Reborn as a villain:Claim the omega, Kiss the beta, Kill the dukes Chapter 80: Realization

Chapter 79

Ciel

Nolan is different.

A good kind of different.

It’s like soone quietly lifted the weight he’s always carrying. He smiles more now, and when he does, it softens his whole face—makes him look younger, lighter. Freer.

And I love this version of him.

Which is exactly why it hurts.

Because deep down, I know that the only reason he was ever so weighed down in the first place... was .

Out on the water, Jack floats in the pool, lazy and content, with Lanny stretched across his chest like a tiny sunbathing prince. They’re wearing matching shades—ridiculous, adorable, heart-achingly cute.

That’s his son.

I pull out my phone and snap a picture from the balcony. One. Then another. And another. I can’t seem to stop. It’s a small, simple mont, but it feels precious. Like I want to keep it tucked in my chest sowhere safe.

When I finally put my phone down, I return to my chair.

Next to , Nolan shuts his laptop and stretches, the sound of cracking joints loud in the warm afternoon air.

"Done?" I ask.

"Yeah," he says, exhaling, his voice loose and easy. In this light, his blue eyes seem to catch the sky itself.

He looks ahead towards Jack and Lanny drifting together and a grin tugs at his mouth.

"Ha. You’d think he gave birth to him," Nolan says, clicking his tongue in mock annoyance.

I laugh. Loud and unrestrained.

"I swear it seems that way," I agree.

"I like seeing you like this," I add, breaking the easy silence between us.

Nolan looks at , one brow raised in that teasing way of his.

"So free," I add softly.

"Am I?" he asks, his tone light, but there’s sothing curious beneath it.

"Yeah," I say, fiddling with the hem of my shirt. "It makes feel sad... that I was this heavy weight on your shoulders."

He groans. That particular groan he only ever uses when I say sothing like this — the one that says ’here we go again.’

"Heavy, you say?" he repeats.

"Yeah."

"Heavy?" He stands up slowly, like a cat stretching before it pounces.

My eyes narrow. "What are you doing?"

"I’ll show you what’s heavy," he says, and before I can even react, I’m squealing — because the next second, I’m upside down over his shoulder.

"Nolan!" I laugh, kicking the air. "Put down!"

Instead, he spins in circles, the world blurring around .

"Stop!" I cry between breathless laughter.

Finally, he halts, shifts carefully, and in one smooth motion, I’m cradled in his arms like so ridiculous damsel in distress.

He looks down at with a small grin. "You underestimate my strength and overestimate your weight. You’re not heavy at all."

I wrap my arms around his neck, my laughter softening into sothing quieter.

"It’s a weight regardless," I mumble.

His expression turns mischievous. "Why don’t I just toss you over the balcony for saying such shit, huh?"

I squeak, clutching him tighter as he takes a few exaggerated steps toward the balcony.

"Okay, okay, okay! I’m sorry!" I say between giggles, even though I know — I know — Nolan would never let fall.

Nolan shifts in his arms like I weigh nothing, his chest warm and solid beneath . I try to glare at him, I really do, but it’s hard when I can’t even breathe from laughing so hard.

Damn him.

"Put down," I manage between gasps.

"Nope," Nolan replies, popping the ’p’ like the absolute nace he is.

I slap his shoulder—not that it does anything—and try to sound serious. "I an it."

"Sure you do," he says, spinning us again. I scream his na, half laughter, half threat. He just laughs, the sound deep and infuriatingly happy.

"Nolan, please!" I choke out, clutching his shirt like my life depends on it.

"Yeah, that’s what I thought," he says, smug as hell. He shifts again, one arm locked securely beneath my thighs, like I’m made of feathers. I hate how easy it is for him to do that. He knows it too. I can see it in the way his mouth tilts up at the corner, that irritatingly gorgeous grin.

"You’re enjoying this way too much," I mutter.

"Obviously," he says. "How often do I get to toss you around like a sack of flour?"

I gasp. "Excuse ?"

He grins wider, his eyes glittering. "A cute sack of flour."

