Fallen General's Omega (BL)
Chapter 160: Little longer

Chapter 160: Little longer

The king is playing dress-up with me again. He picked out every detail of my clothing, as if I’m some kind of doll he can mold and manipulate to his liking. Today, it’s a high-neckline shirt designed to hide the collar marking me as Thorne’s omega.The outfit feels suffocating, each button fastened like a shackle. My hair is twisted into an elaborate, undeniably feminine style, one that makes my scalp ache from the effort to keep it all in place. I am an omega, not a woman, but the king doesn’t seem to care about that distinction. I grit my teeth and hold it in, fighting the resentment rising in my chest. Thorne might be there today. I have to endure.

The maids flit around me, dabbing makeup onto my tired face, desperately trying to conceal the dark smudges beneath my eyes. No amount of powder or pigment can hide my exhaustion, though. When they finally finish, I’m forced to confront the image in the mirror. I barely recognize myself. The person staring back at me looks more like Mirelle than Noelle, and the sight makes me feel like something is being stripped away piece by piece.

My mother’s face stares back at me, the same delicate features, the same slender frame. The only differences are my flat chest and the Adam’s apple that bobs in my throat when I swallow back my anger. How dare he twist me into this? How dare he desecrate my mother’s memory by forcing me into this grotesque imitation of her? The fury simmers beneath my skin, boiling hotter with every second.

I hate the king even more than I already do now. I despise him with a deep, burning loathing that feels like it could swallow me whole. His actions are twisting the one thing I hold sacred—the memory of my mother, Mirelle. I try to empty my mind, to think of nothing, as I leave the dressing room. But the moment I step out, he’s there, waiting, his eyes roving over me with a gleam that makes my stomach turn. I visibly recoil, and I can’t hide the disgust that twists my features.

He notices. His expression shifts, and a coldness washes over his eyes, but only for a brief moment. Then he regains his composure, and a sickening smile stretches across his lips. "How fascinating, you see," he says, gesturing for me to come closer. My feet feel leaden, but I force myself to walk forward, every step a battle against my instincts screaming at me to run. I can’t mess this up today, not when there’s a chance I might see Thorne. Not when hope still clings to the edges of my resolve.

The king studies me, his gaze hungry, and it makes my skin crawl. "Mirelle, my sweet little sister, always gave me that look too," he says, almost wistful.

"You see, it wasn’t always like that. She used to look at me with such warmth, such trust. But she got corrupted by the world." His voice drips with something twisted, a disgusting mockery of sorrow. "Those books she would read, the commoners she insisted on mingling with... I was only trying to keep her safe. Next to me. But she left me."

His hand closes around mine, and I have to fight the overwhelming urge to yank it away. I want to rip my hand from his grasp and scream, but I keep my expression as blank as I can, knowing any outburst would cost me.

"And look at what happened to her," he continues, voice softening as though he’s recounting a tragedy that only he mourns. "She got herself killed. But she left a piece of herself behind. You." He squeezes my hand, and his possessive grip makes me want to retch. "Unlike her, I’ll keep you safe."

Safe. The word rings hollow, a twisted parody of protection. I want to laugh at how deluded he is, how far he’s gone down this path of madness. I can’t hide the scoff that escapes me, and he narrows his eyes.

"Eventually, you’ll understand," he says, his tone dangerously gentle. "Besides, my grandniece will grow up in luxury, surrounded by everything an omega could dream of. Your so-called alpha could never provide her with the life she deserves." There’s pride in his voice, a smugness that makes my fingers itch with the desire to claw the satisfaction off his face.

But I swallow the laughter threatening to burst from my chest. I force myself to remain still, to play the part he’s written for me, if only for today. Because somewhere in this palace, Thorne might be waiting. And I will not let this monster rob me of even the smallest chance to be with him.

Thorne would, in fact, give our child the highest luxuries if that’s what she wished for. He’s the kind of man who would cross mountains and endure the harshest trials just to see someone he cares for smile. I remember the time he climbed up a snow-covered hill, braving the biting winds and freezing temperatures, simply because I’d mentioned wanting to catalog the rare alpine plants that grew there. He didn’t think twice about it, even when frost bit at his fingertips. That thought brings a brief, bittersweet warmth to my chest, quickly replaced by a pang of sadness.

My mind drifts to my journal. How many pages had I filled with sketches of flora, meticulous notes about their growth patterns and properties? That small book held fragments of my soul, pieces of me poured out in careful ink lines. I likely lost it in the forest during that desperate escape. Doris flashes into my thoughts, and my heart clenches in the familiar, aching way it always does when I think of her. She was a steady presence in my life, and her absence has left a void.

Gardening used to be my refuge, the one activity that kept me from unraveling completely. It was my therapy, the way I centered myself in a world that never seemed stable or kind. But here, in the lily-adorned palace that belonged to my mother—my mother’s sacred space twisted into the king’s possession—I refuse to indulge that part of me. The king derives too much pleasure from seeing me mimic her, every small, mundane act that echoes hers bringing that insufferable, nostalgic smile to his lips. It’s as though he wants to pretend she’s still here, alive in my body, her essence a ghost he can tether to me. I hate him for it, for that look, for how he tries to make me a shadow of her memory.

I don’t even realize that the king has already taken my arm and led me forward. The world feels surreal, the people around me nothing more than silhouettes in the blur of my unease.

Yeah, I don’t want to be here. Not among these people, not in this hall where every breath feels like a struggle to keep from drowning. But I steel myself, hiding the turmoil that threatens to crack through my mask. Thorne might be somewhere nearby, and for the slim hope of seeing him, I will endure this

nightmare just a little longer.