Reborn as a villain:Claim the omega, Kiss the beta, Kill the dukes Chapter 118: Siblings

Chapter 116

Jack

I can’t bring my family here.

Not yet.

I still know next to nothing, about this place, and the life here. I really miss our ho by the ocean.

Today I et my half siblings...and the queen.I was hoping to avoid this interaction until....well forever.But we’re under the sa roof.

I take a slow breath, steady my shoulders, and push open the door into the tea room, the one of many other tea rooms.

They’re all already seated.

Perfect.

Nothing says welco to the family like being the last one to walk in.

The king is there, thank god.At least one person in this room doesn’t hate by default. Or, if he does, he hides it better than everyone else.

I walk further in, my shoes barely making a sound on the polished marble floor, and I bow exactly the way the etiquette instructor taught . Back straight. Eyes lowered. Hands aligned.

"Your Majesty."

The king nods and gestures for to sit.

I look around, taking in the seating arrangent with a growing sense of dread.The king and Queen sit side by side, the two siblings are next to each other on another seat.

The only empty chair is beside the oldest.

Of course.

I move toward the seat and lower myself beside him, offering a polite, hesitant smile he does not return. His expression is carved from stone—impenetrable, steady, the kind of face that has never once been uncertain in its life.

I beco painfully aware of how much I stick out. They all share that royal brunette spectrum—dark brown, chestnut, walnut, honey. And then there’s : black curls, thick and unruly, very un-royal.

I look like I belong to a completely different palette.

The king clears his throat, and imdiately servants glide forward to serve tea.

Thank god.

I might hate tea, but at least it gives my hands sothing to do besides gripping the edge of the seat in terror. Maybe this is why tea rituals exist,to give awkward families a prop.

"Jackson," the king begins, tone asured and formal, "I’m sure you recognize them, but I wanted to give a proper introduction."

I don’t recognize any of them, actually. I only know their nas the sa way everyone else in this kingdom does—from articles, gossip, public appearances.

"This is the youngest,Grace."

Grace beams at , bright and friendly, and gives a small wave. I give a smile back, she seems nice.

"And this is Anderson."

The man next to her flashes a loud grin to match his loud voice. "Please, call Andy, little brother."

Little brother.

Right.

If we count my previous life, I’m technically older than both Grace and him but in this life, Anderson is twenty-six and Grace is twenty-four, my age.

"And finally, Russell."

The crown prince beside gives the slightest nod, barely more than a twitch. He’s thirty-four, which ans he’s older than , past life included. Him, I can accept as older brother. Andy...well, that’s a work in progress.

The Queen sits beside the king with perfect composure, and her silence carries weight. Her expression is unreadable, diplomatic, distant, evaluating. She studies my face with unnerving precision, as if she is searching for the traces of her husband in my features and marking the differences with quiet resentnt.

"We are grateful you joined us today," she says calmly. "I hope the palace has been accommodating so far."

Accommodating.

"Yes," I respond with a respectful dip of my head. "I’m adjusting."

She gives a practiced, queenly smile that reveals nothing.This is soone who has trained her whole life to hide everything behind elegance. I can’t read a single thought from her expression.

A suffocating silence settles.

The king, who should be the source of comfort, isn’t helping. We all sip tea like strangers trapped in a small room together, waiting for soone to break first.

Finally, the king clears his throat.

"I know this is sudden for all of you."

His voice softens, carrying a quiet authority.

"But Jackson is your brother. His place in this family is not a question."

The statent hits the room like a royal decree,undeniable, unquestionable.

I notice the Queen’s fingers tense slightly around her cup, I really can’t bla her.

She’s being asked to publicly embrace her husband’s bastard son. I wouldn’t like either.

"I appreciate the welco," I say carefully. "I understand my arrival was unexpected, and I don’t expect anything from any of you. I simply hope we can coexist peacefully and... respectfully."

What I really an is please let’s avoid each other whenever possible, but obviously that stays inside my head.

Another stretch of silence.

Then, surprisingly, Andy jumps in with an attempt at conversation.

"We heard you moved out of Sol to live by the beach. Recently."

He leans forward, trying to lighten the atmosphere.

Yeah, I heard all about the original Jack’s activities...I’m pretty sure everyone in this room does too.

"Yeah," I say with an open shrug. "Sol was... a lot. I needed a change of pace."

I put on the perfect image, of soone that’s changed but is ashad of, and regretting their past.

"It must have worked out well," Andy continues, "because you have a son, we hear."

That catches off guard but in a good way.

A real smile slips onto my face.

"Yes. Nolan. We call him Lanny."

My chest warms just thinking about him. "He’s so cute."

"Aww—look at his face," Grace laughs. "He’s just like Russell when it cos to his children."

I glance at Russell, surprised. He does not seem like the type.

Grace continues, cheerful as ever, "Russell has this permanent scowl, but when he’s around his kids? You wouldn’t recognize him."

"Grace." Russell’s voice drops, low and stern.

She sticks her tongue out at him in response.

The tension that had blanketed the room eases, if only a little.

"I can’t believe you have a child already," Andy adds with dramatic despair. "Now the pressure on to start a family has doubled."

The rest of the eting continues in this strange mix of awkward and... workable.

Not warm.

Not friendly.

But not hostile either.

If they’re only being polite because the king is here, I can survive that.

I’ve survived worse.

*

After we all stand to leave, I’m already planning my escape route back to my room to collapse dramatically on the bed, and call my family.

But before I can slip away, Russell steps forward and quietly says:

"Walk with ."

It isn’t a request.

So I fall into step beside him as he leads us through one of the palace’s open-air corridors and out into the gardens. The place is stunning—flowers arranged like art, fountains carved from pale stone, neatly trimd hedges that probably require several gardeners working twenty-four hours a day.

We walk in silence for a while.Finally, he speaks.

"When Father told us about you," he begins, eyes fixed ahead, "I was not pleased."

Well.

Straight to the point.

I respect it.

"It was sudden," he continues, "the way he chose to introduce a brother we had never heard of."

I stay quiet.

"But," he adds, voice softening by a fraction, "I realized... if it was uncomfortable for , how overwhelming must it have been for you?"

That catches off guard.Not what I was expecting him to say at all.

"Father said you only learned of your heritage recently," Russell says. "That you were thrown into all this as abruptly as we were."

He pauses near a stone archway, the sunlight catching on his hair,he turns fully to face .

"It is not your fault," he says. "None of this lies at your feet. I see no reason to dislike you when the circumstances were shaped by others—not you."

I swallow, unsure what to do with the sudden gentleness, he does not look like the type at all, I clearly should stop judging books by their covers.

He continues, his tone shifting again,firr now.

"You are my brother. That is fact. And while I do not expect closeness... I do expect respect to exist between us. From both sides."

I nod slowly.

"I can do that," I say.

He studies again, assessing, weighing—like he’s cataloging whether I’m lying or hiding knives in my sleeves.

Then, to my shock, his mouth twitches.

Not quite a smile. But sothing close enough it softens his deanor for a fraction.

"You should pass through my wing soti," Russell says, his voice settling back into its calm authority. "I would like you to et my oga. And my children."

"Understood," I say, keeping my tone respectful. "I’ll make arrangents."

He gives a slow nod, as if confirming I passed so invisible test only he knew we were taking.

Then he reaches out ,deliberate, composed and taps my shoulder once. A gesture that feels like an invitation, a warning, and a welco all tangled together.