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

Trevor was already switching gears as he left the blue dining room, the easy warmth of lunch shuttering behind the calm, sharp focus of the Grand Duke. His long strides carried him through the west corridor and down the back staircase to a windowless room that Windstone referred to, with typical understatement, as "the small conference room." It was in fact the security command hub for the entire estate.

Dan Smith was waiting inside, standing at the head of the table. The head of security was a blocky man in his forties, ex-military, his dark suit cut short. Two monitors glowed on the wall behind him, each showing different parts of the manor grounds.

"Sir." Dan inclined his head as Trevor entered. "We've isolated the problem."

Trevor closed the door behind him. The cedar scent that always clung to him seemed to sharpen, filling the room like a low chord. "Show me."

Dan tapped a control. A live feed from one of the interior cameras flickered up, showing a storage corridor in the east wing. Two young men and a woman were seated on a bench, guarded by estate security. Their expressions were tense but blank.

"They're on the candidate list for the new posts you and Lucas opened last month," Dan said. "Housekeeping, kitchen, and one junior archivist slot. All spotless backgrounds on paper, but…" He clicked another tab. "Their communications lit up this morning. Encrypted bursts to a number flagged in your father-in-law's file."

"Benedict," Trevor said flatly.

Dan gave a single, sharp nod. "His style. Slow infiltration under a legitimate pretext. We caught them trying to map the private wing. Didn't even flinch when stopped."

Trevor stepped closer to the monitor, violet eyes narrowing on the frozen faces. He spoke without raising his voice, but it carried like steel. "How deep?"

"Not deep. We flagged them before they crossed into restricted areas. No one's been near your or Lucas's quarters. Windstone's protocols held."

Trevor's jaw eased a fraction, but his tone stayed clipped. "Good. Keep them isolated. No police call yet, I want to know who else they're linked to before we spook the network."

Dan's mouth twitched in something like approval. "Already on it. The interrogation room is prepped. I'll handle the first pass."

Trevor straightened, the warmth of lunch a distant memory. "Do it. Make sure no one else on the list slips through. Double-check the background of every candidate for the open posts. Quietly."

"Yes, sir."

Trevor's gaze lingered on the screen for another heartbeat, then he turned toward the door. "When you have names," he said, "bring them to me first."

Dan inclined his head again. "Understood."

As Trevor stepped back into the corridor, his phone vibrated with another alert. He ignored it for the moment, his mind already moving. Benedict's reach had been cut off in Palatine and Saha, but apparently the man wasn't finished. He was still trying to reach Lucas, even when he was reduced by Trevor and Caelan to nothing.

Cedar curled off him as he moved, less a scent now than an aura of controlled force. For the first time in days the manor didn't feel like a sanctuary; it felt like a board he would have to defend again. And this time, he thought grimly, Benedict wouldn't get as far as the front door.

—

In another wing of the Empire, a very different table was set.

Serathine sat opposite Caelan at a small marble-topped table on a sun-drenched terrace, the kind of quiet corner she had learned to cultivate in a life full of noise. The servants had long since withdrawn, leaving behind only a carafe of pale wine, plates of delicate seafood, and the low murmur of a fountain somewhere beyond the balustrade.

She set her glass down, amber eyes glinting. "Lucas sent me the whole story," she said, slicing neatly into a piece of fish. "Mia storming into his office, Lucius trying to negotiate a fiancée like a trade agreement, Trevor and Benjamin providing commentary… You've raised an opera troupe, Caelan."

Across from her, the Emperor of Palatine, her lover when the world permitted, reclined in his chair, one long finger circling the rim of his glass. His hair falling softly against his forehead, and in the softer light of the terrace he looked less like a ruler and more like a man enjoying a stolen hour.

"You're asking what I'm going to do about it?" he said, amused.

"I'm asking if you're going to do anything at all," Serathine replied. "You're their father. You could put a stop to this circus with a single word."

Caelan's mouth curved faintly, the same expression Lucas wore when something entertained him. "Why would I? It's not my circus, as your ward likes to say. Lucius is alive, Mia is alive, Trevor hasn't thrown anyone into a lake, and the estate is still standing. Until someone drags me on stage, I'll stay in the audience."

Serathine arched a brow. "So you'll do nothing."

"I'll do nothing," he echoed, voice dry. "Amused spectatorship is the only way to survive this family. It's Lucas's opera now. Let him conduct it."

She laughed softly, resting her chin on her hand. "You're very like him when you say that."

"I should hope so," Caelan murmured, refilling her glass. "He inherited more than my eyes."

Serathine took a slow sip, watching him over the rim. "Hmm, sure," she said, "but you know as well as I do that those two would end up together."

Caelan's mouth curved, a glint of humor flickering in his dark eyes. "Lucius and the Black girl? Of course. He's stubborn enough to chase, and she's stubborn enough to make him work for it. The rest is just… timing."

"Timing and scandal," Serathine said, setting her glass down with a soft click. "They've managed to generate plenty of that already."

He chuckled, the sound low and unhurried. "Scandal builds character. Besides, it keeps Trevor and Lucas busy while I enjoy my dinner."

Serathine tilted her head, amused. "You're impossible."

"I'm practical," Caelan corrected mildly. "I let my sons sort out their own soap operas. When they want advice, they know where to find me."

Her fingers trailed idly along the stem of her glass. "And until then?"

"Until then," Caelan said, reaching across the table to brush his thumb over her wrist, "I prefer quiet meals with you to referee duty."

Serathine smiled at that, a slow, knowing smile. "Good. Because I have no intention of playing chaperone either."

They ate in companionable silence for a few beats, the fountain murmuring just beyond the terrace, the opera of their children's lives playing out far away.