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

The estate hummed like a living thing.

From the highest balcony, Lucas could see the rippling movement of staff darting between the vast halls and the sweeping gardens, like currents feeding an inevitable tide. Florists carried crates of white orchids and dark roses toward the terrace arches, and decorators scaled ladders to adjust silver lanterns that caught the early light. Beyond the lake, a distant drone of arriving cars echoed faintly, the first wave of guests settling into their assigned wings.

Inside, the air was no calmer. Tailors hurried through corridors with pressed garments sealed in protective bags, the muted clatter of silver trays floated up from the kitchens, and every now and then came the low, clipped tones of someone from Cressida’s detail or Serathine’s entourage issuing orders as if this were a battlefield.

Lucas stood in the doorway of his dressing room, jacket still on its hanger, tie draped carelessly over the back of a chair. His hair was brushed, but his cuffs hung open. He hadn’t moved for several minutes, simply watching the controlled chaos beyond the open windows, feeling it press against him like a tide.

And for the first time that morning, a perfectly reasonable thought came to him.

"I could run."

Just... slip down through the east servants’ corridor, past the wine cellars, out through the narrow stone gate that led into the old orchard. The cars wouldn’t find him there. The press would be waiting at the grand entrance, not watching for someone dressed plainly, walking fast, cutting through the lower fields.

Lucas rubbed a hand over his face, stifling a laugh that was half nerves, half genuine temptation.

"Gods," he muttered to himself, green eyes flicking toward the mirror and catching his own crooked smile. "Leave Trevor to the lions... Serathine would relish the spectacle, and Cressida would devour Dax whole before dessert."

The image alone nearly made him snort.