The Omega Who Wasn't Supposed to Exist-Chapter 71: Ten Days of Drama and One Giggle-Nugget Later

[DuClair Estate—Lucien’s Room – Still Holding the Line of Pettiness]

The silk cushions barely rustled as Silas sat down beside him, all slow, princely grace—like a man approaching a delicate artifact or, more accurately, a very emotionally unstable dessert.

Lucien blinked at him warily over the edge of his pudding spoon.

"...Why are you staring at me like that?" he asked, cheeks flushing pink. "You look like you’re about to propose. Or pounce."

Silas didn’t answer.

Instead, he leaned closer. His hands found Lucien’s waist—fingers splayed possessively over the silk fabric, thumbs rubbing soft, apologetic circles. His gaze darkened, lips parted.

And then—

CHUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUU.

It wasn’t a kiss. It was an event.

Silas planted one on Lucien’s cheek so deep and noisy it sounded like he was trying to siphon his soul through his face. The sound echoed like a royal trumpet call to war.

Lucien froze, spoon in mid-air.

His hand slowly rose to clutch his now saliva-glazed cheek.

"...Are you," he asked in a broken voice, "trying to inhale me?!"

Silas snorted, then chuckled, and then full-on collapsed against Lucien’s shoulder like he was a man being reunited with his life source. "I missed you so much," he murmured, "I forgot what boundaries are."

"Clearly."

Silas nuzzled deeper, arms curling tighter around Lucien’s waist. "My love... let’s go home."

Lucien’s blush deepened to criminal levels, but he huffed and crossed his arms in what he believed to be dignified resistance. "Nope."

"Please?" Silas’s voice was low. Dangerous. Too sweet to be legal.

He leaned closer.

Nibbling.

Nibbling. On Lucien’s neck.

"Silas!" Lucien gasped, back arching. "Hngh—that hurts!"

Silas pulled back slightly, just enough to kiss his forehead with reverence. "I can’t stay away from you," he whispered, warm breath fanning over Lucien’s skin. "It’s already been more than ten days..."

Lucien pouted. "It’s been ten days. Exactly."

Silas pulled back and gave him the most dramatic, weepy novel cover expression Lucien had ever seen. "It feels like an eternity... I counted every second... every tick of the goddamn estate clock... every time I woke up alone in that cold, oversized bed..."

"Okay, that’s a little dramatic."

Silas leaned closer again. "Every spoonful of soup I ate tasted like regret."

"Oh gods—"

"Every hallway echoed your name."

"Gosh...you’re more dramatic than me—"

"And every dream I had ended in me kissing your knees while begging for forgiveness—"

"Silas—"

"—and your knees rejected me."

Lucien stared at him.

Then burst out, cheeks puffed and voice cracking, "Y-You... stop luring me with your extremely gorgeous face!! You know I can’t stay mad when you do the face!"

Silas blinked innocently. "What face?"

Lucien shoved him lightly. "That face! The tragically beautiful one! The I’m-so-sorry-but-also-hot face!"

"I don’t control my bone structure, darling."

"Then control your presence!"

Lucien turned away dramatically.

Silas, not to be thwarted, popped his head around the other side.

"My love..."

Lucien turned the other way.

Silas’s face popped in again.

"My sweet love..."

"Stop—"

"My darling pudding cup..."

"Silas—!"

"My reason for breathing and screaming into pillows at night—"

Lucien threw a pillow at him. Silas caught it midair and clutched it like a love letter.

"You can throw all the pillows you want," he said heroically, "but I’ll still be here. Loving you. Endlessly. Annoyingly. Beautifully."

Lucien narrowed his eyes. "You are so lucky you’re hot."

Silas grinned. "I know."

Lucien tried to stay angry.

He really, really did.

But then Silas gently pulled his hand, pressing it over his own heart.

"Feel that?" Silas whispered, eyes dark with sincerity now. "It’s been beating for you. Only for you."

Lucien’s entire body turned red.

"...Damn it."

Victory bloomed on Silas’s face like a sunrise.

"So... you’ll come home?" Silas asked again, eyes wide with hopeful desperation, like a very attractive puppy who just got told he might finally be allowed back inside the house.

Lucien hesitated, nibbling his lower lip as if deep in thought—or possibly trying to not smile too soon.

Then, very softly, he said, "Only if you promise me you won’t hide anything from me anymore."

Silas beamed.

He beamed like the sun had just exploded inside his chest.

"Yes—yes, my love! I swear—no secrets, no taking decisions without you, and I swear I won’t even breathe without your permission. Nothing!"

Lucien squinted. "That was... oddly too much."

Silas coughed. "Anything for you, my love."

Lucien wasn’t entirely convinced, but he continued anyway. "You promise, right?"

Silas grabbed him in a dramatic, sweeping hug, nearly knocking over an entire tray of pudding. "Promise! A big promise! A huge one! A giant, monolithic, kingdom-sized promise! The kind that gets sung about by bards and written on banners!"

Lucien laughed—blushing, flustered, and very much losing the battle. "Okay, okay—stop throwing adjectives at me!"

Silas grinned, then cupped his face gently and reverently, and pressed a kiss to his lips. Soft. Slow. Full of apologies and love and the slight taste of earlier pudding.

When he pulled back, his voice was a whisper. "I love you, my love."

