Chapter 13: Terms of Ownership
Sera didn’t blink.
She only stared at him, head tilted just slightly—enough to register the weight of his words, enough to let them settle between them like a dropped blade.
"Good," she said finally. The word was simple. Precise. "Then we’re thinking the same."
Lucas’s grip tightened around the spoon, knuckles pale.
"I blamed myself," he said, his voice quiet but jagged at the edges. "For not being useful. For not going into heat early enough. For taking suppressants. I thought I’d ruined myself. And I still don’t understand why you help me now."
"I help you because Caelan asked me to. Why does he care now? Because there is another alpha interested in you. Well, not you specifically, but an omega with imperial blood and of age."
Sera’s voice didn’t soften. If anything, it sharpened. Like a scalpel finding bone.
Lucas stared at her, unmoving.
The words landed without ceremony—direct, clean, brutal. He appreciated that more than he should have. Pity was a poison he could smell before it even entered the room. This wasn’t pity. This was politics.
He leaned a hand on the desk, the heat from the fire barely touching his knuckles. "So that’s it? I exist now because I’m a resource. A conveniently timed asset."
"You always existed," Sera replied, tone crisp. "They’re just late to noticing."
He laughed quietly. Bitterly. "They’re not late. They ignored me on purpose."