I Became the Villain Alpha's Omega (BL)

Chapter 275: A Drink to Survive

Stepping back through the massive double doors at the top of the grand staircase, Cherion immediately did what any sane person would do in a stressful situation: he tried to blend into the shadows.

He moved down the wide steps carefully, sticking to the edges of the ballroom like the crowd was lava. His heart was still going absolutely insane against his ribs, and his brain felt like someone had dumped a bucket of static into it and called it a day.

He was trying really hard to stay calm and process the absolute nightmare information Karson had just dropped on him in that dark hallway.

Okay. Let’s think logically, Cherion told himself, scanning the glittering ballroom without actually registering any of it.

So the original Cherion was down bad for Yerel. Like, embarrassing levels. Fine. That part actually made sense. Of course he’d do anything for him. Wanting Yerel to be happy, to notice him, to maybe love him back? Yeah. Classic tragic villain behavior. Pathetic, but understandable. Honestly, this shouldn’t even be shocking at this point.

Cherion paused.

He paused instantly, breath stuck in his throat, while his neck started sweating out of pure stress

But to offer to literally kill Zarius? The Duke of the North? The god of war in this damn novel? What kind of insane confidence or strategy did the original Cherion even possess to let that thought form in his tiny brain? Did he have a death wish?!

The previous owner of this body had a special talent for bad decisions. Cherion froze completely, a sudden wave of panic washing over him. He looked back toward the grand stairs he just came from.

Should I even be here right now? Shouldn’t I be waiting right outside the King’s study door until Zarius comes out? Because what if Karson goes behind my back and tells all of this to Zarius right this second?

Fear gripped his chest. Cherion turned... and stopped dead the moment his foot landed on the third step

Wait. Even if I go out there... what on earth am I going to tell Zarius? ’Hey, by the way, the old owner of this body a.k.a OG Cherion, wanted to murder you, but I promise I’m not going to do it because I just happened to transmigrate and inhabit this body?’

That?!

Panic swirling fiercely in his chest, Cherion anxiously glanced around the ballroom. Then, he spotted that familiar slicked-back dark green hair at the foot of the stairs.

Karson was walking back into the ballroom.

Cherion let out a long, shaky breath so intense his shoulders visibly dropped. Oh, thank God. Karson didn’t stay out there waiting to ambush Zarius. Okay. All right. Relax. Keep it cool, Cherion, he told himself, taking a deep breath.

He lifted his hands and slapped his own cheeks a few times, the sharp smack of his palms against his skin snapping him out of his internal frenzy. He forced his posture to straighten, rolling his shoulders back until his usual lazy, elegant composure was firmly locked in place.

He needed to ground himself, and fast. Cherion marched directly toward the grand refreshment tables. This time, his eyes bypassed the fruit juices entirely, and went straight for the alcohol.

Without a shred of hesitation, Cherion grabbed a glass in both hands, lifted the first one to his lips, and threw it back. The harsh, burning liquid flared down his throat, causing him to let out a low, rough groan as he pulled the empty glass away. The bite of the liquor was exactly what he needed to numb the lingering panic.

He raised his hand to absolutely destroy the second glass when a smooth, familiar voice decided to interrupt him.

"So thirsty, Lord Cherion?"

Cherion glanced over the rim of his glass, his eyes landing on Elios, who had casually slid up to the side of the refreshment table.

"Right," Cherion muttered dryly, not even bothering to deny it as he lowered the alcohol.

Elios smirked, leaning his hip against the edge of a massive marble pillar as his eyes scanned the room, then drifted back toward the stairs. "Is His Grace..."

"Yes, still with the King," Cherion cut in smoothly, anticipating the question before Elios could even finish it.

His mind was still buzzed with nervous energy, so Cherion reached out, his fingers wrapping around the stem of yet another filled glass on the table. But before his fingers could lift it, Elios reached out and lightly tapped the rim of the glass with a small, warning chuckle.

"Please do not drink too much, Lord Cherion," Elios said lightly, leaning a hip against the edge of the table. "Though... I must say, seeing you double-fist like that makes me feel like I’ve finally found a new drinking companion tonight."

"I don’t really do drinking as a hobby," Cherion replied, taking a slow sip from his current glass. "So I think I will pass the role of your drinking buddy to someone a bit more reliable. Someone who actually has a liver made of steel."

Elios just raised his drink in a silent toast, smirk getting sharper. "Too bad then."

Cherion chuckled faintly, the alcohol finally starting to warm his stomach and dull the sharp edges of his anxiety. Wanting to distract himself from his own looming problems, he looked out across the glittering dance floor. To his relief, the party seemed to have moved past the initial shock of the juice incident.

In the center of the floor, he spotted Iryna and Marielle, still locked in the elegant rhythm of the waltz. Not far from them, on the other side of the floor, Cherion caught sight of Reiner and Ezek, moving confidently through the steps of the music.

Cherion took a slow sip from his glass, a small, genuine thought crossing his mind. Good. At least some of them can still have fun.

He blinked, suddenly realizing something was missing from the equation. He turned his head back toward Elios. "Where’s Flio? Aren’t you two always acting like a joined-at-the-hip duo?"

Elios paused, looking genuinely surprised by the question. He turned around, scanning the immediate area near the tables. "He was just right there, beside me here. Where did he..." Elios’s voice trailed off, his words dying in his throat. His head snapped toward the far eastern side of the ballroom, his eyes narrowing. "Oh..."

Noticing the sudden, sharp shift in Elios’s demeanor, Cherion immediately followed his gaze. His eyes scanned the shifting crowd, locking onto the quiet exit that led out to the balcony.

Two figures moved in sync, all quiet steps and obvious ’we’re trying not to be noticed’ energy.

One was Flio, stiff as ever. Right beside him was Karson, completely relaxed like he was out for a casual evening walk.

Cherion’s jaw nearly dropped. He gripped Elios’s sleeve, his voice dropping into a frantic, hushed whisper. "Is that Flio? With Karson? Are they going to a balcony?!"

Elios didn’t answer immediately, his eyes locked onto the retreating backs of the two men.

"Omg, we have to stop them," Cherion hissed, his panic flaring right back up. "Are they gonna fight?! Flio is going to murder him, or Karson is going to assassinate him!"

"Lord Cherion, calm down," Elios said smoothly, his hand gently but firmly lifting Cherion’s fingers off his sleeve. His voice was entirely calm, devoid of any urgency as he watched the heavy velvet curtains of the balcony doors swing shut behind the two men. "I highly doubt that they will fight."

Cherion stared at Elios as if he had grown a second head, his brow furrowed in utter disbelief. "Why on earth not? Their masters are literally rivals! They are supposed to go at each other’s throats on sight!"

Elios turned back to the table with a face that said absolutely nothing but implied everything. He took a sip, hummed dramatically for effect, then looked back at Cherion like he had secret knowledge.

"Let’s just say... they have a history together."