I Became the Villain Alpha's Omega (BL)-Chapter 17: A Creepy Vibe

Glub-pfft-hiss.

The sound was remarkably clear, echoing off the vaulted marble walls of the bathing chamber with a resonance that was, quite frankly, humiliating. He slumped deeper into the oversized tub as the thick steam clung to his lashes.

"Great," he muttered, his voice bouncing back at him with a mocking tone. "Real dignified, Cherion. You’re supposed to be this mysterious, tragic noble, and here you are, making bubble music in a bathroom that costs more than your entire old apartment building."

He sighed, the frustration of the morning finally settling in his bones. He lifted his right hand out of the water, watching the droplets run down his fingers. Last night... it hadn’t been a fever dream. He was sure of it. That warmth, that humming, white-hot vibration that had pulsed from his hand... it was the real deal. He’d actually tapped into the "Original Cherion" healing ability, the one the author had buried in a footnote like a piece of discarded trivia.

But as he stared at his palm now, trying to summon even a flicker of that radiance, nothing happened. He squinted at his skin until his eyes watered. He concentrated so hard a vein started to throb in his temple, but his hand remained stubbornly, boringly human.

"Absolute classic," he hissed, splashing the water in a fit of pique. "A total narrative bait-and-switch. How does this thing even work? Is it voice-activated? Do I need to be in a life-or-death situation every time?"

The thought that last night was just a "lucky one-time thing" sent a cold shiver down his spine that the hot water couldn’t touch. He had exactly one month to cure a curse that had stumped the greatest physicians in the empire. If his magic was as temperamental as a printer with a paper jam, he was essentially a dead man walking.

He stayed in the bath until his fingers went prune-like and his brain felt like it was spinning in circles. Eventually, the steam began to dissipate, leaving the room feeling cavernous and drafty. Cherion hauled himself out of the tub, his movements sluggish. He grabbed a thick, plush bathrobe and wrapped it tightly around himself, knotting the sash with a sharp, impatient yank.

He pushed open the heavy door leading back into his bedroom, still rubbing the towel against his head, expecting the quiet solitude of his chambers.

Instead, he nearly walked straight into a chest.

"Christ!"

Cherion leaped backward. He clutched the robe’s lapels, his heart performing a frantic, irregular tap-dance against his ribs. He looked up, his eyes wide with a mixture of terror and annoyance.

Standing right there, practically lurking in the shadow of the doorframe, was a man he’d never seen before. He was slim, dressed in a sharp, dark tunic, and possessed a face that was as handsome as it was unnervingly still.

"God! You scared the absolute shit out of me!" Cherion’s voice went up an octave, his hand flying to his chest as if to keep his heart from leaping out of his throat. "Who the hell are you? And why are you standing in my room like some kind of Victorian ghost?"

The stranger didn’t flinch. He didn’t even blink. He simply dipped his head in a bow that was just a fraction too shallow to be truly respectful.

"My deepest apologies, Lord Cherion," the man said. His voice was smooth, like oil on water, but it lacked any real warmth. "I did not intend to cause you distress. I was merely waiting for you to emerge."

"Waiting? In my room? While I’m in the bath?" Cherion’s annoyance was rapidly overtaking his fear. "What part of that seems normal to you? And again, who are you?"

"Good morning, My Lord," the man replied, straightening his posture. There was a thin, polite smile on his lips that didn’t reach his eyes. "I am Soren. I was chosen to serve as your personal attendant, starting today."

"Ok, fine. But I didn’t give anyone permission to come in here. Can’t you knock? Or at least wait until I’m, I don’t know, finished with my private business? Geez."

Cherion felt a prickle of unease. He thought back to the room. Had this guy been through his things while he was in the tub? The idea that a complete stranger was now "assigned" to him, in a place where he was already a suspected spy, made his skin crawl.

Soren stepped forward. "Allow me to help you get dressed, My Lord. I have already selected an outfit suitable for the morning." 𝒇𝒓𝒆𝒆𝙬𝒆𝒃𝓷𝒐𝓿𝙚𝙡.𝒄𝓸𝒎

He reached out a hand, clearly intending to help Cherion out of the robe.

"No!" Cherion snapped, stepping back so quickly he bumped into the doorframe. "Absolutely not. I can put on my own clothes, thanks. I’ve been dressing myself since I was five."

Soren’s hand paused. For a split second, the polite mask slipped, and Cherion saw a flicker of something... disdain? Irritation? Whatever it was, it wasn’t friendly. It was the look of someone who didn’t like being told ’no’ by someone they considered beneath them.

"But My Lord, it is my duty to assist you," Soren said, his voice dropping an octave. "It would be improper for a Consort-to-be to..."

"I don’t care about ’improper’ right now," Cherion interrupted, his "Taco Hell manager" voice coming out in full force. "I care about privacy. And right now, you’re invading it. Just go wait outside, okay? Ten minutes."

Soren looked like he wanted to argue. His jaw tightened, and he stood his ground for a heartbeat longer than necessary. "I have instructions to ensure you are well-cared for, Lord Cherion. The Duke was quite specific about your... needs."

"I’m not a toddler, I’m just wet and I’m annoyed," Cherion countered, pointing firmly toward the hallway. "Please."

The silence in the room stretched, thin and brittle. Finally, Soren bowed again. "As you wish, My Lord. I shall be directly outside the door."

Cherion stood there for a long moment after he walked out. He felt a sudden, intense urge to check under the bed and inside the wardrobe.

"Creepy," he whispered, the word hanging in the air like a bad smell. "Total, grade-A creepy vibe."