Reborn as a villain:Claim the omega, Kiss the beta, Kill the dukes Chapter 175: Two faced

Chapter 174

Jack

Oh, he fucked up.

I hear the news report from the car radio—kingdom-wide riots and protests. Flas flicker in the background of the broadcast. Crowds surge through streets.

When I leaked the info, I didn’t think he would react like this. Shutting down the internet? Over so articles?

A very dumb decision.

The dear duke literally just decided to pour highly flammable gasoline on everything.

I won’t lie,I may have people instigating things from behind the scenes. A word here. A suggestion there. Nothing traceable. Nothing provable.

So property belonging to the Rodericks has been looted. Burned down. And in the chaos, I had so spies attack the other dukes’ properties too.

How will anyone be able to tell?

I wait for it to get dark.

Then I put on the mask.

Gasoline in one hand. Lighter in the other.

The security has obviously increased because of the riots. Guards patrol the periter. Floodlights sweep the courtyard. But every system has a blind spot.

I have Peter create a distraction.

Shouts erupt from the east side. Guards rush toward Peter and his n—disguised as looters, convincing enough to draw attention. The floodlights swing away.

I slip through the gap.

The gallery looms ahead. Glass and steel, elegant and cold. The kind of place that thinks it’s untouchable.

I see the elegant font.

Laurent Duvall.

I know he’s here today, doing whatever perverted painting he does.

If he dies, it’s my luck. If not...oh well. My main target is these fucking paintings.

I slip inside through a service entrance. The darkness is thick, save for the streetlight glow filtering through the windows. It’s enough.

I see them.

Ciel’s paintings.

Dozens of them. Hundreds, maybe. Every wall. Every canvas.

His so-called muse.

I feel rage and it’s hot, sharp and familiar. At what Ciel went through to bring these sick, twisted paintings to life. At the way Laurent captured him not as a person, but as a possession.

I pour the gasoline. Slowly. Carefully. Every corner. Every canvas. Every wall.

The sound is quiet,just a soft slosh, easily mistaken for footsteps, for wind, for nothing.

Outside, I hear noise. Shouting. Movent. No one cos in. Peter and his n are doing their job.

It takes thirty minutes of sneaking around to cover everything. I find the light switches and unscrew the panels, dousing the exposed wires.

I’ve done my fair share of murder by arson, after all.

The second an electric circuit catches a fla, it all goes kaboom.

I’m tempted to go upstairs. To the bastard’s office. To set him on fire.

But not today.

I slip back outside. Move quickly, quietly, until I’m far enough.

The lighter feels small in my hand. Insignificant. A tiny fla that’s about to beco sothing much bigger.

I click it.

The fla flickers to life.

I throw it inside.

Then I turn and run.

It takes not even twenty seconds before—

BOOM.

The explosion sounds.

It’s loud. Louder than I expected. The ground shakes beneath my feet. Glass shatters. The heat at my back is sudden and fierce.

I take a quick look back.

Flas are rising to the sky. Orange and red and hungry, devouring the gallery like it was made of paper. Smoke billows upward, black against the night.

I hope he’s swallowed in them.

I don’t stop running.

***

Peter

"...and I understand that you’re justified to be angry, but it does not justify committing cris. It’s fortunate that young Duke Duvall suffered no major injuries, but this could have ended very badly."

I stand with my hands clasped behind my back, positioned at the edge of the podium, as Prince Jackson speaks at the ergency press conference organized by the royal family.

The room is packed. Journalists, photographers, officials—all of them hanging on every word. Caras flash in rhythmic bursts. Notebooks scribble furiously.

I resist the urge to scoff at his self-righteous tone, as if he isn’t the one responsible for the arson. And several other fires across the country tonight.

I am once again in awe of how two-faced he is.

The prince stands at the podium with the crown prince beside him, both of them dressed in formal black.

The king is notably absent—"resting," the press release said, though everyone knows he’s been briefed and is likely watching from sowhere else, letting his sons take the heat.

"We are aware of the reports circulating online prior to the internet outage. We are aware of the public’s frustration and fear. And we are aware that so have chosen to express those feelings through violence."

He pauses. Lets the silence stretch.

"Let be clear: violence is not the answer. Destruction of property is not protest. It is chaos, and chaos helps no one."

"Your Highness, the public is demanding answers about the articles—the ones alleging that Duke Roderick’s forces have been... eliminating citizens who attempt to leave Solre. Can you confirm or deny these allegations?"

Russell’s expression doesn’t change. "An investigation is underway. I cannot comnt on an active investigation."

"Your Highness," another reporter calls out, "the timing of the internet outage—imdiately following those articles—has led many to believe the governnt is attempting to suppress information. Can you address that?"

Russell exchanges a glance with Jack. A silent signal.

Jack steps forward.

"I understand why people feel that way," he says, his voice softer now, more human.

"If I were sitting at ho, watching my country fall apart, watching my neighbors riot, watching my internet disappear—I’d be angry too."

He looks directly at the caras.

"But I need you to understand sothing. The royal family exists because of the citizens of this kingdom. I promise you—the royal family will get to the bottom of this. We exist to serve and protect."

He pauses. Lets the words settle.

"I would refrain from making statents that would cause further unrest. What we need right now is unity. And trust. Trust in us. In ." His voice lowers, sincere.

"We unfortunately do not have all the answers you need. But we will soon."

He straightens. His gaze sweeps across the room, eting the eyes of reporters, photographers, officials.

"And to the families and local businesses that have been affected by these recent events—the royal family will start relief funds. I urge all other nobility to follow suit." His voice hardens, just slightly.

"This is the ti for us to show our citizens that we are not just rulers. We are servants. We are protectors. We are yours."

A journalist near the front stands. "Your Highnesses, what is the royal family’s ssage to the people of Solre tonight?"

Russell and Jack exchange another glance.

Then Jack speaks.

"Stay safe. Stay calm. Don’t let fear turn you into sothing you’re not."

Ha.

Seriously two faced.