Chapter 46: Little Villain

Zyke’s eyes are locked on mine, a dangerous, angry predator’s stare. God, can’t he ever just look at me like a normal person? I take the old records file from his hand and set it on the table with a soft, definitive thud.

“The records are clear, Big Brother. Kael Holdings is mine. So there’s no point left to argue.” I adjust my tie, a small gesture of composure. His gaze feels like it could burn holes through me.

I force a soft smile. “Let’s make things good between us.”

Silence. Heavy and unforgiving.

I blink, pouring innocence into my expression, waiting.

He steps closer. My smile falters, confusion flickering. What’s he going to do next?

“No matter what you do,” his voice is a low, dangerous rumble, “I am never going to accept you as my brother. Never. Ever.”

I look at him. He’s so stubborn. Why is every character in this damn novel so difficult to deal with?

His voice drops further, laced with a pain I’m supposed to have caused. “You can’t imagine the pain I bear because of you.”

He steps back, turns, and walks away. His footsteps echo sharply in the silent office.

“Can’t we just forget the past?” I call out, my voice tinged with a hope I almost feel. “Start a fresh, new life?”

He stops. Pauses. Then slowly looks back at me, his eyes narrowed. “Now what new scheme are you planning?”

I stare at him in disbelief. Seriously? I’m the one planning? What about him, who always shows up dripping with anger and negativity? I sigh, a sound of genuine exasperation. “I’m not planning anything. I just want… everything normal.”

He smiles. It’s a cruel, cutting thing. “Seriously, I’m impressed by your acting, Zyren. You’ve upgraded.”

I stare, dead serious. God, this pathetic man. He’s rented his whole mind out to negativity.

“Brother,” I try one last time, my voice soft. “Let’s just start again.”

“No.” The word is cold, final. He turns to leave.

My voice hardens, losing its softness. “What if I leak the CCTV footage?”

His step stops dead. He doesn’t look back. The room is suddenly, acutely silent.

I step forward. “Give me what I want, and I’ll forget the footage exists.”

He finally turns. His face is a mask of pure, unadulterated fury. “You want to die by my hands, Zyren? Do you really think I’m scared of this childish trick?”

I smile softly, blinking with practiced innocence. “Brother, don’t be stubborn. Just give me what I want.”

He stares, eyes narrowed, observing me like a bug under glass. Finally, he bites out, “What do you want?”

My smile brightens into something radiant, genuine. “Brotherly love. Give me that, and the footage disappears.”

He stares for a long moment. Disbelief wars with shock on his face, as if he’s trying to solve an impossible equation. My eyes light up with a childlike, earnest hope. “Just… live with me. Like a family. Teach me what family is. What family warmth feels like.”

His fists clench at his sides. “Zyren. Stop this nonsense. Come to the straight point.”

“I am serious, Big Brother.” I blink, letting my eyes go wide and young. “I just want some brotherly love.”

He looks away, a muscle ticking in his jaw. “In your dreams.”

My childish smile vanishes. My voice drops, becomes pragmatic, cold. “What will Sister-in-Law think when he sees the footage? Your perfect image… shattered. That innocent, pregnant Omega… starting to hate you. To fear you.” I tilt my head, a mockery of concern. “Stress is so dangerous during pregnancy, isn’t it?”

Zyke’s eyes widen in true, visceral horror. He looks at me as if seeing a true monster for the first time. “Don’t you dare.”

I smile again, sweet and poisonous. “If you don’t want that… then be my good Big Brother. Or stop this war. I’m too lazy for it anyway.”

He looks at me, furious, trapped. He doesn’t move. Doesn’t speak.

I smile, a quick, triumphant flash. “I’ll take your silence as a yes.”

Before he can react, I step in and wrap my arms around him in a swift, tight hug.

He stiffens, his entire body recoiling in shock. “Let go of me!”

I don’t. My grip is firm. “Be polite with me, Big Brother,” I murmur against his shoulder. “Or you’ll regret it.”

“Zyren—”

“Call me Ren,” I whisper, my voice softening into something painfully nostalgic. “Like you did when we were little.”

He goes utterly still. Silent. A statue of conflicted rage.

Finally, I push back, beaming up at him as if we’ve just shared a beautiful moment. He turns away, a low, incredulous murmur escaping him. “You…. Bas—”

He walks out quickly, his back rigid with anger.

“See you, Big Brother!” I call out, cheerful.

He doesn’t look back.

But I can feel it. The helpless fury rolling off him. The cage I’ve just built around his pride with his own secrets and his love for another.

A slow, deeply satisfied smile spreads across my lips.

Being good isn’t always enough. Sometimes, to get the love you were denied, you have to be a little villain.

The door flies open again, so quickly I almost jump. Deniz is there, his face a mask of pure, urgent worry. He rushes to me, his eyes scanning me from head to toe, as if checking for cracks.

“Sir! Are you okay? Is everything all right?”

I look at him, confusion knitting my brow for a second before it clicks.

Ah…

So he thinks Zyke attacked me again.

A perfect, golden opportunity drops into my lap.

I let my shoulders slump, bringing a hand to my temple. “Ahh, Deniz… my hand hurts,” I murmur, injecting a fragile tremor into my voice.

He’s at my side in an instant, his warm hand enveloping mine. “Where?”

Inside, I’m smiling like a criminal.

“Here,” I sigh, gesturing vaguely to my shoulder.

His brow furrows with concern. He touches my shoulder lightly, his fingers gentle. “Does it hurt much?”

WOW. What a chance. This is too good. I can’t resist. I capture his hand, the one resting on my shoulder, and guide it—slowly, deliberately—to press flat against my chest, over my heart.

“Here, too,” I whisper, my voice a pained rasp. “And… down.” I try to guide his hand further.

The worry on Deniz’s face freezes. Then, it melts away, replaced by a dawning, flat understanding. He stares at me, his eyes narrowing behind his glasses.

I blink up at him, pouring every ounce of innocence I possess into my gaze. Neon, you absolute fool. You got caught.

“Are you,” he says, his voice dangerously calm, “acting?”

I blink again, my smile sheepish and utterly unconvincing. “Nope. I didn’t. It’s really hurting…”

Deniz pulls his hand back from my chest as if burned. All professional sympathy is gone. “Okay,” he says, his tone shifting to something clinical and terrifyingly efficient. “If you’re in that much pain, it’s a clear sign of pheromonal instability.”

My eager nodding slows. A cold trickle of dread starts down my spine.

“You’ll need stabilizer shots,” he continues calmly, walking toward the drawer. “Not just one. Given the severity of your… pain… probably two. Maybe three.”

My face turns to ash. “No—”

He doesn’t even look back. “No, you need them. It’s protocol.”

“I’m fine! Really, Deniz, believe me—”

He doesn’t listen.

I watch him reach for the shots, regretting every flirtatious life choice I’ve ever made.

Note to self: never fake medical distress around an assistant who takes his job—and my health—dead seriously. Someone please call an ambulance… for me… and my dignity.

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