Reborn as a villain:Claim the omega, Kiss the beta, Kill the dukes Chapter 23: I like you

Chapter 22

Jack

I help him into the passenger seat—he’s seven months along now, and though he’s stubborn about his independence, I don’t miss the slight wince when he climbs up. This truck definitely wasn’t made for delicate passengers or baby bumps.

ntal note: get a family-friendly car. Maybe a van. Or sothing embarrassingly safe and practical with rear-seat airbags and cupholders.

I start the engine and we pull onto the road, winding along the stretch that overlooks the sea. The sky is dipped in hues of rose and gold. The waves shimr as the tide rolls in. From here, the beach looks like sothing out of a movie—serene, untouchable.

This month with Ciel... and begrudgingly, Nolan too, has been my happiest. In both lifetis.

It’s felt normal. Peaceful.

But peace never lasts, does it?

I notice it halfway ho—Ciel’s joy dimming like soone turned down the brightness. He’s quiet. His fingers fidget, picking at his cuticles, twisting together—an anxious tic I’ve learned to recognize.

I sigh and pull the truck off the road, parking on a quiet overlook.

He blinks, turns to . "Why’d you stop?"

The sunset hits his face just right, igniting the amber flecks in his golden eyes. He looks... soft. Not fragile. Not weak. Just tender in a way that makes my chest ache.

"We’re going to talk about it," I say, tapping the steering wheel once.

"Talk about...?"

"Ciel."

He shifts, and I can see it—he knows where this is going, but he doesn’t want to et halfway.

"You’re confusing ," he says finally, eyes flicking away.

"You reject my advances, but then you do this. You buy things. You look at like that. You... care. I don’t know what to do."

I sit with that. The engine ticks softly as it cools.

"Can I not just want to?" I say softly.

"Can I not just care without it being part of so... transaction?"

His expression falters, but not in relief. More like pain. "Then why do you reject ?"

I try for humor. "You an apart from the fact that we’ve barely known each other for a couple of weeks?"

He doesn’t laugh.

His voice drops lower.

"Is it because I’m pregnant? Is that why? Is it because I’m ruined?"

That knocks the air out of .

"You do not get to talk about yourself like that, Ciel."

He scoffs, twisting toward the window. "Please. You don’t know how many alphas have been through . I’m used up."

"No," I say, firm this ti.

He flinches like the word itself struck him.

"You are not used up. You are not a toy. You are not disposable. You’re a person. A whole, infuriating, brilliant person."

But he doesn’t answer. Just stares at the dashboard. That silence is louder than words.

Finally, he whispers, "If that’s not it... why do you reject ?"

I reach toward him slowly, carefully. His body gives the tiniest twitch—barely there, but I see it. My chest squeezes.

I smile—sad, gentle—and keep going. My hand cups his cheek. Warm skin beneath my palm. For a heartbeat, he’s frozen. Then he exhales, sothing in him unclenching.

I shouldn’t say this.

But I do.

"Look at this, Ciel." My thumb traces the curve of his cheekbone.

"How could I not like you?"

His eyes snap up, startled. I hold his gaze. Steady.

"And that’s the problem." I let the truth settle like a stone dropped into water, rippling outward.

"I like you."

He looks at like I’ve just rewritten the laws of physics.

"I don’t like you as just an oga," I continue.

"I like you. Ciel. The one who gets giddy in the kitchen. The one who hums when he kneads dough. The one with the sunshine laugh that has a ridiculous snort at the end. The one who goes on tangents about mushroom species and cries over baby shoes in catalogs. The Ciel who’s going to be an amazing dad."

***

Ciel

I don’t get it.

It doesn’t compute. The words swirl in my head like they were ant for soone else. Soone cleaner. Soone whole.

"Don’t look so confused," Jack says, reading like a paperback again.

"Do you know you’re still afraid of ?"

"I’m not..." I begin, but it dies sowhere in my throat.

His thumb brushes my cheek again. It’s maddening how gentle he is. How he makes feel safe just by existing, when safety has never been free for .

"No," he says softly, "you are. And that’s okay. I know you’ve been hurt. You’re protecting yourself. I get it."

I look down. My fingers twist in my lap. Ashad. Cornered by kindness.

"I don’t want a physical relationship with you unless it’s what you really want," he adds.

"It’s what I want," I blurt out—too fast, too eager. Too desperate to prove sothing.

"I don’t want a physical relationship with you unless it’s what you really want," he adds.

"It’s what I want," I blurt out—too fast, too eager. Too desperate to prove sothing.

He raises a brow. "Is it?"

"I..."

I can’t find the words. Because the ones I want to say are the wrong ones.

"See, for all your dramatic bravado..." Jack leans back just slightly, lips quirking, "I know you don’t want to. Not deep down."

"I do," I snap. Maybe too defensively.

"Why?"

I open my mouth.

Because you’re an alpha and I’m an oga. Because it’s the only thing I’ve ever been good at. Because that’s what I’m supposed to offer in return. My body, my heat, my submission. That’s how the world works, right? Right?

But I don’t say any of that out loud.

Jack watches , waiting. Then he laughs—not cruelly, but in that infuriating way where he already knows the answer and is letting hang myself with silence.

"See, if you said sothing like, ’I’m horny,’ or ’I just want to,’ or ’I’m actually into you,’ I would’ve already flipped you over in the back seat."

He grins, soft and warm and just a little cocky, and pulls his hand away to sit back fully in his seat.

Oddly, I miss the warmth of his touch.

"I’ll try to like you," I offer, quiet, like it’s a compromise.

He groans like I’ve just told him his house burned down.

"Ciel."

He turns to , eyes sharp. Not unkind—but firm. Controlled.

"There’s a power imbalance between us. You feel it. I feel it. You tiptoe around constantly—waiting to eat until I do, second-guessing your opinions, trying not to upset ."

I open my mouth to argue.

He cuts off.

"Don’t. I’ve seen you with Nolan. That Ciel—the one who rolls his eyes, says what he thinks, throws popcorn during movies—that’s the one I like. That’s the one I want."

I go still.

"This Ciel..." he gestures toward , "...is scared. Of . Of ssing up. Of what happens if I decide I’ve had enough. And yeah—you’re right to be scared. You’ve probably been let down too many tis."

His voice softens even further, like velvet wrapped around steel.

"And I do hold the money, the house, the safety net. That’s real. I know it. But I’m not going to abuse that. I won’t rush you. Trust takes ti. If you never get there with , that’s okay too. I’ll be the best godfather you’ve ever seen. We can still be friends."

The words hit like a knife and a balm all at once.