Chapter Sixteen
Ciel
I stand in front of the mirror, eyeing my reflection with a critical pout. The bruises are nearly gone now—faded yellow ghosts of the life I left behind. My stomach is huge, taut like a watermelon shoved under my skin, but I can't help the little smirk that curls on my lips.
Because even bloated, hormonal, and waddling like a duck?
I'm still devastatingly beautiful.
The bathroom light glints off my lip gloss as I lean in, adjusting the robe just enough to let my collarbone pop. A soft pink shimmer on my eyelids, lashes curled, cheeks pinched—subtle, but effective.
Time to put the plan in motion.
I step out, only to be met with Nolan's suspicious squint.
"Where are you going?" he asks like a chaperone catching a teenager sneaking out.
"Nowhere," I say innocently, sliding my feet into house slippers with all the grace of a queen.
"Ciel." His voice sharpens—stern, overprotective.
"Nothing," I sing, already halfway down the hallway. "Just taking a walk. In a robe. Around the house."
***
Jack
It's been two weeks of living with the duo, and weirdly… I don't hate it.
Ciel's got this quiet presence when he's not biting your head off or driving Nolan up the wall. And Nolan—well, Nolan's a grumpy guard dog who stares at me like I personally keyed his car in another life. Still, the house has never felt this full.
I take a sip of water and glance at my phone. A message from my usual escort flashes on the screen. I don't even open it.
I've been thinking less and less about reaching out lately. And more and more about—
Knock knock.
I frown. "Come in."
The door creaks open.
"Ciel?"
The omega stands in the hallway, hair damp and curling like he just stepped out of a shampoo commercial. His robe is cinched tighter than a Victorian corset, and his lips are glossy. Glossy.
Why the hell is he wearing lip gloss at nine p.m.?
"…What's up?" I ask warily.
He walks in slowly. His eyes flick to the bed.
And then—
The robe hits the floor.
I choke on air. "Uh—Ciel???"
"You said when I was healthy," he says calmly, very naked, very shiny, and apparently ready to audition for a perfume ad.
"I—I didn't mean—wait—what are you doing?!" I backpedal so fast I stub my toe on the dresser.
"I'm seducing you, obviously." He says it like he's announcing the weather.
"No! Consent is important!" My voice cracks like I'm thirteen again. "You are hormonal and glossy and I am so confused right now!"
He lunges.
I shriek and vault over the bed. "Jesus Christ, put some pants on!"
"Stop running then!"
"You're pregnant!"
"Not dead!"
"You're naked!"
"Do you know how hard it is to shave with this belly?!"
He finally pins me by the wardrobe. We're both panting like we just ran a marathon. His chest is heaving, his eyes are bright, and I'm ninety percent sure I just pulled a hamstring dodging a naked omega.
We lock eyes.
"So… are you ready?" he asks, deceptively sweet.
"Ready?" I repeat like an idiot.
He nods.
I sigh. "Fine."
His face lights up.
I step forward slowly. Gently take his shoulders. Guide him to the bed.
He flops down triumphantly.
And then—swift as a soldier folding a flag—I grab the sheet and wrap him up like a human burrito. Tuck. Roll. Secure. A pregnancy-safe swaddle worthy of ancient monks.
"Wha—Jack?! Jack?!" he yells, wiggling furiously.
I sit back on the edge of the bed, perfectly calm now, while he thrashes like an enraged spring roll.
"Why," I ask evenly, "are you trying to attack me naked, Ciel?"
***
Ciel
I glare at him, wriggling uselessly in my burrito prison.
"I wasn't attacking you, I was seducing you," I say indignantly.
"Right, of course. Silly me," Jack replies, arms crossed, tone bone-dry. "Most seductions involve full sprints and Olympic-level tackles."
I narrow my eyes so hard I swear I could ignite him with pure omega rage.
I've never had to seduce anyone before. Ever. I just had to… exist. Smile, tilt my head, let my scent slip through—and alphas would unravel like cheap sweaters.
But Jack?
Jack wrapped me in a sheet like I was a grenade.
Jack, who looked me dead in the eye and sighed like I was a toddler throwing a tantrum in Target.
Jack, who has the audacity—the audacity—to tuck me in like a bedtime story and then sit down as if nothing's happened.
This isn't over.
Not by a long shot.
He won't know what hit him.