I swing my fist at his chest—not hard, just enough to make a point. He doesn’t even flinch. Of course he doesn’t. Show-off.

"Oh no, dangerous little oga, what shall I do?" he drawls dramatically.

I snort. "Wow, Nolan hits the gym once and suddenly he’s God’s gift."

"Ha. Of course." He wiggles his brows, then shifts to his left arm like it’s nothing, flexing with the other. "Look at these bad boys."

"Oh my God," I groan, covering my face with my hands. "This is actually embarrassing."

"Admit it," he says. "You’re impressed."

"Stop." I lean forward to push his arm down, but my balance tilts for half a second, and I slip. A short, sharp yelp escapes my throat—but he catches instantly, strong hands locking around , holding steady below my thighs. My arms instinctively fly around his neck, clutching tight.

"Careful," he murmurs, quieter now. "Though it hurts that you think I’d ever let you fall."

Sothing in the way he says it makes my chest tighten. It’s teasing, but there’s a softness under it I don’t know what to do with. I shift a little, and our eyes lock. He’s close. Too close.

"So cheesy," I deadpan, needing sothing to break the tension.

"Want cheesy?" he says, amused.

"No. Nolan. No—"

He tilts his head like he’s preparing a one-man rom-com. "I may not have superpowers, but I can be your hero."

I groan so loud it echoes. "I hate you."

He laughs, low and warm. It vibrates against my ribs.

I poke his cheek. "You have the prettiest smile, you know."

His grin softens. "Debatable. When your smile exists."

I roll my eyes. "Fine, you co a close second."

His lips curl up further, not wide this ti—just enough to look dangerously good. The air shifts. I don’t even know when it happened. One second we were laughing, and now... everything’s quiet. Like the world’s holding its breath with . My fingers are still hooked in his shirt, his hands still holding like he’s unwilling to let go.

"Why are you looking at like that?" I whisper.

"Why are you looking at like that?" he counters, and it’s not smug anymore. It’s soft. Careful.

I swallow. "I just think... you have really nice skin."

He breathes out, a small smile playing on his lips. "And I think you’re beautiful."

I should say sothing. I should push him away. Make a joke. Sothing. But neither of us moves.

I can hear the beat of my heart, too loud, too fast.

1.

2.

3.

His gaze drops to my mouth, then back to my eyes.

4.

5.

6.

Every inch between us is suddenly fragile—one lean, one breath away.

7.

8.

9.

And then—

10.

He exhales, slow, shaky, and gently sets down until my feet touch the ground. But his hands... they linger. On my waist. On . Long enough to burn.

I step back. Pretending I don’t notice.

"I should... go check on Lanny and Jack," I mumble, spinning away before my knees give out.

I leave the balcony with my pulse thundering in my ears.

What the fuck.

What the fuck.

Nolan likes ? Like, likes likes ?

That can’t be.

Can it?

I don’t know.

But I do know he almost kissed .

And worse—

I didn’t hate it.

*

Since that day on the balcony, I’ve started to notice things.

Too much.

It’s like soone turned on a light in a room I’d been stumbling around in. Everything that used to blend into the background now shines neon bright. And the thing about Nolan? He’s transparent as hell.

It’s so obvious.

The way his gaze lingers a little too long when he thinks I’m not paying attention. The way his hands always seem to hover at my back—not quite touching, but always there, ready. The soft huff of laughter he tries to smother when I’m being ridiculous. The quiet warmth in his voice when he says my na.

God, there’s practically a blinking sign over his head: "In love with you, idiot."

How long has this been going on?

How long has he felt this way about , while I—blind, oblivious, completely useless—just carried on like nothing was happening?

I alternate between wanting to rip my hair out and wanting to scream into a pillow. Then my heart does this stupid fluttering thing, like it’s in on so secret I wasn’t ready to admit.

Excitent. Guilt. Sadness. Frustration. They all crash into each other like waves that don’t know where to land.

Because if he’s felt this way for a while... then I missed it.

All the lingering looks. The soft, quiet gestures. The way he’s always been right there, orbiting so close I never thought to look up and see.

And now I can’t stop seeing it.