Reborn as a villain:Claim the omega, Kiss the beta, Kill the dukes Chapter 13: Old habits

Chapter Twelve

Jack

I sit on the balcony with a beer sweating in my palm. The night air is cool, briny, a little damp. Below the ocean stretches forever, moonlight scattered across its surface like broken glass. The tide exhales, inhales, steady as a sleeping giant.

It’s peaceful. Too peaceful.

Behind , I know the tension still lingers in the house like smoke. I’d caught enough of Ciel and Nolan’s voices earlier—didn’t need the whole conversation to piece together what it was about.

I lift the bottle. Take a slow swallow.

I didn’t an to wedge myself between them. Whatever bond they share—it’s theirs. Not mine. But I can’t regret it either. Because if Nolan had his way, Ciel would be curled up in so alley right now, wasting away. Pride doesn’t keep you fed. Pride doesn’t keep a baby alive.

No. I won’t apologize for giving him a place to breathe.

The wind brushes through my hair, carrying salt and chill. Above the moon burns too bright, the kind of brightness that makes you think the world’s holding its breath.

And of course, that’s when the thoughts creep back in.

The ones I can’t seem to shake, no matter how far I run.

What would it be like? To have a family. A real one.

Hope’s a cruel bastard. It creeps in soft, all dressed up like sothing you can actually touch.

I scrub a hand over my face, then pull out my phone. My thumb hovers, hesitating for half a second before habit wins.

"You available?"

I stare at the words. They don’t even look like mine. But I send them anyway.

The reply cos fast.

>👍😉

A thumbs up and a wink. Classic.

And just like that, part of relaxes. That sick, pathetic part that still thinks touch—even aningless touch—is a kind of survival.

It was never about sex. Not really. It’s about not being alone. About being held long enough to believe I’m still human.

I hate myself a little as I take another drink.

So ghosts don’t leave. They just wait until you’re quiet enough to hear them again.

Maybe Nolan’s wrong about being a predator.

But I’m no saint either.

***

Ciel

I linger in the doorway, half-hidden by the curtain.

Jack sits on the balcony, a shadow carved out of moonlight. A bottle in his hand. Shoulders bent like he’s carrying sothing no one else can see.

The ocean pulls his gaze, and for a mont he looks... lonely. The kind of lonely I recognize. The kind that eats you from the inside out.

I should leave. Go back upstairs. Pretend I never saw him like this.

But I don’t.

I watch instead.

The way his jaw tightens when he drinks. The way his hand trembles when he sets the bottle down too hard, then pretends it didn’t. There’s an old heaviness in him. The kind that doesn’t just vanish with ti.

I want to ask. God, I want to ask.

But I don’t.

I run instead.

Not far—just away. Back through the quiet hall, down the stairs. My feet are soundless against the marble. I grab the hoodie draped across the coat rack—Jack’s, because it slls like lavender and earth and sothing stormy beneath.

I slip out the side door.

The beach is waiting.

The sand is cool between my toes, the waves rolling steady and alive. For the first ti in weeks, maybe months, there’s no shouting. No footsteps chasing. No suffocating pheromones closing in.

Just wind.

Salt.

Moonlight.

And the sound of the sea, breathing.

The waves curl in and out, moonlight shimring silver across the black water. The air is cool, salted, quiet.

For once, I can breathe.

Then—headlights cut across the sand behind .

I turn.

Jack.

He slips into the garage, the heavy door rumbling open and closed, and then the engine of that beast of a truck roars to life.

I freeze, watching as the taillights vanish down the street.

My chest tightens.

Where is he going this late?

***

Jack

The town is quieter at night. Empty streets, lights buzzing overhead. I keep the windows down, let the wind cool the heat in my chest, the unease in my bones.

I tell myself I’m just driving. Just moving, so I don’t drown in thoughts. But I know where I’m going.

I knock on the door, barely waiting. A couple minutes later, it opens.

And there he is.

Beautiful. Dark brown hair, green eyes, a smile that’s easy and practiced. Too easy.

Too much like Noah.

"Co in," he says warmly.

I don’t answer. I just step past him, let the door shut behind , and before the lock even clicks, I’ve got my hand at the back of his neck, pulling him in, kissing him hard enough to shut both of us up.