Reborn as a villain:Claim the omega, Kiss the beta, Kill the dukes Chapter 163: Marked

Chapter 162

Nolan

I’m walking into work when so staff look at funny. I don’t mind and head to my office.

I look at my computer screen. Usually I’m able to get into the zone with my beloved numbers, but today I can’t. I feel a little... uncomfortable. Not sore, but uncomfortable.

Ciel laughed at and said I’ll get used to it.

Used to it?

Just his fingers have squirming in my seat. What more when—

"Mr. Harlow?"

I get snapped out of my thoughts.

Ti for work. I smile at the woman who walks in. For the next twenty minutes we talk work—project updates, tiline adjustnts, a minor issue with the northern warehouse that I’ll need to look into.

When she’s done, she doesn’t leave.

She shifts on her feet. Clears her throat. Looks anywhere but at .

"Do you have a lover, Mr. Harlow?" she asks.

I look at her, alard.

"No, no, it’s not like that." She waves her hands frantically. "I have an alpha. It’s just..."

She trails off, embarrassed.

"It’s just that... on certain days... like today..." She takes a breath. "Since you’re a beta, you don’t notice."

I look at her, confused.

"The pheromones," she says quickly. "You’re scented with a massive amount of oga and alpha pheromones."

I look at her dumbfounded.

Then I feel my face go red in real ti.

"Not that there’s anything wrong with it, Mr. Harlow." She’s speaking faster now, clearly panicking. "But it’s such a significant amount that unmated ogas and alphas might be affected by it."

I close my eyes.

How bad is it? I want to ask. But I’m afraid of the answer.

"How bad is it?" I ask anyway.

She hesitates. "This whole office is doused in it."

I open my eyes.

She’s not joking.

"Thank you," I say, my voice strangled. "I’ll... handle it."

She nods quickly and escapes.

I’m going to kill them.

***

Ciel

The Queen is no longer as scary now as she was when I first t her.

She’s just... what’s the right word for it?

Tsundere.

Cold on the outside. Warm on the inside. The kind of person who criticizes you while simultaneously making sure you’re eating well and sleeping enough.

Today she invited for tea— and Lanny. And in Lanny fashion, he has her wrapped around his finger. The Queen, who once looked at like I was a problem to be managed, was offering my son tiny biscuits and pretending not to smile when he sared crumbs on her sofa.

I’m now on my way to the crown prince’s section. I have to et the Crown Princess.

I walk through the palace with Lanny in my arms.

"Wawabayawayaa," he says.

"Yes, I agree," I say to him.

He can speak simple sentences now. Simple words: no, stop, yes, miss, kiss, up, . My baby is growing up too fast.

"Sister-in-law."

A voice. I turn.

Prince Anderson.

My back imdiately goes straight. I tighten my hold on Lanny.

Because Prince Anderson is not alone.

Beside him walks Duke Sebastian Doraemont.

The sa gray eyes. The sa silver hair. The sa cold smile that never reaches beyond his teeth.

"Your Highness," I say, bowing my head slightly. "Your Grace."

I’m suddenly thankful for the collar around my neck. It doesn’t leave exposed.

"I thought so. There’s only one person with your hair in the palace," Anderson says.

I smile politely.

"And this must be Lanny." He reaches for my son.

I take a couple of steps back.

He looks disappointed.

"My apologies, Your Highness. Lanny doesn’t take well to strangers."

Lanny pats my face, oblivious to the tension in my shoulders. "Papa," he says.

"Yes, sweetheart."

Sebastian hasn’t moved. His eyes are still on . Still heavy.

"Seb?" Anderson says, glancing back at him. "You’re quiet."

***

Sebastian

He’s as beautiful as I rember.

His hair is longer now, falling to his shoulders. Strands like blood. I rember how, with the tiniest cut, the way his blood would drip along his porcelain skin. Tears in his eyes.

So broken. So beautiful.

"Seb?"

"Ah—I’m sorry. What did you say?"

"Careful." Prince Anderson’s voice is light, but there’s an edge beneath it.

"My brother’s Achilles’ heel is his consort. And his child."

I chuckle, smooth, effortless. "My apologies. It still stuns , how the prince’s consort is so beautiful."

"I know, right?" Anderson grins. "Maybe if I had an oga like him, I’d settle down too."

He claps my shoulder.

"I have an appointnt with the Crown Princess. Please excuse ."

He walks past them us,I get the faintest whiff of his scent.

Roses.

Wine.

I inhale.

"I was serious, Seb." Anderson’s voice carries back to , no longer joking. "Drop it."

I resist the urge to roll my eyes.

"Understood." I pause. "That does not an I cannot admire."

I say it like a joke. Anderson laughs. He walks away.

But I watch the guards.

They shift. Subtly. Following the path of my sweet rose. Not blatant, not obvious—but there.

My face cracks, just a fraction.

Seems the bastard prince is no fool.

But no matter. Soon, he will be with again. Back where he belongs.

I watch them go—the oga with his scarlet hair, the child babbling in his arms, the guards closing ranks around them like a heartbeat.

Enjoy your freedom, my dear.

For it’s temporary.

Soon you will be back where you belong.

In my arms.

I wonder if he still cries so prettily.

I inhale. His scent is faded, but I can feel it—the ghost of roses, the echo of wine. It clings to the air, to my mory, to the spaces between my fingers.

I rember the way his tears would catch the light. How his breath would hitch, soft and broken, when I pushed him past his limits.

How he would whisper please like a prayer, even though he knew I wouldn’t stop.

I smooth my expression. Smile. Follow the Prince.

But my mind stays behind.

Stays on him.

Soon, I tell myself.

Soon.