Reborn as a villain:Claim the omega, Kiss the beta, Kill the dukes Chapter 147: Proud

Chapter 146

Baron Rosengarde

"Ah yes, this is where he grew up."

I gesture lightly as the reporters move through my estate, their caras flashing, their eyes scanning every detail for sothing sentintal to package into a narrative.

The walls are polished. The floors gleam. The curtains are drawn back just enough to let natural light spill in curated humility.

"He always preferred the west-facing windows," I add casually. "Said the sunset made everything look softer."

It’s a lie.

But it sounds good.

They scribble it down anyway.

I guide them toward the staircase and into the sitting room, where a large oil painting hangs prominently above the mantle.

It’s one of the few things I truly invested in.

A portrait of myself and my son.

He looks younger in it. Composed. Beautiful in that quiet way that turns heads without trying.

"A painting?" one of the reporters remarks. "Not many commission those anymore."

"Ah," I say with a small chuckle, folding my hands behind my back. "I’ve always been old-fashioned. And I raised him that way."

Disciplined.

Presentable.

Valuable.

The reporter takes a few more photos, zooming in on the brushstrokes.

It had been enough, at first, that he caught the attention of a duke. I rember the night that offer arrived. I rember calculating the implications. A duke’s favor could secure generations.

Still, I had been... dissatisfied.

A toy.

That’s what he would have been.

Beautiful, yes. Displayed. Desired. But never central.

I had hoped for better.

A marquis, perhaps. Even a count with proper influence.

His beauty, from his commoner mother has always been sothing too striking, and I thought it shot in the foot, garnering the attention of a duke, for a duke would not make a Baron’s oga a consort.

And yet.

Now look at him.

Royalty.

A prince.

My chest expands at the thought.

Now I am the father-in-law of a prince.

Ha.

If only those insufferable nobles who once dismissed as "provincial" could see now.

No ,they already have.

The calls began the mont the announcent spread.

Invitations. Congratulatory ssages. Thinly veiled networking attempts.

Those sa people who used to barely acknowledge my presence at gatherings now address with careful respect.

The reporters finish their photographs, thank profusely, and leave with promises of favorable headlines.

I straighten my cuffs once they’re gone, glancing once more at the painting.

My gaze drifts to the painting again.

Not through the blurred lens of fatherly affection — I have never been sentintal. I see him clearly.

Ciel has always been exceptionally beautiful.

Not the delicate prettiness that fades with novelty, but the kind that lingers. The kind that reshapes a room the mont he enters it. In older tis, n would have marched armies over a face like his.

He takes after her.

Her bone structure. Her eyes.

Alas, if only she had not been a commoner.

But then again — had she not been a commoner, I would never have touched her. And had I not touched her, I would not be standing where I am now.

My phone begins ringing again.

It has rung like this for years now.

Persistent.

Demanding.

I rember the day I discovered he had run away from the duke.

The dread.

The cold sweat.

The suffocating realization that everything I had built might collapse because of one impulsive act.

Dukes, plural.That revelation had co later.

They treated my son — my son, whom I raised ticulously to be a consort — as a paramour.

An indulgence.

Disposable.

I’ve always known my son’s beauty was worth more than being so nobleman’s indulgence.

Circumstances simply required patience.

What could a re baron have done differently?

And not one of them paid the courtesy of acknowledgnt.

His father.

No formal visit. No tribute. No alignnt of houses.

Nothing.

The insult burned far more than the scandal.

Still, beneath the anger was fear.

Real fear.

That their displeasure would crush my house entirely.So I joined the search, dreading his beauty that brought disasters upon my house.

And now—

Ha.

A prince.

The irony is almost divine.

My phone continues to ring. I glance at the screen without picking it up.

One of them.

They cannot touch anymore.

Not now.

Not when my son stands beside royalty.

I toss the phone onto the rug. It vibrates there, persistent, almost pathetic.

Their fault lies with them.

Had one of them given him a proper position — a recognized title, a secured place — we would never have reached this outco.

But alas, they were arrogant.

They likely believed an oga from a minor house could never formally stand as consort to a dukedom. That beauty could be possessed in private, but never elevated in public. That blood outweighed value.

Short-sighted fools.

In their arrogance, soone else has accomplished what they could not.

Recognized him.

Claid him properly.

Raised him higher than any of them would have dared.

A prince.

The title still amuses .

I toss the phone aside again and smooth my collar, ensuring not a single crease mars the line of my suit.

Presentation is everything.

A man is judged before he speaks ; by the cut of his coat, the polish of his shoes, the steadiness of his posture. I learned that long before I ever stepped foot into Sol’s inner circles. A baron cannot afford carelessness. Not in speech. Not in alliances. Not in appearance.

The phone vibrates against the rug again, an insistent tremor that disturbs the quiet of the room.

For years, I prepared Ciel for elevation. Etiquette lessons beyond what our rank required. Tutors I could scarcely afford. Exposure to gatherings where he did not yet belong. I invested carefully, patiently.

And they thought I did so out of naïveté.

No.

I understood exactly what I was cultivating.

I pick up my coat, draping it over my shoulders with deliberate precision. When I step into Sol this ti, it will not be as a supplicant or a peripheral noble hoping to remain tolerated.

It will be as a man whose lineage has ascended.

And those who once dismissed my house will asure their words very carefully.