Reborn as a villain:Claim the omega, Kiss the beta, Kill the dukes Chapter 130: Charmed

Chapter 129

Russell

I swear children can embarrass you to death sotis. Luckily Jackson took no offense.

Now the two of them are seated at the low tea table with all her stuffed animals are arranged in a very serious semicircle. Monts ago she was suspicious of him; now she’s lecturing him on proper tea-party etiquette while shoving a plush rabbit into his hands.

They’re suddenly the best of friends.

It makes smile a little despite myself, seeing the way he watches her, patient and amused. He really is a father. You can see it in everything — his posture, the gentleness of his eyes, the ease with which he keeps her engaged.

Just then, Harriet walks into the room, her hair pinned up and soft with exhaustion.

Love matches are rare in royalty, which is why I thank the stars every morning that Harriet and I sohow managed to find one another.

"He’s asleep," she says, aning our son. "Where is the new brother-in-law?"

"Currently busy," I tell her, and tilt my head toward the tea table. "Holding court with the high table."

She laughs under her breath. "Of course he is."

She leans slightly to look past , watching Pauline animatedly demonstrate how to pour tea "like a princess," while Jackson nods solemnly as though this is a state secret.

"Pauline didn’t say anything rude, did she?" Harriet asks, already bracing for the answer.

I give her a long, aningful look.

She sighs imdiately."Of course she did."

"I know," I say, unable to help the amused sigh that escapes .

Children will humble you in ways no king ever could.

"Co," I add, taking her hand and guiding her toward them. "Let’s introduce you two properly before she interrogates him about sothing even worse."

***

Jack

Harriet is... wow.

She’s lovely in that effortless, serene way noblewon in movies try to mimic but never quite succeed at. She has dark hair woven into a simple twist, clear blue eyes, and a posture so quietly graceful that you instantly understand why she’s Crown Princess. No jewels. No extravagant dress.

Just presence.

If Russell has that stoic storm energy, Harriet is the calm water beside it—steady, aware of everything, impossible to rattle.

But the most surprising thing isn’t her beauty or the way she carries herself.

It’s the way they look at each other.

Like the rest of the palace doesn’t exist.

Like they’re in their own world, even here in these marble halls.

When she smiles up at Russell, his entire expression softens. The mighty Crown Prince, always perfectly composed... lts. Just a fraction, just enough for soone paying attention to see.

And honestly? Kind of nice to see.

Russell rests a hand on the small of her back when he introduces , and the gesture is so natural, so familiar, it makes jealous.

"This is Jackson," Russell says.

Harriet curtsies lightly, but the gesture is casual, informal. More of a hello than a bow.

"It’s wonderful to finally et you," she says. "Russell speaks highly of you."

I glance at him. That’s probably a lie, but he shalessly ets my eyes not giving anything away.

"It’s an honor," I say, and I an it. "Your ho is beautiful. Your children are even more beautiful."

At that, Harriet beams—motherly pride radiating from her like sunlight. "Pauline can be... inquisitive," she admits softly, though the apology is already in her eyes.

"Inquisitive is good," I say.

Harriet lets out a gentle laugh.

Russell huffs. "You are encouraging her."

"I’m encouraging personality," I counter.

Harriet laughs again.

***

Russell

If I was a lesser, insecure man, I would be bothered by the way Jackson so effortlessly chard my wife and daughter.

Harriet ward to him within minutes, laughing at his dry humor and answering his questions with that soft fondness she rarely extends to strangers.

Pauline, who monts earlier interrogated him like a suspicious border officer, now insisted he sit beside her at the tiny table in the corner, pouring him imaginary tea from her stuffed elephant’s plastic teapot.

It’s... nice.

It’s more than nice.

Because Anderson is not the kind of sibling I want near my children, and Harriet can hardly tolerate him for more than a minute, she really dislikes him.Grace... well, the rift between us has always existed.

The afternoon passes quietly — unexpectedly warm. Lucas wakes from his nap halfway through, and Harriet brings him out, still blinking sleep from his small eyes.

Jackson takes him without hesitation, adjusting the little boy on his hip like he’s done it a thousand tis.

Lucas presses his cheek to Jackson’s shoulder, and Jackson murmurs sothing soothing in that deep voice of his.

We talk. We eat pastries. I endure Pauline forcing to pretend to drink tea from a plastic cup. Harriet teases about the glitter in my hair.

By the ti the sun dips lower behind the palace walls, I realize hours have passed.

Jackson stands to leave, brushing imaginary crumbs from his trousers.

"Thank you for having ," he says. "Truly."

"Allow to walk with you," I tell him before he can step out.

Jack looks mildly surprised, but nods. "Sure."

We fall into step together, leaving Harriet and the children inside.

The corridor is quieter here—only the soft hum of the palace’s central heating and the distant shuffle of staff. Afternoon light spills through the tall windows, turning the carpets gold.

We walk side by side, not speaking at first. Jack’s hands slide into his pockets, posture relaxed but eyes... tired.

I clear my throat.

"I will speak to Father," I say suddenly.

Jack blinks. "Huh?"

"About your family," I clarify. "I noticed the look in your eyes today. You miss them. I cannot imagine being apart from Harriet and the children for as long as you have."

He pauses mid-step and lets out a slow exhale. Sothing softens in his expression.

"...Thank you," he says.

We walk again, the silence no longer heavy—simply there. Comfortable.

Then Jack tilts his head, voice slipping into its usual irreverent humor.

"Since you’re acting all nice, can you also ask if I can move out of the palace? You know... just casually slip that in?"

I snort before I can stop myself.

"I cannot," I say. "Even if I wanted to. Royals must live in the palace for a significant number of years. It is tradition, and protocol, and—"

He groans dramatically.

"Of course it is. This place is a maze. I swear every hallway looks the sa. I don’t know how any of you aren’t constantly getting lost."

I smile despite myself.

"We do get lost. We simply pretend we aren’t."

Jack huffs a laugh. "Figures."

I like this guy.