I Became the Villain Alpha's Omega (BL)

The manicured gardens of the Avery estate were suffocatingly pristine. Rows of white marble pavilions were carved with intricate floral vines, and gravel paths wound through lawns so perfectly leveled they looked artificial. The garden was filled with the sweet scent of Omega pheromones, so strong it seemed to hang over everything. Dressed in soft pastels and fine silks, the noble ladies and lords moved slowly in small moved slowly in small, coordinated clusters along the garden paths, their hushed giggles and sharp whispers rising over the soft plucking of a harp playing near the fountains.

Mingling near the shade of a grand willow tree stood Marchioness Avery, the very picture of imperial high-society arrogance, a delicate glass in hand as she chatted with her guests. Right beside her stood Philia.

Philia was, without a doubt, the capital’s ultimate darling. Dressed in a devastatingly delicate pale mint silk shirt that made his complexion look almost ethereal, he held himself with effortless grace. He appeared to be listening attentively to the conversation around him, but his attention was actually on the subtle shifts in the garden’s social atmosphere.

”I still find it hard to believe,” Beatrice murmured, lowering her lace fan just enough to lean closer to Philia as they strolled. ”Marchioness, did you truly extend an invitation to him? After everything that happened with His Highness... well. I half expected him to hide away behind the Duke forever.”

Marchioness Avery offered a smile that didn’t even begin to reach her eyes. ”A formal gathering in the capital must observe proper protocol, Lady Beatrice. King Alderon himself issued the royal decree for his betrothal to the Valtrane house. It would be entirely unrefined of me to ignore the future spouse of the North, no matter how temporary or tragic that title might be.”

”He won’t even show up,” scoffed Heinrich, a young viscount’s son known for following whatever opinion happened to be popular that season. ”He knows he doesn’t belong here. If he had any shame left, he would have sent a polite refusal per usual. Nothing good ever happens when he opens his mouth anyway. He’ll just make trouble like he always does.”

Philia lowered his gaze. He let out a small, heavy sigh, drawing the eyes of everyone standing around them. ”Please don’t speak like that. I just hope... I just hope everyone can turn over a new leaf today.”

”You are far too kind, Lord Philia,” said Fiona, the daughter of a prominent count, as she stepped closer. ”We all heard how you persuaded Marchioness Avery to include him on the guest list. After the wretched, bitter way he treated you before? You shouldn’t waste your sympathy on someone who has done nothing but ignore your kindness.”

Philia offered a soft, melancholic smile, looking down at the manicured grass as if purely wishing for peace. A sudden, sharp commotion near the entrance of the courtyard cut the gossip short.

The quiet chatter faltered as the sound of approaching footsteps echoed across the delicate, quiet garden. The noble Omegas turned their heads in unison, their whispers dying out in an instant as they stood frozen on the paths.

Walking down the cobblestone path, completely unfazed by the sudden dead silence, was Cherion.

He looked, infuriatingly enough, absolutely breathtaking. He wore a tailored suit of crisp light blue and white silk that perfectly complemented his features, making him look bright, refreshed, and entirely unbothered by the capital’s heavy summer heat. But as the eyes of the nobles drifted downward, a collective gasp ran through the garden.

Slung carelessly over his shoulder was a plain, aggressively ordinary canvas bag. It looked completely cheap, completely un-noble, and entirely ridiculous next to his fine clothes.

Directly behind him walked Marielle. Her posture was straight as a steel blade, her chin held high with the cold defiance of a true Northern warrior. The lethal daggers catching the sunlight at her hip made several capital Omegas instinctively shrink back. His aide and guide followed a few steps behind.

”Oh my god, he really came,” a voice hissed from a nearby group.

”What is that dirty, common thing he is bringing into the Marchioness’s garden?”

”Why is Lady Marielle here? She has never once deigned to attend a gathering before. Look at those weapons... how utterly savage.”

Philia’s perfect smile froze for a fraction of a second before recovering. His chest tightened with an immediate rush of irritation. He actually came. And to bring the Duke’s sister as a shield? Brushing off his annoyance, Philia smoothly took a few graceful steps forward across the lawn to intercept the arriving group.

”Lord Cherion!” Philia gasped softly, his face lighting up with a look of pure joy, as if he hadn’t just been burying Cherion’s reputation moments prior. He reached out, his hands hovering delicately in the air. ”You really came! When the Marchioness told us she invited you, I was so thrilled. I have been so worried about you. Seeing you here... it truly makes me so happy.”

Cherion stopped on the path. He looked down at Philia’s outstretched hands, then slowly raised his eyes to stare directly into Philia’s face.

Cherion let out a short, completely dry chuckle. ”Should I say the same to you, Lord Philia?”

The tone was perfectly light, but the dead-eyed delivery carried a blatant message: I know you don’t want to see me, and I don’t want to see you either. So stop pretending. Philia’s eyes widened slightly, a flash of genuine shock rippling through his gaze before he quickly lowered his head, biting his lip as if he had just been unjustly insulted. The surrounding Omegas immediately glared at Cherion.

Before a social war could break out on the grass, Marchioness Avery stepped forward, her silk skirts rustling loudly as she inserted herself into the space to regain control of her event. She stood tall, looking at Cherion, her gaze lingering disdainfully on the canvas bag on his shoulder, and then on Marielle’s daggers.

”Lord Cherion, Lady Marielle,” Avery said, her voice dripping with artificial warmth as they all stood face-to-face on the path. ”The Valtrane house honors us with its presence today. I must admit, I was quite uncertain if you would grace us with your presence, given how reclusive the North usually is.”

Marielle’s eyes narrowed, but Cherion casually stepped in front of her before she could say anything, offering the Marchioness a flawless, perfectly executed high-society bow that completely defied their expectations.

”The honor is entirely ours, Marchioness Avery,” Cherion replied, his voice smooth, clear, and perfectly projecting across the entire silent garden. ”We are delighted to accept your hospitality.”

”Is that so?” Marchioness Avery chuckled, a mocking, expectant glint in her eyes as she gestured vaguely toward the sprawling grounds ahead. ”Then I truly hope you will enjoy everything my estate has to offer today, Lord Cherion. We have prepared quite an... unforgettable afternoon for our guests.”

Cherion shifted the canvas bag to his other shoulder. He turned his head slowly, his gaze bypassing the Marchioness entirely to lock dead onto Philia, who was watching him from behind Marchioness Avery’s shoulder.

Cherion smiled, looking far too pleased with himself.

”Oh, don’t worry, Marchioness,” Cherion replied. ”I am absolutely certain I am going to enjoy every single second of it.”