Fallen General's Omega (BL)
Chapter 103: Dirty

Chapter 103: Dirty

The ride to my castle feels excruciatingly long, each second a stretch of torment. The carriage finally grinds to a halt, and I stumble out, the weight of my thoughts heavier than the journey itself. My servants stand at a distance, knowing better than to touch me. I hate it, despise the sensation of anyone’s hands on my skin—especially now.

As I move through the halls, my steps feel heavier, almost unsteady. The third floor looms in my mind, the place where Noelle waits, but I can’t go there. Not like this. Not when I reek of another’s pheromones—an omega’s scent clinging to me like a vile, sickening perfume. It sticks, it festers, crawling under my skin, refusing to let go. How could I ever face Noelle, my beloved, while steeped in this shame?

I finally find the bathroom, slamming the door behind me as if shutting out the disgrace I carry. My hands fumble with the taps, ice-cold water pouring into the tub. It’s almost a frantic movement when I sit in, my body shivering, but it’s not enough. I grab a rough brush, and I scrub, furiously. My skin reddens and stings with each stroke, but the disgusting scent—it’s still there. It won’t leave. I scrub harder, desperate, harder still, until the soap foams into angry bubbles, and my skin feels raw.

But it isn’t enough. It’s never enough.

I can feel my breath coming faster, shallow and ragged, as I keep scrubbing and scrubbing. My hands are almost trembling now, but I don’t stop. The scent of another omega clings to me like a sickness, infecting every inch of me. How could I possibly let Noelle see me like this? How could I touch him, hold him, when I’m tainted?

My skin burns, but I can’t feel it—no, I don’t let myself feel it. The pain is muted by the overwhelming disgust flooding my senses. The harder I scrub, the deeper my shame claws at me, sinking in. I don’t even notice when my fingers start to shake or when the water turns murky from the relentless scrubbing. All I know is that I need this scent gone. I need to be clean, to be worthy of standing beside Noelle again.

But no matter how much I scrub, no matter how much my skin burns and aches, the feeling doesn’t leave. The shame doesn’t leave.

I can’t stop.

*

"My lord, Roman needs to see you. It’s urgent," Doris murmurs, gently shaking me from the haze of sleep. The warmth of my afternoon nap evaporates, leaving me blinking groggily. When did it get so dark? The shadows stretch long outside the window, evening has already settled in.

I sit up, allowing Doris to help me into my robe. Her hands move with practiced precision, but there’s something in the way her fingers tremble ever so slightly, an unspoken urgency hanging in the air. I feel it too—a shift, like the calm before a storm.

I step into the hallway, where Roman paces like a caged beast, his boots striking the stone floor with an intensity that sends a shiver down my spine. Roman, usually composed and unflappable, now looks as if the weight of the world is pressing down on him.

Panic coils around my chest.

"What’s going on?" My voice cracks, betraying the calm I’m trying to force. Roman’s eyes meet mine, and for a heartbeat too long, he hesitates. That hesitation unravels whatever’s left of my control.

"Where is he?" The words leave my mouth before Roman can respond, a tremor running through my voice, my heart already pounding in my chest. I know—deep down, I know. Something is wrong.

Roman’s silence is damning, and I don’t need to hear anything more. The fear twisting inside me takes hold, propelling me forward as I bolt down the stairs, my mind racing ahead with worst-case scenarios. Each step feels like a lifetime as the scent in the air grows thicker, more oppressive. Pheromones—Omega pheromones, mingling with a scent that’s all too familiar. Thorne.

No. My mind screams. It can’t be. Thorne wouldn’t.

But the scent is unmistakable, suffocating, clawing at my insecurities. It leads me like a beacon, straight to the far end of the corridor, to the bathroom door hanging slightly ajar. Dread twists inside me like a knife.

I push open the door, and the scene that meets me turns my blood cold. Thorne is hunched over in the tub, scrubbing his skin raw, the water tinged with blood. His broad shoulders shake, his hands—those strong, capable hands—tremble as they try to erase something I can’t see.

"Thorne..." My voice is barely a whisper, thick with emotion.

He doesn’t look up. He just keeps scrubbing, his gaze fixed on the reddened water. His skin is raw, patches of it rubbed so hard it’s begun to bleed. My chest tightens at the sight, my heart breaking for him.

"Please... stop." I step closer, my hand reaching out, but hesitant, like approaching a wounded animal. Gently, I place my hand over his, stilling his movements.

For a moment, Thorne doesn’t move. Then, slowly, he turns to me, and when our eyes meet, the anguish in his gaze is unbearable. Shame, raw and visceral, etches deep into his features.

"Don’t," he mutters, turning his head away from me, his voice cracked and broken. "Please, don’t stop me."

His hand moves again, faster now, desperate. His nails dig into his own skin, as though trying to scrape away some invisible stain.

I can’t bear it anymore. Gently but firmly, I grasp his wrist. "Let go, Thorne."

"I can’t," he whispers, his voice thick with anguish, eyes still distant, locked on something I can’t reach. "I need to wash off the pheromones. I can still feel them..."

His words are fragile, barely a breath. And I know. Deep down, I know. The truth lingers in the air, a weight that threatens to crush me, but I can’t let it. Not now. Thorne needs me.

"It’s okay," I murmur, though I’m not sure if I’m saying it to him or to myself. The words feel hollow, but they’re all I have to offer. I gently pry the brush from his hands and toss it aside. It clatters against the floor, a hollow sound that seems to echo in the silence.

"It’s not okay," Thorne whispers, his voice breaking as he stares down at his reddened hands, his fingers trembling. "I hate it. I hate this."

"I know," I say softly, moving closer, my hands wrapping around his, stopping him from hurting himself further. "But it’s going to be okay. I’m here."

Thorne’s shoulders shake, and for a moment, he lets his head fall forward, resting it against my chest.

I glance over at Roman, who stands just outside the door, his face impassive but his eyes betray his concern. I nod toward him. "Prepare another bath. And clear the floor."

Roman gives a sharp nod and turns to carry out the task, while Doris, standing nearby, waits for my instruction. "Fetch the herbs from my room," I say quietly, and she leaves without a word.

Thorne’s hands twitch again, and I tighten my grip. "Don’t do this to yourself, my beloved," I whisper, my voice trembling with emotion.

I kneel by the side of the tub, running my thumb gently over Thorne’s knuckles. His eyes are distant, lost, but I keep my voice soft and steady. "I’m here. It’s going to be okay. I promise."