

Trevor's violet eyes glinted with amusement. "Better me than a blood test. I've been smelling you for a year; I'd know."

Lucas turned back to Dr. Marin-Shaye with an exaggerated sigh. "See? This is what I live with. A walking spoiler alert."

Marin-Shaye didn't even glance up. "Alphas think they're oracles," she said dryly. "We'll confirm it with proper tests anyway."

Trevor shrugged, unbothered. "You wanted me here."

"I wanted support," Lucas muttered, green eyes still amused. "Not a mood assassin."

"Same package," Trevor said again, the corner of his mouth curving.

Marin-Shaye snapped on a pair of gloves. "Gentlemen," she said, "if you're done with your marital comedy, let's get the scan done so someone can actually answer the question."

Lucas swung his legs around and lay back on the padded table, one arm folded under his head. "Fine," he said. "Scan away. Maybe we'll surprise him."

"You won't," Trevor murmured, but his hand came to rest lightly on Lucas's ankle as if to ground him all the same.

Marin-Shaye rolled her stool closer and set a small console beside the table. "Cold gel," she warned. "Don't flinch." She applied it with the same clinical efficiency she used on everyone from nobles to field medics, then moved the probe across his lower abdomen, eyes flicking between the screen and her tablet.

The machine hummed softly; faint grey shapes flickered on the monitor. Lucas craned his neck to look. "I can't tell if that's a uterus or a weather map."

"It's a uterus," Marin-Shaye said dryly. "Lining is healthy. Hormone levels elevated from the heat, but nothing at implantation thresholds." She tapped a few keys. "In plain language: you're not pregnant this cycle, but everything looks perfectly normal."

Lucas let his head fall back against the paper, exhaling through his nose. No pang of disappointment, just information. "All right. Good to know."

"I'll upload the full report to your secure file," the doctor went on, wiping away the gel. "If you want to time conception more precisely, I can help you track the next cycle. Otherwise, keep doing what you're doing."

Trevor squeezed his ankle gently before letting go. "Told you," he said, his voice soft now rather than smug.

Lucas sat up, tugging his shirt back down and reaching for a tissue. "You're still a spoiler alert," he muttered, but there was a flicker of a smile at the edge of his mouth.

Marin-Shaye stripped off her gloves. "All clear," she said briskly. "No restrictions, no concerns. Come back in a month if you want another check."

Lucas hopped down from the table, platinum band flashing in the clinic light. "Thank you, doctor," he said. "And next time, no spoilers until after the scan."

Trevor held the door open for him, amused, the cedar scent following them out. "I'll try," he said. "No promises."

Lucas rolled his eyes but leaned into his shoulder as they walked back toward the manor. "Mood assassin," he muttered under his breath.

"Support," Trevor corrected, his laugh low and warm.

—

Later that afternoon Lucas sat alone in his corner office overlooking the gardens, a mug cooling by his elbow and a folder of unsigned papers spread across the desk. The sun caught on the platinum band around his finger, a small, solid weight against his skin. He turned it absently as he stared at the screen, but his mind wasn't on the e-mails.

It drifted, unbidden, to a life that technically wasn't supposed to exist. To Velloran's rooms, the hush of suppressed anger, the way questions had been orders disguised as concern. Velloran had spoken of children as if they were currency, as if Lucas's body were a vault to be cracked open. There had been no asking, no listening. When conception didn't happen, the blame came like a tide, ugly and relentless. 'You're defective. You're hiding something.' And then the passing-around, the quiet humiliation, as if proving that the omega was the problem would absolve the alpha of his own failure.

Lucas's hand tightened around the mug. Even after almost two years of this second life, the memories were still there, edges sharp as glass. He exhaled slowly, forcing them back into the shadows where they belonged.

Trevor was the contrast in every line. The cedar scent that had filled the wardrobe was still faint in the cuffs of the sweatshirt he wore; his voice, even when blunt, had always been a question, not a command. 'Are you sure? Do you want this?' He had refused again and again, not out of control but out of care, unwilling to risk rushing him. Even now, after finally agreeing, he'd booked a check-up, asked the doctor's advice, kept his hand steady instead of grasping. Where Velloran had treated his body as a tool, Trevor treated it like it was his.

Lucas rubbed his thumb over the ring, a small smile flickering despite the weight of his thoughts. In this life, he had asked, and Trevor had listened. In this life, there was choice.

Outside the window the garden swayed in a soft breeze, calm and green. He let the sight ground him for a moment before reaching for his pen again. There was still work to do, guests to manage, and contracts to enforce, but for the first time he felt like he was building, not just surviving.