I Became the Villain Alpha's Omega (BL)

"Ah, I don’t know, I don’t know, I don’t know anymore!"

Marielle groaned loudly, dragging both hands through her hair until several pins came loose and her dark hair fell into a messy halo around her face. She slumped backward into the heavy armchair, letting her head drop over the backrest as she stared blankly at the high, carved ceiling of her private chambers.

She had been up all night.

It wasn’t that she hadn’t thought about it ever since Iryna brought it up. She had. She’d thought about it so much her brain was practically smoking. But every time she tried to find a solution, she hit a dead end. A very solid, very annoying dead end.

Well, not exactly a dead end. There were branches. Plenty of branches, actually. They just all seemed to lead to another dead end.

"If it weren’t for this absolute mess," Marielle muttered to the empty room, her voice raspy from exhaustion, "we would already be on the road back to the North."

She missed the crisp, biting wind of the northern borders. She missed the simple, brutal straightforwardness of military and border patrol work. Here in the capital, every word had three different meanings, every smile was a hidden dagger, and now she was expected to navigate a surprise betrothal while King Alderon watched them like a hawk from his throne.

Unable to stare at the ceiling for another second, Marielle forced herself up. She didn’t bother fixing her hair or changing out of her clothes. She didn’t bother fixing her hair or changing clothes. She unlatched her balcony door and stepped straight into the crisp, foggy morning air, hoping a walk through the estate gardens would clear the thick fog in her head and give her a moment of inspiration..

The private garden was quiet, covered in the low mist that often settled over the capital in the early morning. Dew clung to the grass, soaking through her slippers as she wandered aimlessly along the stone path, her thumb brushing over the rough stone balustrade.

She turned a corner near the old conservatory, expecting to find only the morning birds, but stopped dead in her tracks.

Standing alone at the edge of the stone terrace, framed by the misty backdrop of the sleeping city below, was Flio.

Marielle blinked, rubbing her tired eyes. Flio was usually the definition of sharp, meticulous, and composed. He was the kind of man who kept his cravat tied to perfection even during midnight emergencies and always carried a faint, knowing smirk behind his specs.

Right now, he was entirely still.

Uncharacteristically, his signature gold-rimmed monocle was completely gone from his eye. He was holding it between his long fingers, staring down at the small glass lens with an unreadable, solemn expression. Without the glass catching the morning light, his uncovered face looked surprisingly vulnerable, and deeply exhausted.

"Flio?" Marielle called out softly, stepping carefully over the damp gravel so as not to startle him. "What are you doing out here so early? You look like you’ve been losing an argument with yourself."

Flio didn’t jump. He slowly raised his head and looked at her, then casually slipped the monocle back into his coat pocket.

"Marielle," Flio replied, his voice lacking its usual smooth, mocking lilt. "I could ask you the same thing. I thought only men with bad consciences stayed awake until the sun came up."

"I don’t have a bad conscience, just a massive headache thanks to a woman named Iryna," Marielle grunted, leaning her hip against the stone railing next to him. She looked at his bare face, catching the heavy shadows beneath his eyes. "You took off your glass. I don’t think I’ve ever seen you without it. What were you staring at?"

Flio let out a faint, dry breath that vanished into the cool air, a phantom of a laugh. He turned his gaze back toward the distant horizon, where the first faint rays of orange light were cutting through the grey smog of the lower district.

"Nothing of importance," Flio said quietly. "Just watching the capital wake up. It is a very noisy city, even when it is silent."

Marielle watched him closely. "You’re thinking about the betrothal news too, aren’t you?"

"That is part of it," Flio admitted, his fingers resting lightly against the cold stone ledge.

Marielle raised an eyebrow, shifting her weight as she leaned closer against the damp balustrade. "Oh? And what’s the other part, then?"

"Trust me, My Lady," Flio replied smoothly, not taking his eyes off the fog-shrouded horizon. "It would not entertain you."

"Come on, tell me," Marielle pressed, nudging his elbow with her arm. "A good piece of gossip or a fresh disaster might actually distract me from this splitting headache."

Flio let out a faint, dry breath that vanished into the cool air. "It would not merely distract you, it would pull you further and further into the dark, and we have enough shadow in this place as it is. So, we had better not."

Marielle squinted at him, her sharp eyes narrowing in suspicion as she tried to read his face . But before she could pry any further, Flio turned his head, his eyes fixing on her with a quiet, pointed look.

"Tell me, Marielle," Flio asked calmly, "have you made up your mind regarding the Princess’s proposal?"

Marielle instantly recoiled, groaning as she threw her head back. "Oh, please. Stop talking about that. My brain feels like it’s going to leak out of my ears."

"Then you had better discuss it directly with your brother," Flio said, his voice dropping an octave into something steady and firm. "His Grace is not one to let the crown corner his family, but he cannot fight a battle on your behalf if you remain undecided."

Marielle let out a long sigh of relief, finally feeling the panic in her chest ease. "Fine. I guess it’s better that way. Another hour of sitting here thinking about it, and I was going to set my own desk on fire."

"Please refrain from doing so," Flio replied lightly, turning his back to the mist as he gestured toward the estate doors. "The head butler has enough to manage without you turning the guest wing into a bonfire. Now go back inside and get some sleep, Marielle. You look terrible."

Marielle chuckled, shaking her head as she followed him back toward the warmth of the house. "You really know how to compliment a lady, Flio."

As they stepped through the glass doors, Flio glanced back one last time at the misty grounds, his hand briefly pressing against the coat pocket where his monocle was tucked away, a small gesture Marielle couldn’t help but notice.

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