Reborn as a villain:Claim the omega, Kiss the beta, Kill the dukes Chapter 76: Drag

Chapter 75

Ciel

It’s a normal day, a good day — the kind that tastes like salt and sunlight. Lanny’s laughter peels through the house in little bursts. The faint sound of ocean waves.

For a mont everything feels held together by thin threads of ordinary peace.

Then there’s a knock.

We don’t get visitors.

Nolan goes to the door. I can hear low murmurs and then two silhouettes fra the doorway: one familiar, the other not. Charlie. Of course it’s Charlie.

My jaw tightens. I narrow my eyes until the room goes blurry at the edges. Walking in with a tiny fruit gift box is charlie and the other man, who has silver hair graying and a business suit on, is carrying a huge box like it weighs nothing.

"Pardon the intrusion," the man says. He’s polite and kind.

"No, it’s fine," I say, stepping forward. Host mode engages automatically—smile, offer drinks, be the image of calm. My words are bright in the air. Inside, my stomach is a pool of acid because why is that oga in my ho.

Jack appears carrying Lanny, he recognizes the two guests.

"Mr. Greer, Charlie." Jack’s voice is casual but polite as he moves to shake the older man’s hand.

We sit, drink cups clink against saucers. The small talk is awful in all the necessary ways, but Mr. Greer is friendly where it counts—affable, complintary about the house. Charlie’s laughter bounces too loud in the living room; his eyes keep finding Jack.

I want to rip out those eyes.

"What brings you here?" Jack asks after the safe, surface-level phrases.

"I heard from my little brother that you had a child. We wanted to offer our congratulations." Mr. Greer indicates the giant box and the fruit basket with a gentleman’s nod.

Jack beams in a way that makes sothing inside of go soft and stupid and grateful all at once. Watching him beam at Lanny — at our family.

"This is Ciel, my oga, and the little guy’s bearer." Jack says, and the way he says it so matter-of-fact, so unguarded stings with its sweetness.

For the first ti I’m introduced as his partner to soone outside our circle and it does strange things to the inside of : butterflies, heat, protection, ownership in the best possible sense.

"Chard," Mr. Greer says, smiling and extending a hand. There’s a respectful warmth there, and I take it, grateful for the normalcy.

"And that’s your son, he looks just like his bearer, did your genes even try?" Mr. Greer jokes lightly, and laughter follows the statent like a breeze rustling through leaves.

It is a joke.

I know it is.

But the resulting anxiety that blooms in the pit of my stomach doesn’t recognize humor. It twists, tightening like a fist, making my breath co just a fraction too shallow.

"Ha ha ha, honestly, it’s better," Jack says with a lopsided grin, completely unbothered. "I an, look at my oga and look at ."

And he says it so easily. So casually. As if the idea that Lanny doesn’t share his blood has never made him doubt—not once. His voice is warm, proud even, and I can feel the weight of it settle over like a soft blanket.

I sneak a glance at him.

Jack isn’t forcing it. He isn’t pretending. He’s looking at Lanny like he’s everything good in this world. Like he’s his. Fully, entirely, undeniably.

My chest squeezes, and I have to press my lips together to keep my emotions from slipping out onto my face.

I love him.

I love Jack so much it terrifies .

"If you, Mr. Carter, think that way about your physical appearance, I’m afraid the rest of us have no chance," Mr. Greer teases, tipping his glass toward Jack.

More laughter. Easy, light. The kind that fills the air and makes everything feel safe.

Almost.

Because just to my left, Charlie is staring at Jack like he hung the damn stars. That kind of soft, yearning gaze that makes want to grab a pillow and scream into it.

I lean a little closer to Jack, close enough to brush my thigh against his. I do it deliberately, slowly, like claiming my space beside him. His arm slips behind , not fully around my waist, but close enough to feel the warmth of him pressing against my back.

Charlie’s smile falters just a little.

Good.

I turn my attention back to the conversation, but my heartbeat is loud in my ears. There’s this strange little ache buried under all the warmth, under all the love. Because it’s one thing to know Jack loves Lanny like his own. It’s another to see it.

*

We invited them to stay for lunch, and I’m in the kitchen doing what I do best—overcompensating. The counters are crowded with dishes in various stages of being finished: mashed potatoes whipped to a perfect fluffy cloud, a crisp salad glistening with vinaigrette, perfectly grilled chicken resting on the tray.

I may have gone a little overboard.

I can’t help it. I want to impress. I want Mr. Greer to go ho and say to his family that Jack’s oga was warm and graceful, that I made them feel welco, that I belong here. That I’m not just so placeholder in Jack’s life.

The sound of footsteps behind makes stiffen before I even turn around.

Charlie.

Of course it’s Charlie.

I turn slowly, spoon still in hand, and find myself face to face with him. He’s standing there with that easy, pretty face—the kind of pretty that pisses off because it’s effortless.

And worse... he’s been with Jack like that.

The image flickers unbidden behind my eyes—his skin against Jack’s, his hands where mine should be, the soft breathy sounds that Jack might’ve pulled from him. My stomach knots, and my jaw tightens so hard it almost aches.

I bet Charlie doesn’t freeze up during sex. I bet he doesn’t get tangled in old fears or sha or nerves. I bet he’s smooth and easy, and Jack probably liked that.

God, I hate that my brain is doing this.

"I’m here to help," Charlie says, smiling like this is so wholeso bonding mont and not fighting the urge to throw a spatula at his head.

It would be rude to send him away. And more than that, it would look insecure. Weak. And I refuse to give him that.

"I’m practically done," I say, setting down the spoon with deliberate calm. "You could help with the plates."

"Of course," he says lightly, and then—ofcourse—he turns straight to the right cupboard, pulling out the stack of plates like he’s done it a hundred tis before.

"They’re in the—" I start, but the words die in my throat.

"I rember," he says, a little too easily. "Sotis when my brother was showing clients this ho, I’d tag along."

I force a polite smile, but inside my chest sothing hot and ugly coils.I feel like my kitchen has been desecrated.

"Right," I manage, turning back to the counter, pretending to fuss over the food when really I’m just trying to breathe evenly.

ntal note: rearrange the kitchen. Top to bottom. Tomorrow.

Turning around to placing the mashed potatoes in a huge plate.

"You know, when I first saw Jack, I pictured myself in this kitchen setting the food." He says suddenly.

"I an technically my dream ca true save for a few minordetails." He adds on, the fucking asshole.

"I guess it’s ti for a new dream, seeing as to how this one has co true," I say, putting green salad into a dish and making each motion, slowly and careful because I really might toss this salad into his head.

Charlie scoffs, but his grin is a sharp edge.

"It’s not polite to look at a taken alpha like that," I say flatly, my voice clipped as a knife’s edge.

"That’s debatable," he answers. He watches plating steaks and the words land like a hand on my neck.

For a second I clench the spatula so tight my knuckles ache.

"There’s a fine line between dreams and delusions," I reply, keeping my voice even even though the salt in it would give away if I let it.

His smile shifts into sothing more predatory. "That can be true, but from where I stand — there’s no bite mark on your neck," he says, and it hits like lightning.

This fucking asshole.

"Doesn’t change the fact that he’s my alpha, you’re pretty, find another." I say.

Placing the steak on the plates.

"Please you and I both know, Jack is an outlier." He says.

I can’t argue with that.

"I understand, but surely you must have a shred of self respect." I say.

Placing steak on another plate.

"I don’t want to hear that from soone that baby trapped him." Charlie says and takes the two plates out of the kitchen.

Ha.

I want to scream and drag this oga by the hair.