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

Lucas pushed back his chair and stood, rolling his shoulders to shake off the fog of paperwork. His feet carried him down the long corridor almost without thinking, past portraits and tall windows spilling afternoon light across the parquet floors. The scent changed as he turned into the west wing: cedar, leather, a hint of ink, and old wood. Trevor's territory.

He opened the door to his husband's office and stepped inside. The air was instantly familiar, with dark wood panelling, clean modern lines, and Trevor's scent woven into everything from the bookshelves to the leather chairs. It was exactly as it had been the first time Lucas had walked into it: intimidating, immaculate, and heavy with the weight of decisions. Back then he'd thought he'd drown under the responsibility. Back then Trevor had been just a duke, barely more than a stranger, a lifeline Lucas had gambled on.

Now the office felt like stepping into a heartbeat.

Trevor wasn't there. Somewhere down the hall, in one of the many conference rooms, he was undoubtedly terrifying a delegation into submission. The absence left the room quiet, full of muted light and cedar.

Lucas crossed to the desk and lowered himself into the chair, fingers trailing over the smooth edge of the wood. He remembered sitting here on that first day, palms damp, wondering how he would ever keep up. He remembered Trevor's shadow falling across the desk, the calm voice coaxing him out of a panic he hadn't even realized he was having. He remembered leaning forward, crossing a line he'd sworn he wouldn't, and kissing him. That had been the start of everything, or maybe it started way sooner than he knew.

He let his gaze wander over the surface of the desk. Stationery stacked in Trevor's obsessive order. Folders stamped with the Fitzgeralt crest. And, tucked between an inkwell and a silver pen tray, a small block of amber.

Lucas reached out and picked it up. Inside the honey-colored resin, a delicate butterfly was suspended, its wings frozen mid-beat. The conservatory came back to him in a rush: the humid air, the glint of sunlight on glass, and that one butterfly suspended in amber that had made him question, for a heartbeat, whether he'd really lived only one life before this.

He turned it over in his palm. Light caught on the translucent wings, throwing thin gold shadows across the dark wood of the desk. 'How long has it been sitting here?' he wondered. 'And why here, of all places?'

He set it down carefully, as though it might crack. The butterfly's wings glimmered in the muted office light, a frozen beat of color in a world of dark wood and cedar.

His gaze drifted to the far corner of the desk where, under a heavy paperweight, sat a sealed leather folder. A secret document received directly from Caelan two months ago. A private journal, handwritten, scanned, and full of things he didn't want to unleash.

Lucas hadn't opened it. He'd kept it on the desk as a silent dare, telling himself he was too busy, that he'd get to it later. The truth was simpler and heavier: he was afraid of what might be inside. Afraid that the man who had ruled for decades and outlived rumors of five lives had left more than an heirloom. Afraid that the pages would show there was more to Lucas's own return than even he remembered. Otherwise… why would he be back at all?

He pushed the folder a little farther away and rested his elbows on the desk, head bowed, eyes on the butterfly glinting between the pens. He'd fought so hard to make this life his own, to choose Trevor, and to build a home that felt safe. The journal sat like a locked door at the edge of it all, promising answers and threatening to redraw the map again.

The latch clicked softly. Lucas didn't look up; he could already smell cedar and clean linen before the door even opened.

Trevor stepped inside, his usual conference-room armor, jacket off, sleeves rolled up, and tie loosened, making him look less like a duke and more like the man who had once stood behind this desk and talked a panicked omega through his first week. He closed the door with the same quiet finality he used on everything he wanted to keep private.

Lucas kept the amber block turning between his fingers, watching the way the wings caught the light. "Did you buy this because of me?" he asked without preamble, his voice calm but edged with something he couldn't quite name.

Trevor stopped a few steps away, violet eyes flicking from the object in Lucas's hand to Lucas himself. Then he crossed the room and leaned one hip against the desk, his hand sliding into his pocket. "No," he said softly. "Not because of you."

Lucas finally looked up, brows knitting. "Then why?"

Trevor reached out and brushed a thumb over the edge of the resin, careful not to take it from him. "Because the first time I saw it, I had the strangest feeling I'd seen it before. Not in the conservatory. Not anywhere I could name. Just… a moment of déjà vu. Like remembering a dream you can't quite place."

"Another life," Lucas murmured, half to himself.

"Maybe." Trevor's voice stayed low and noncommittal. "But nothing beyond that. Just a feeling."

For a moment the only sound in the office was the faint hum of the air vent and the muted traffic outside the windows. Lucas turned the block once more and set it back down between the pens. Trevor's fingers brushed his as he did, a silent grounding touch.

"Strange how it ended up here," Lucas said.

"Strange," Trevor agreed. "But some things end up where they're meant to be."

He straightened and rested a warm hand on Lucas's shoulder, the cedar scent of him steady and familiar in the dark wood office. "Come on," he said quietly. "You've been staring at that thing long enough. Let's get out of here before you start seeing patterns in the floorboards."

Lucas gave a small, crooked smile at that, but his hand lingered on the butterfly a heartbeat longer.