Fallen General's Omega (BL)
Chapter 156: Desperation

Chapter 156: Desperation

"So, you’re telling me all our potential leads are dead?" I say, pinching the bridge of my nose as frustration wells up inside me. The situation is spiraling out of control. It’s clear that whoever is hiding Noelle is one step ahead, systematically eliminating any trail we might follow. The fact that our leads—from carriage drivers to random civilians who happened to be nearby—are being wiped out is not just concerning; it’s maddening.

Grape, my pet bird, coos from his perch atop my head, a small gesture of comfort in this sea of endless chaos. I sigh, feeling the fatigue that clings to my bones. We’ve been at this for too long.

"Alright," I finally say, straightening up. "Let’s call it a night and reconvene tomorrow. We’re all tired." I can see the exhaustion etched on Leona’s face, and I know pushing further tonight would be pointless.

As Grape flies out the window to do whatever it is he does when he’s not with me, I don’t worry. He always finds his way back. With that, I prepare myself for what comes next: dinner with the Remiros. Not exactly my idea of a relaxing evening, but refusing would only raise suspicion, so I trudge down the grand staircase of the Remiro estate.

The dining room is as lavish as ever, a monument to wealth and power. Marble floors gleam under the chandeliers, and the air is heavy with the scent of roasted meats and decadent sauces. The table is enormous, with enough space between each chair that it feels less like a family gathering and more like a council meeting. Everyone is already seated when I enter, and I make my way to my assigned spot, two chairs away from the rest of the family.

"Thorne," Duke Remiro greets, his voice carrying the authority of a man used to being in control. I offer a curt nod, nothing more. My eyes briefly flick to Callan and his pregnant wife. The sight of them, sitting close and sharing small smiles, stirs a pang of guilt and bitterness in me. It’s a harsh reminder of what I missed: Noelle, pregnant and alone. The thought eats at me.

Dinner is a quiet affair, filled only with the clinking of plates and the scrape of silverware. I don’t really taste the food. It’s just sustenance, something to keep my body moving. Ever since Noelle was taken from me, everything feels muted, drained of color and meaning.

Duke Remiro breaks the silence. "So, the Aspen King is dead." His voice is casual, but I can hear the calculation behind it. I can’t help but think about that old man finally meeting his end. He clung to life and power longer than most, but now he’s just another corpse. I know the chaos that has erupted in Aspen and Bodin, the kind of chaos that only I could have sparked. Of course, Duke Remiro doesn’t know the full extent of my involvement. He only suspects, given that I have the Crown Prince of Aspen imprisoned and my forces have taken control of the Aspen royal palace. But he doesn’t have proof.

"It’s about time," I reply, my voice devoid of emotion.

Duke Remiro’s eyes narrow slightly, the gears turning in his head. "We have to consider who we’ll support to take that throne. Leaving the situation unresolved will only lead to prolonged instability."

I almost scoff aloud. So that’s his game: playing kingmaker in foreign lands. As a Duke, his authority in Vitra is only second to the King himself. But like all men in power, he craves more. Vitra may be stable, but he wants to sink his claws into Aspen, to extend his reach. Greed knows no bounds, and I can see the ambition burning in his gaze. But me? I don’t care who sits on that throne. I’ll humor him.

"I’ll have a list of candidates ready by tomorrow," I say, keeping my tone neutral. "Roman will bring it in." Duke Remiro’s lips curl into a barely concealed smirk, and I roll my eyes internally.

The moment I catch that scent, I feel like the world has narrowed down to a single point. It’s faint, almost elusive, but unmistakable. Noelle’s pheromones. I’d know them anywhere. My body moves before my mind fully registers what’s happening, and I push back from the table, the chair scraping roughly against the polished floor. The room falls silent, all eyes turning to me in surprise. I barely notice. My gaze zeroes in on the source of that scent—Callan’s wife.

"Where were you today?" I demand, my voice raw and shaking with barely restrained emotion.

Callan stands abruptly, blocking my path, his expression thunderous. "You don’t get to speak to my wife that way!" he yells, his body tense with protective fury.

"Listen here, junior." My voice is dangerously low, my patience fraying like old rope. "I’m not in the mood for this. Let her answer the goddamn question." The room quakes as my anger manifests—doors slamming shut and glassware shattering. My mana flares uncontrollably, and with a mere thought, a dinner knife is in my hand. I step forward and press the cold blade against Callan’s throat, my grip tight and unyielding.

"Thorne!" Celia screams, her voice breaking through the chaos. The Remiro twins cry out as well, and Callan’s wife begins to sob, clutching her swollen belly. The dinner knife starts to freeze over, frost creeping along the steel.

"ENOUGH!" Duke Remiro’s command cuts through the tension like a whip. His voice carries the weight of authority that even I can’t ignore. I grit my teeth and slowly lower the knife, every muscle in my body protesting.

"What the hell is going on?" Duke Remiro asks, his eyes narrowing.

I exhale, trying to ground myself. "It’s faint," I say, struggling to sound civil, "but my Omega’s pheromones are on her. I... lost my cool." My voice is calmer now, but inside, a storm rages.

The room erupts with gasps and murmurs, the sound of disbelief and speculation echoing off the opulent walls. Callan’s wife is sobbing harder now, her words dissolving into incoherent cries.

Callan translates, his voice strained. "She says she only went to a tea party hosted at the palace today."

My jaw clenches as I place the knife back on the table, the metal clinking softly. I take a few steadying breaths, trying to regain control, before turning on my heel to leave. I need to get out of here before I lose what little composure I have left.

"What are you going to do?" Duke Remiro asks, his voice following me as I make my way to the door.

I don’t stop walking, but his next words force me to pause. "Listen, Thorne, be patient," he says. "In two weeks, there’s a banquet at the royal palace for the King’s birthday. I can get you in. But in your current state, you might tip off the person who has your Omega. Don’t let your impatience ruin your chance."

His logic hits home, as much as I hate to admit it. He’s right. Charging in recklessly now would only make things worse. I let out a long, frustrated sigh. "I understand," I reply, my voice clipped.

With that, I leave the room, each step echoing with barely restrained fury and the desperation of a man who’s losing time he can’t afford to waste.