Reborn as a villain:Claim the omega, Kiss the beta, Kill the dukes Chapter 42: Final push

Chapter 41

Nolan

It takes so effort to shuffle Jack off to bed—he looks ready to stand guard over both Ciel and the baby forever—but eventually he listens. I promised I’d keep watch, and he finally let himself collapse.

Now it’s just .

The house is quiet, save for the soft hum of the fridge downstairs and the faint rush of waves against the shore outside. I glance at the clock. Nearly 2 a.m. That ans the little one will be stirring soon. Crying for milk. Wanting comfort. Demanding to be held.

I lean over the crib, bracing my hands against the railing.

Mixed feelings—that’s the only way to describe what coils in my chest.

Before he was born, I hated the very idea of him. The reminder of what Ciel went through. The shadows of those n who hurt him. The proof etched into his body every day as his stomach swelled. I told myself the baby was just... evidence. Evidence of pain.

But now...

Now he coos softly in his sleep, face scrunching before he settles again. A sound so innocent it knocks the breath out of .

I exhale slowly, dragging a hand down my face. "You’re so lucky you look like the man I’m in love with," I whisper into the stillness.

And it’s true. That shock of orange-red hair, those faint golden flecks in his tiny eyes—it’s all Ciel. And it makes it so goddamn hard to keep my walls up.

How am I supposed to hold onto my bitterness, my anger, when every ti I see him, I’m reminded of Ciel’s smile? Of the boy I’ve followed, protected, loved in silence for years?

I rest my palm against the crib rail, knuckles white.

Also, I can’t really hate you.

Not completely.

Because you gave Ciel the final push—the reason, the courage to escape.

*

How fucking outrageous.

Getting to be staff under Duke Florence was hell. Humiliating.

I rember the tests—thorough, degrading, stripping bare and turning in circles like I was a horse up for auction. Eyes on like I was nothing more than a product, a thing to be weighed and asured.

I guess I should be grateful, in so twisted way. If not for my face passing the bare minimum of his absurd "standards of beauty," I never would’ve made it inside. Never would’ve gotten close enough to see him.

Two weeks of blending into the background, bowing low, never speaking unless spoken to—and finally, I was trusted to carry food trays upstairs.

To his "most prized art collection."

The second floor of that glass penthouse, cluttered with stolen beauty from across the world. Paintings, sculptures, antiques. All worthless compared to what he kept locked away in his bedroom.

I rember the first ti I opened the door. My breath caught, my body froze.

There he was.

My beloved.

Ciel.

On the bed, too still, too fragile. Scarlet hair tangled across his shoulders. His golden eyes glassy, barely blinking. Watching a red-and-gold bird flap weakly inside a gilded cage.

My god.

What had they done to him?

He didn’t even look at . Not really. Just stared straight through , blank, hollowed out. His collarbones jutted like blades from beneath his robe, skin marred with angry, obscene marks.

Like a living art piece.

Like sothing broken.

I did as I was told—placed the tray on the bedside table, bowed, and left. My heart was on fire the whole ti.

For weeks, I morized everything. The Duke ca Tuesdays, Thursdays, Fridays. I waited, counted, prayed for an opening. On the days he wasn’t around, I lingered near the second floor, desperate to catch Ciel’s eye, desperate for him to react.

Most days, nothing. A flicker, at best.

Until the day I followed the physician ho. Heard what he whispered to his wife in their tiny kitchen.

Pregnant.

Ciel was pregnant.

I wanted to vomit. I wanted to burn the whole tower down.

Instead I did the only thing I could.

I knocked the bastard out cold, tied him up in his own ho, and sprinted back to the penthouse like a man with nothing left to lose.

It was a Monday.

I burst into the room, heart pounding. "Ciel, Ciel, we have to go," I whispered, shaking him, desperate.

He blinked up at . Blank, at first. Then—light. Like the faintest spark inside a dead candle.

"Nollie?" His voice broke on my na.

God, I almost fell apart right there.

"It’s ," I said. "Please—we have to go."

But he just hugged . Arms frail, clutching like he’d never let go.

"We have to go," I begged again.

"You leave, Nolan," he said, voice raw. "I don’t know how you got in here, but you leave. I’ve already lost so much—I can’t lose you too."

"Are you insane? Look at you!" My voice cracked. "I will not."

He shook his head, resigned, as if he’d already buried himself alive. "And do what? You know what’s waiting for outside these walls. We’ve been down this road before. Rember?"

And he was right. Every ti we escaped, we ended up in another devil’s hands.

But I couldn’t give up. Not this ti. Not with his life on the line.

"You’re pregnant," I blurted, desperation tearing it from .

His eyes widened, mouth parting. "What?"

"I heard from the doctor. He’ll tell the Duke if we don’t leave now."

Ciel’s hand went to his stomach, trembling.

"I don’t know what he’ll do when he finds out," I said. "Please, Ciel. Please. You owe it to this little one to try."

He hesitated. He always hesitated. But that was enough. Enough to pull him from the edge of resignation and into motion.

Anywhere was better than that hell.

*

The sharp cry of an infant slices through the silence.

I jolt, ripped back to the present. The mories scatter like broken glass, leaving only the soft wail in their wake.

I scoop him up, cradling him against my chest. His tiny body fits in the crook of my arm like it was always ant to be there.

"Shh," I whisper, rocking gently. "It’s okay. You’re okay."