Lucien’s ears turned bright red. 𝐟𝚛𝕖𝚎𝕨𝗲𝐛𝚗𝐨𝐯𝐞𝕝.𝐜𝗼𝗺

"Y-Yeah... yeah... I love you too," he muttered, eyes darting away. "What can I do? I’m stuck with you now. We’re—ugh—tied together."

Silas chuckled, resting his forehead against Lucien’s with a hum of delight. "Fated," he whispered. "Bound by stars. Entwined by destiny. Glued together by overly dramatic life choices."

Lucien groaned into his hand. "The poetry must be regretting that it knocked on your door."

But he didn’t pull away.

Silas looked down then, his smile softening. His hand moved slowly, resting over Lucien’s belly.

He lowered himself, eyes wide with reverence, and kissed the swell like it was the most sacred thing in the world.

"We’re going home," he whispered against the bump. "Do you hear me, little bean? Wobblebean? Giggle-nugget? Whatever your name will be?"

Lucien raised a brow. "Did you just call our child a giggle-nugget?"

"I’m testing nicknames," Silas said solemnly. "We have to workshop a few. I’m a father now. I get to be weird."

Lucien snorted, carding a hand through Silas’s hair. "But it already have a name, ’wobbelbean.’"

Silas gasped dramatically. "But I think we should have more nicknames."

Lucien grinned despite himself. "You’re such a menace for destroying my child’s name."

"A menace with a hot face," Silas replied, leaning in smugly.

Lucien flicked his forehead. "And a bruised ego if you keep talking."

"Wobblebean heard that," Silas whispered to the bump. "They now know which parent is the soft one."

Lucien sighed theatrically, leaning back against the pillows. "I should’ve married a stable librarian."

"You married a man who made twelve generals cry," Silas said proudly.

Lucien muttered under his breath, "And now he makes me cry. Frequently."

But his fingers curled around Silas’s. He wasn’t letting go.

Then, with exaggerated drama and a hand held out like a knight in a play, he said, "Then... shall we go, my love?"

Lucien gave him a small, reluctant smile. "Yes."

And with that, Silas slid an arm around Lucien’s waist—carefully, protectively, reverently—and they began their slow descent down the grand staircase of the DuClair estate like they were royalty descending from Olympus.

Which would’ve been a breathtaking moment of poetic peace... if not for the disaster unfolding below.

Downstairs, in the main hall, Callen was sitting with a cup of tea held at an angle that could only be described as "delusional sophistication," attempting to flirt with Lady Seraphina.

Attempting. Horribly.

"You know," Callen said, leaning a bit too far forward, blinking like he forgot how eyes worked, "you’re the first woman who’s ever called me a ’slippery gnat.’ It was... captivating."

Seraphina stared at him.

Emotionlessly.

Like a lioness calculating if her claws were clean enough to rip a man in half.

"I never said that," she replied flatly. "But I feel like holding a shoe and hitting you in the face. Can I do that?"

Callen sipped his tea. "Yes. You can hit me. It feels magical."

A pause.

Seraphina closed her eyes like she was mentally composing a murder ballad.

"Do you normally fall in love with women who try to cave your face in?"

Callen smiled dreamily. "Only the terrifying ones."

Just then, Silas and Lucien reached the last step.

Silas, noticing the awkward energy of romantic doom radiating from Callen’s side of the room, whispered to Lucien, "Should I call the guards for him... or the undertaker?"

Lucien shook his head. "Let her kill him. It’s a mercy."

Before Callen could respond with another ill-timed romantic quip, the double doors at the end of the hallway opened—and in walked Countess Isodore DuClair, regal as ever, her expression as unreadable as a prophecy in a storm.

She swept forward with practiced grace and asked gently, "Oh... my child. Did you agree to go back?"

Lucien nodded with a soft smile and stepped into her arms. "Thank you for taking care of me, Auntie. I’ll visit—"

"No."

The sharp interruption made everyone flinch.

Silas had stepped forward, expression deadly serious as he wrapped an arm around Lucien’s waist, drawing him slightly closer.

"He won’t be visiting," he said with all the conviction of a man announcing war. "He’ll be too busy being adored, pampered, and not allowed out of my sight for at least three months."

Everyone blinked.

Even Lucien.

"...Silas—"

"Nope," Silas said firmly, pressing a kiss to his temple. "You’ve been borrowed long enough. Now you’re mine. Mine, mine, mine."

Countess Isodore raised an elegant brow. Then... she chuckled. Chuckled.

"My, my. Possessive, aren’t you?"

Just then, Seraphina swept into the hall, boots clicking sharply, expression unreadable. She stopped just short of Lucien and said, softer than expected, "Luce... the doors are always open for you. Anytime."

Then her eyes flicked to Silas, narrowing like a sword sliding from its sheath.

"...And I’ll be visiting," she added coldly, "frequently. To keep an eye."

Silas—completely unfazed—tightened his hold on Lucien, effortlessly lifting him into his arms like it was his full-time job.

"Let’s go," he said smoothly, not even sparing Seraphina a glance as he turned away, cloak swishing behind him.

Lucien blinked, halfway between fond and exasperated.

"Silas, I can walk, you know—"

"Nope," Silas repeated. "You walk too close to danger. Like relatives. And doors that aren’t mine."

Lucien sighed into his chest.

Seraphina sighed louder.

And the doors closed behind them, echoing like the end of an opera.