Reborn as a villain:Claim the omega, Kiss the beta, Kill the dukes Chapter 151: Flowers and a friend

Chapter 150

Ciel

Ivan asks again about my day, and it would be rude to give him a curt response when he just said all that.

Besides, Ivan’s my friend. And I’ve never had a friend before. Let alone an oga friend.

So I start texting. And typing. And I can’t stop myself.

About the frustrations. About the kitchen I’m not allowed to use, the chefs who smile politely while telling I don’t belong. About the "duties" that feel like being dressed up and displayed. About sitting in this room watching the two people I love do things that matter, while I just...

exist.

I send it before I can second-guess myself.

The three dots appear imdiately.

💬Ivan: I’m going to give you a call right now.

I stand up. Jack and Nolan are both still engrossed in their work—Jack frowning at a docunt, Nolan typing sothing with the kind of focus that makes the rest of the world disappear.

I walk into the bathroom and shut the door behind .

I never get stunned by the sheer luxury of this bathroom anymore. But tonight, the marble counters and the gold fixtures and the enormous tub that could fit three people feel like they’re mocking . A pretty room for a pretty thing.

My phone rings. I take a seat on the toilet lid and answer.

"I don’t think a text would accurately express my emotions," Ivan says.

"Okay."

"Do you know what my first impression of you was?"

"Uh... no?"

"You looked like a fairy. At the park. I rember poking Zander, like hey, look at him, he’s so pretty, like wow." He says it with such sincerity that I cough out a laugh despite myself.

"Do you know what else is pretty?" he asks.

"Uh..."

"Flowers."

I wonder where this is going.

"The thing about flowers," Ivan continues, his voice slower now, more deliberate, "is that so people nurture them. So people look at them. So people cut them. So people step on them. So flowers are edible, so are poisonous, so have dicinal properties. So are treated like weeds. So are placed in greenhouses."

"Okay," I say, not sure where he’s taking this.

"One thing I’ve realized, Ciel, is that the world treats ogas like you and like flowers."

I go still.

He keeps going. "At so point, we start thinking we are."

My fingers clench around the phone.

"But babe." His voice softens. "We are not flowers."

I don’t say anything.

"We have emotions, feelings, desires, hopes, dreams. We feel pain, sorrow, joy." His voice is steady, firm.

"No matter how the world tells us otherwise. No matter how we convince ourselves otherwise."

My fingers clench around the phone, tightening until my knuckles ache.

"We are not flowers," he says. "The first step is to acknowledge that."

I don’t answer.

"You and I are the lucky ones, you know. We found people to nurture us. To protect us. To love us." He pauses. "But no matter how much they do that, if you won’t turn your roots into legs, when winter cos and your petals fall, you’ll be scared. When a bug eats your petals and leaves. When the soil is diseased and you can’t be as pretty."

His voice softens.

"What’s going to happen then, Ciel?"

I swallow. "I don’t—"

"Life isn’t a story with happily ever after," he says.

"There will be ups and downs. Good seasons and bad. How long are you going to last if you believe that every single flaw ans you’ll be uprooted and thrown away?"

My chest tightens.

"But you’re not a flower," he says softly. "You’re not going to be uprooted. You’re not going to wither because one season is hard. You’re a person, Ciel. A whole person. Not sothing that exists to be pretty and then discarded when you’re not."

"I don’t know," I say eventually. My voice cracks on the last word.

"Then let’s do this." Ivan’s voice shifts, brighter, like he’s switching into teacher mode.

"Every ti you’re reminded of being an oga. Every ti the expectations press down on you. Every ti you catch yourself thinking you’re just here to be looked at."

He pauses.

"I want you to tell yourself this."

I wait.

"Ogas are human beings."

"Ogas are not flowers."

I repeat the words in my head, letting them settle sowhere deep.

"Rember you’re a dad, babe," Ivan says, his voice gentler now. "What if your little one presents as an oga? Are you going to tell him his value cos from being attractive?"

"Of course not!" The words co out sharp, offended. Angry at the very suggestion.

"How is he going to believe that?" Ivan asks quietly. "If what you tell him contradicts how you treat yourself?"

I go silent.

The bathroom is too quiet. The marble tiles gleam under the soft light, perfect and cold. My reflection stares back at from the mirror across the room. Pale. Red hair. Golden eyes.

Pretty.

That’s all I am, if I let myself believe it.

But what if Lanny is an oga and he looks in the mirror one day and sees the sa thing? What if he grows up thinking his face is the only thing that matters?

I think about Nolan. About the years he spent telling I was more. About the way he looked at like I was the whole sky, not just sothing pretty in it.

I think about Jack. About the way he said I’m not here for your body, Ciel. I’m here for you.

They’ve been telling this whole ti.

But hearing it from another oga,from soone who has been where I am, who has felt what I feel...it lands differently.

It’s not soone telling I’m worth more.

It’s soone showing it’s possible to believe it.

I can’t complain about the way the world treats when I treat myself the sa way.

I can’t change the way the world sees .

But I can change the way I see myself.

I owe it to myself.

If not for , then—

Lanny.

And he won’t believe it if I don’t believe it for myself.

I exhale slowly. Let the breath out. Let sothing else in.

"Thank you," I say.