Reborn as a villain:Claim the omega, Kiss the beta, Kill the dukes Chapter 28: Wait

Chapter 27

Jack

Routine.

That’s what our lives have beco. A strange, fragile routine that feels like balancing on a glass bridge. One wrong step and the whole thing could shatter.

On paper, things are going well. Ciel and I getting closer, getting more comfortable with and doing things not because he has to but because he wants to.

He alternates where he sleeps—sotis in the shared room with Nolan, sotis in mine. It’s not lost on that he’s probably trying to make both of us happy.

And it’s working.

...Mostly.

See, there’s just one problem.

Nolan.

The beta guard dog with the world’s worst poker face. Seriously, it’s almost impressive how blatantly jealous he is. Like, how has Ciel not noticed? The guy watches us with the exact sa expression as an abandoned golden retriever seeing his owner pet a stranger’s dog.

We’re going on week two of this fragile dostic bliss, and I shouldn’t enjoy making Nolan jealous. I really shouldn’t.

But God help , it’s so much fun.

Which is why I maybe—maybe—lean into it a little.

Okay, a lot.

Like right now.

Ciel is perched on my lap, scrolling through so "Parenthood101" video on my tablet with the most serious expression I’ve ever seen. He’s been on a binge of these—swaddling tutorials, how-to-burp-an-infant, which baby monitors are secretly NSA satellites. It’s adorable.

I glance at the soft curve of his shoulder peeking out of his loose T-shirt. I shouldn’t. I really shouldn’t.

I bend forward and press a kiss there anyway.

A soft, quick press of lips. Innocent. Mostly.

He hums softly, glances at with a small smile—like it’s nothing—and goes right back to watching the video.

I, anwhile, look straight ahead and—oh look, surprise surprise.

Blue eyes.

Stormy. Furious. Glaring at from across the room with enough heat to lt the paint off the walls.

Hi, Nolan.

I flash him my smuggest, most unapologetic smirk.

He doesn’t take it well. His jaw clenches. His hands curl into fists at his sides. The vein in his temple actually pops. It’s an, I know. I shouldn’t poke the beta bear.

But it’s just so easy.

And, honestly? The guy looks like he’s about two seconds from marching over here and physically yanking Ciel off my lap.

Which, let be clear, would never work. I’d wrestle him like a WWE champ before I let that happen.

He stands abruptly, the chair legs scraping harshly against the tile. Ciel blinks up, startled, looking every bit the innocent angel. I keep my face schooled to the sa expression. Totally harmless. Halo firmly in place.

"What’s wrong, Nollie?" Ciel asks, all sweet concern, oblivious as usual.

I can’t help myself. I parrot him in the most innocent tone I can muster:

"Yeah, what’s wrong, Nollie?"

Nolan’s smile is tight. The kind of tight that could crack glass. "Nothing. I think I have indigestion," he says.

"Should I make you tea?" Ciel starts to move off my lap, worry written all over his face.

"No, it’s fine." Nolan cuts him off a little too fast. "Really. Don’t get up."

And then he turns on his heel and walks out with a stiffness that would make a soldier proud.

The second he’s gone, Ciel frowns. "He’s been acting weird lately. Do you think he’s sick?"

I school my face into sothing neutral, even though inside I’m howling.

"Yeah," I murmur innocently. "Real sick. Poor guy."

Sick of .

Ciel sighs, already making plans to coddle Nolan later. And I? I press another kiss to his shoulder—purely out of spite because I know Nolan can’t see it now.

Petty? Maybe.

Fun? Absolutely.

***

Nolan

That fucking bastard.

He does it on purpose.

I swear to God—arghhh!

I storm out onto the patio like the floor inside was on fire, fists clenched so hard my knuckles ache. The ocean breeze hits , but it doesn’t cool the heat boiling under my skin. It’s not the sun that’s making my blood simr—it’s Jack. Smug, infuriating, annoying , frustrating Jack with his perfect jaw and his stupid soft kisses and his smirk.

I pace the deck, muttering under my breath like so raving maniac. "Indigestion," I said. Brilliant excuse, Nolan. Because clearly the reason your heart is doing gymnastics is a gasbubble and not the sight of your best friend sitting all cozy on an alpha’s lap like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

And the shoulder kiss. The fucking shoulder kiss.

He looked right at when he did it. Right in my eyes. Like, hey, watch be everything you’ll never be.

I grip the railing and groan. "He’s doing it on purpose. He knows. He knows."

"What does he know?" a maddeningly familiar voice drawls behind .

I jerk upright, spin around, and there he is—the bastard himself—standing there with a cup of tea in hand like he owns the whole damn coastline. His hair’s slightly mussed from the pool, his shirt clings in all the wrong (right) places, and his smirk is already halfway to victory.

My jaw tightens. "What are you doing here?"

He lifts the cup lazily.

"Soone has indigestion, and sweet Ciel made tea for him anyway." His tone is light, but the pointed sweetness in "sweet Ciel" makes want to punt him into the ocean.

Guilt hits anyway, sharp and stupid. I snatch the cup out of his hand with a muttered, "Give that."

Jack doesn’t even flinch. Just watches like I’m an amusing wildlife docuntary. "Wow," he says, leaning on the opposite railing with maddening ease. "Such gratitude. Warms the heart."

"Thank you," I grit out through my teeth. It sounds like I’m being forced at gunpoint.

I fucking hate him.

I want him to fuck off.

I want him to fuck .

Wait that’s not right.