Reborn as a villain:Claim the omega, Kiss the beta, Kill the dukes Chapter 127: Jealous

Chapter 125

Nolan

"Nothing is funny," I mutter, glaring at the TV like it personally wronged .

"Right? Look at her." Ciel leans forward beside , squinting at the reporter who’s practically glowing. "What is she laughing for?"

"Exactly," I say. "She keeps touching his arm. Why is she touching his arm? That’s not professional."

"And she’s leaning in too much," Ciel continues, voice rising. "Look at her. Look. Leaning into his chest like she’s trying to sll him."

"Can she even sll him?" I ask.

"Doesn’t matter!" he snaps. "It’s the intention."

We both lean closer to the screen, offended in perfect harmony.

Jack is on screen, smiling in that annoyingly charming, polished-prince way that makes the entire kingdom swoon.

His hair is slicked back. His suit fits like it was crafted by angels. His laugh is warm, soft, practiced.

Ciel and I stare at the TV like two fathers watching their teenage daughter flirt with a thirty-year-old biker.

I feel my eye twitch.

"What is he smiling like that for?" I mutter, narrowing my eyes like I’m trying to laser-beam the screen.

"Exactly. Exactly. Look at him," Ciel mutters, folding his arms, offended on a spiritual level. "Why is he smiling like that at her?"

The reporter touches Jack’s arm again.

Touches.

Ciel inhales so sharply he almost chokes.

I swear, if this were a physical monster, both of us would be halfway through the TV by now, dragging her away by the hair like feral raccoons.

"He’s too handso," I admit through clenched teeth. Begrudgingly. "Look at him. His face. His height. The stupid charming smile. No wonder she’s giggling like she’s twelve."

Ciel nods aggressively. "Right? It’s so frustrating. Why is he like this? Why does he look like that?"

"He didn’t look this good when he lived with us at the beach," I mutter.

Ciel side-eyes . "Nolan. He looked even better at the beach."

I sigh. "...I know."

On screen, Jack throws the reporter another soft smile — the kind that says hello, I’m perfect and you should fall in love with — and the reporter practically lts.

Ciel’s jaw drops.

"Did you just see that? She almost leaned into him."

"She’s doing it on purpose," I hiss.

"She wants him to propose."

"She wants him to ruin our lives."

We look at each other, united in pettiness.

From the floor, Lanny squeals at the TV, waving his chubby arms.

"Dada!" he shouts.

Both of us pause, then soften instantly.

"Yes, that’s him," Ciel says with a proud little smile.

Lanny taps the TV again.

"Dadaaaaaa!"

His little voice is so earnest it echoes through the living room.

Ciel lets out the deepest, most dramatic sigh known to man and stares at the screen.

And the funniest part? He and Lanny have identical expressions — big eyes, pouty lips, the whole betrayed-but-still-in-love look.

I have to physically bite the inside of my cheek to keep from smiling.

On screen, Jack lifts the mic with that stupid natural charm of his.

"...a son..."

Both Ciel and I snap our heads up, attention laser-focused like soone just dropped a steak in front of two starving wolves.

"Oh," Ciel breathes out.

His posture imdiately changes. His shoulders unclench, his eyes soften, even his pout lts a little. The jealousy evaporates like it was never there.

A beat of silence.

Then he mutters, cheeks slightly pink:

"I suppose I’m not mad anymore."

***

Ciel

"Sunshine. What’s wrong?"

Jack’s voice cos through the burner phone, warm and careful in that way he uses when he’s trying to coax sothing out of .

"Nothing." I say flatly.

And it is nothing.

Nothing except the reporter touching his arm.

Laughing at everything he says.

Beaming at him like he hung the damn moon.

She practically lted into a puddle on live television.

But sure. Nothing.

"Sunshine, please."

He tries again, softer this ti.

Begging.

And it works, it usually works — but my pride is holding on by its teeth.

I don’t answer.

I just sit there, arms crossed, glaring at a spot on the wall like it personally offended .

I even pout.

As if he can see .

As if my silence can convey my righteous indignation across the kingdom.

Nolan, who’s been pretending not to be invested in this conversation, snorts.

"Well, why don’t you ask the reporter?" Nolan says with venom sweet enough to pour over pancakes.

Jack pauses.

"...Reporter?"

He sounds genuinely confused, which sohow annoys even more.

"Yes," Nolan snaps. "The woman practically climbed into your lap on national television."

I let out a supporting huff.

"What?" Jack says, sounding genuinely confused.

"WhAt?" Nolan and I imdiately mock him at the sa ti — the sa pitch, the sa attitude, the sa disbelief.

Silence.

Then Jack laughs, loudly, helplessly, the kind of laugh that usually has him bending over with his hands on his knees.

Hearing it only pisses us off more.

"Oh sunshine... doggy... you two are jealous," he says.

"We are NOT," Nolan and I bark at the sa ti.

Another bark of laughter bursts through the speaker, warm and smug and far too pleased with himself.

"You two are definitely jealous," Jack says, the grin audible in his tone.

Nolan and I look at each other like he just insulted our entire bloodline.

On the other end of the line, Jack is still laughing—full, unrestrained, delighted laughter that only makes the fire in my cheeks worse.

"I can hear your faces," he wheezes. "Both of you. Exactly the sa. Angry little tomatoes."

Nolan actually gasps.

"I am not a tomato," he snaps.

"Yes you are," Jack says easily. "Both of you are. My tomatoes."

I kick my blanket pettily.

"I wasn’t jealous," I grumble. "I was simply... observing."

"Well," Nolan mutters, crossing his arms even though Jack can’t see him, "I was simply expressing public concern over inappropriate proximity. Very different."

"Oh absolutely," Jack says dryly.

"She touched him three tis," I hiss. "Three."

"And what was with the giggling?" Nolan adds. "What was she giggling at? Nothing was funny."

"Exactly," I whisper fiercely.

On the other end of the line, Jack lets out another deep, warm laugh—the kind that fills the whole room even when he’s not here. That laugh that makes Lanny squeal and makes Nolan roll his eyes and makes my stupid heart lt.

"Listen to ," Jack says once he finally stops laughing. His voice drops, turning low, steady, and unfairly tender.

"I unfortunately have my hands full with you two. There is literally no space in my life—or my brain—to look at anyone else, much less fancy soone."

I can feel my jealousy lting, turning into sothing small and warm and stupid.

"You two," Jack says, voice softening even more, "are the only people I think about. Every day. Every night. Every mont I’m stuck in this palace pretending I like tea and tiny sandwiches."

Nolan snorts.

I smile against the phone.

"Now," Jack murmurs, "are you both done being jealous... or do I need to say it again?"

"...Say what again?" I whisper.

"That I’m yours," he says simply.

"And you’re mine."