Fallen General's Omega (BL)
Chapter 144: Vitra capital city

Chapter 144: Vitra capital city

In the heart of the Vitra Kingdom, at the heart of the capital city within the serene and sunlit royal grounds , a picturesque scene unfolds. A strikingly beautiful man, dressed in a long-sleeved black shirt and fitted pants, sits cradling a baby against his chest. The gentle rocking motion of the wooden chair soothes the infant, whose small breaths rise and fall in peaceful rhythm. A collar adorned with a large diamond star encircles the man’s neck, catching the sunlight and shimmering with a brilliance that seems almost otherworldly.

The man’s dark hair falls loosely around his face, and his eyelashes flutter as he begins to doze off, lulled by the warmth of the afternoon and the comfort of the child nestled close to him. Nearby, under the shade of a grand tree whose branches sway lazily in the breeze, a young preteen girl sits on the soft grass. Her brown hair is pulled back into a ponytail, and she wears a delicate blue dress. Her focus is entirely absorbed in the thick books spread around her, the pages whispering as she turns them.

The tranquility of the scene, the idyllic harmony of the moment, is suddenly shattered. Footsteps crunch on the gravel path, and the atmosphere shifts, as if the light itself recoils from the disruption. A man in his fifties strides into the space, commanding attention and casting a long shadow. His features bear a familial resemblance to the beautiful man—handsome with finely sculpted features and sharp, green eyes. His salt-and-pepper hair gives him an air of authority and experience, yet his very presence seems to drain the peace from the surroundings.

The beautiful man in the rocking chair stiffens, the tension subtly replacing the warmth of the moment. Even the young girl under the tree looks up from her book, her gaze narrowing slightly as she registers the unwelcome visitor. The serene bubble of their sanctuary bursts, and a quiet sense of foreboding creeps into the once-perfect afternoon.

**

"Mona, take Mirelle inside," Noelle instructed, his voice steady but with an edge of urgency. He handed his toddler over to the young girl, who accepted the child with practiced efficiency. Mona moved swiftly, her steps confident and sure, a clear testament to her familiarity with this routine. In a heartbeat, she disappeared into the safety of the nearby residence, cradling Mirelle protectively against her chest.

Noelle remained where he stood, his posture tense, as if each muscle in his body had coiled into a wire ready to snap. He watched the older man carefully, eyes narrowed, every inch of him defensive. The intruder, a man with salt-and-pepper hair and piercing green eyes, strode forward with an air of entitlement, as if he had every right to be there. His handsome face, marred only slightly by the deep lines of age, twisted into a faintly disappointed expression.

"You really should stop reacting this way every time I come by," the man chided, his voice oily with false concern.

"Can I not see my grandniece?"

Noelle’s gaze hardened, his expression a cold mask as he retorted, "My daughter has no family from my side since my mother’s death." His words were clipped, each syllable spoken with deliberate harshness.

The older man’s eyes narrowed at the rebuke, though a flash of something—hurt, perhaps—crossed his features. He stepped forward, undeterred.

"Your mother was my sister," he insisted, as if that simple fact could bridge the chasm between them. "That makes you my nephew. Blood cannot be denied, Noelle."

At that, Noelle’s eyes flashed, a storm of emotions swirling just beneath the surface. He instinctively took a few steps back, increasing the distance between them, the barrier of space a small comfort in this unwanted confrontation. The audacity of the man, Noelle thought bitterly. The audacity to feign hurt when I’m practically a prisoner here.

"Blood relations don’t make you my family," Noelle countered, his voice frigid and laced with disdain.

"What are you doing here?" Noelle demanded, his voice sharp and wary.

The older man, with his striking green eyes , regarded Noelle with a calculating smile that never quite reached his eyes. "People have been curious about you," he began, his voice smooth but carrying an undercurrent of pride.

"I’ve been thinking of hosting a banquet in your honor. Mirelle’s son, a prince—your true status should be properly introduced."

Noelle’s lips pressed into a hard line, and without hesitation, he replied, "I refuse."

For a moment, the older man’s handsome features twisted in a grotesque display of fury, his mask of civility shattering. His eyes darkened, and he took a menacing step forward.

"I will not tolerate this impudence any longer," he snarled, closing the distance between them in an instant. His hand lashed out, fingers curling around Noelle’s neck in a vice-like grip. The sudden, brutal contact made Noelle gasp, his hands flying up instinctively to try to pry the iron grip away.

"You will attend," the man commanded, his voice a venomous whisper, "and you will smile. I cannot harm my own blood, but I make no promises about what will happen to that little girl you’re so fond of." His threat hung in the air, chilling Noelle to his core.

Rage flared in Noelle’s eyes, a molten fury that threatened to consume him. His hands clenched into fists, but he forced himself to remain still, to suppress the scream building in his throat. He had to protect Mona; he could not afford to let his anger take control.

"Understand?" the man barked, tightening his grip ever so slightly, as if daring Noelle to defy him.

Noelle swallowed down his defiance, his voice hoarse as he finally forced out, "Understood."

The man released his hold on Noelle, shoving him back. Noelle stumbled slightly but caught himself, glaring at his tormentor with eyes that burned with silent defiance.

The man’s expression shifted back to that twisted parody of affection, as if he hadn’t just threatened a child’s life. "Why do you always have to make things so difficult between us?" he sighed, as though he were the victim in this exchange, his voice dripping with false lament.

"And you wonder why my mother left," Noelle retorted, his voice carrying an edge of defiance.

"I’ve only been here half a year, and I already understand her decision so well. I want to leave, too. And when my husband finds me, I will leave." His words were firm, laced with a desperate hope that flickered in his eyes.

At that, the man’s lips curled into a bemused smirk. "Oh, my dear, you speak so highly of this husband of yours," he drawled, leaning closer with mock curiosity. "You think you’re free to choose? That you belong anywhere but here?" His voice dripped with derision. "You’re mine, Noelle. You belong here, with your family. Personally, it should have been my beloved little sister, but I’ll settle for you. You take after her so much, after all."

He reached out and grabbed a few strands of Noelle’s hair, the silky locks catching in his fingers. Noelle flinched, his whole body recoiling at the touch, disgust and revulsion twisting his features. The way his uncle’s touch lingered sent shivers of dread down Noelle’s spine, but he forced himself not to step back, not to show how much the contact sickened him.

Through gritted teeth, Noelle met his uncle’s eyes. "I’ll say it again," he declared, his voice steady and resolute. "My husband—my alpha mate—will stop at nothing to get to me. Believe me, not even you will stand in his way. It’s only a matter of time."

His uncle let out a dismissive scoff, as though the idea of anyone coming to Noelle’s rescue was laughable. Amusement danced in his green eyes, and he released Noelle’s hair, leaving behind a feeling of cold dread in the air. "We’ll see about that," he said, his voice full of condescension. With a final, patronizing glance, he turned on his heel and strode away.

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