CHAPTER 251: CHAPTER 251: CONSEQUENCES (1)

Trevor didn’t look up when the door closed again, shutting out the muffled sound of movement in the halls as Windstone’s men began their sweep.

His focus stayed where it belonged, on the slow, steady rise and fall of Lucas’s chest, on the fragile warmth pressed into his side, and on the faint tremor in the hand still curled in his blazer.

His pheromones filled the room, heavy and warm, threaded through with the steady beat of his pulse. The world outside could burn itself to cinders for all he cared; his entire existence had narrowed to the pale-haired omega tucked against him.

A shift subtle, but there. Lucas’s breathing changed, less deep, more controlled.

Trevor’s fingers stilled for only a second before resuming their slow stroke through soft blond hair. "You’re safe," he murmured. "Stay with me."

Lucas didn’t open his eyes at first, only pressed his face closer to Trevor’s chest. His voice, when it came, was quiet enough that Trevor almost missed it under the weight of his own heartbeat.

"I want them dead."

Trevor’s hand paused mid-motion.

Not because the words shocked him, he had offered that end to anyone who touched Lucas since the day he claimed him, but because it was the first time Lucas had asked for it himself.

Slowly, Lucas lifted his head, his eyes half-lidded but sharp in a way that made Trevor’s chest ache. "They put that in my hands. They thought they could make me..." His breath hitched, and he swallowed hard, forcing the words out. "I don’t care who it was. I want them gone. All of them."

Trevor cupped the back of his neck, drawing him close until their foreheads touched. He let his pheromones thrum darker now, a silent answer, steady as a vow.

"I will do everything for you." He said, tone even, despite the fire in his purple eyes.

"Someone knows my past life, someone that was near me and Christian... I want to live this life forgetting the past one. I don’t want to suffer anymore."

Trevor’s fingers tightened subtly at the nape of Lucas’s neck, his thumb brushing over warm skin in a slow, grounding stroke.

"Then you won’t," he said, his voice as steady as the pulse he was pressing into Lucas through his touch. "No one will drag you back there. No one."

Lucas’s eyes searched his, tired but unyielding, the faint shimmer of unshed tears making his striking green eyes shine like jewels. "Why? What did I even do? I’ve never hurt anyone."

"I will find everything you want to know."

Outside their door, the muted sounds of movement had shifted, no longer the soft tread of household staff but the deliberate rhythm of Windstone’s people taking over. Footsteps didn’t linger; they cut across the halls in precise intervals, doors opened and shut with purpose, radios clicked quietly as orders were passed. It was the sound of a house being dismantled without a single wall coming down.

Trevor didn’t look away from Lucas. "And when I do," he said, his voice a low promise against the faint hum of distant voices, "you won’t have to lift a finger. You asked for them to be gone. That’s all I need."

Lucas’s breath stilled, his fingers curling in the fabric at Trevor’s chest. He didn’t ask how, and Trevor didn’t elaborate, because somewhere down the hall, Windstone was already pulling this place apart, brick by brick, name by name.

The scent of Trevor’s pheromones stayed heavy between them, threaded through with something darker now, almost tangible in the quiet room. "You’ve given me what I wanted most," Trevor murmured, thumb brushing the delicate line of Lucas’s jaw. "Now I’ll give you what you deserve. Safety. Silence. And if it takes burning down the last of your past to do it... so be it."

Lucas shut his eyes at that, leaning into the touch. For the first time since the black box had been placed in his hands, his shoulders loosened, he knew Trevor would level it for him if necessary.

And Trevor would.

—

A few hours later, the air in their suite had shifted from the tense, cloying weight of earlier to something softer. Lucas had showered, his damp hair smelling faintly of Trevor’s shampoo, his skin warm from the heat of the water. He’d changed into one of Trevor’s shirts, too big, sleeves falling halfway down his hands, and slipped under the covers without protest. By the time Trevor tucked the blanket up over his chest, his breathing had already evened out, that stubborn little crease between his brows finally gone.

Trevor stayed long enough to make sure it stayed gone.

Then he rose.

He didn’t bother changing out of the black t-shirt and soft drawstring pants he’d been wearing while coaxing Lucas into calm. The slippers stayed quiet against the polished floors as he stepped out into the hall. It wasn’t the image people expected of him, no sharp tailoring, no cufflinks, no cut of steel in his silhouette. Just a man who looked like he’d been home all day.

Which made it worse.

Because the people who knew Trevor Fitzgeralt knew the suit was for public work. The softness was for Lucas. And this... this was for the unfortunate souls who had triggered his omega’s trauma and thought the worst thing coming for them was Windstone.

The manor was quiet now, in that careful way that wasn’t natural, with staff confined to their quarters, Windstone’s men posted at every junction. The scent of unfamiliar cologne and shoe polish marked the path his butler’s people had taken over the estate.

Trevor found Windstone in the main receiving room, standing over a table strewn with files, security stills, and lists of names. His men moved in and out with efficient silence, dropping off updates and taking new orders. The older alpha looked up when Trevor entered, his sharp eyes catching on the domestic state of him.

"Your Grace," Windstone said simply, but there was an edge there, an understanding that this was no casual visit.

Trevor stepped closer, scanning the spread of evidence without touching it. "Tell me," he said, tone almost conversational, as if they were discussing the weather. "Who decided my omega’s peace was something they could gamble with?"

Windstone’s jaw tightened. "We’ve narrowed it down to three possible channels. The female attendant, the gate guard who waved her through, and whoever sent the original order. The seal was forged."

Trevor’s gaze lifted, the easy warmth in his face unchanged, but his purple eyes had gone sharp.

"Three names. I want them verified before dawn."

Windstone didn’t flinch. "We might have one already... Alan Moore, the butler. Here," he tapped a folder on the table, "he seems to take his orders from Benedict."

A muscle twitched once at Trevor’s jaw. "Don’t you say?" he murmured, the hum almost pleasant, almost.

Windstone had been with him long enough to know it wasn’t.

"Prepare all the staff in the morning," Trevor said, adjusting the hem of his shirt as if it were the most natural thing in the world. "I want to deal with them personally."

There was no need to elaborate on what dealing with them meant. Windstone inclined his head once, sharp and sure. "They’ll be ready."

Trevor turned then, heading for the door with that same unhurried, slipper-soft stride. The picture of a man who might have been going back to bed. But Windstone knew better and by morning, so would everyone else in the Fitzgeralt manor.