Fallen General's Omega (BL)
Chapter 161: Breathe

Chapter 161: Breathe

The announcer’s voice booms through the grand hall, declaring our arrival. My body tenses, and I instinctively try to pull away, but the king’s grip on my hand is like a vice, unyielding. So I have no choice but to walk in beside him, my arm entangled with his, as if I’m his chosen companion. His date, on his birthday. Not the queen. How perfectly normal. Nothing strange or wrong about that at all.

As we descend the wide marble staircase, I feel the weight of countless eyes locked onto us. The room is filled with nobles adorned in their finest silks and jewels, and I can see their expressions shift as they watch us. Envy flashes in the eyes of some, a kind of twisted jealousy at my proximity to the king. Others look at me with pity, though whether it’s genuine or laced with condescension, I can’t tell. And then there’s more envy, thick and seething. To all those people, I want to say: You can have my place if you want it so badly.

The king’s voice carries across the room, launching into some grand speech about his birthday, the kingdom, or whatever pleasantries he’s decided to bestow upon the crowd. But I barely register his words. My focus is elsewhere. My eyes scan the crowd, moving frantically from face to face. Each unfamiliar person I see makes my heart beat harder, a drum of disappointment and hope warring within me. Where is he? Where is Thorne?

Anxiety coils in my gut, tightening with each second that passes. I feel like my insides are trembling, my nerves on edge. Please be here, I plead silently, clinging to that one desperate wish. Please, Thorne, be here. The anticipation is a living thing inside me, restless and desperate, making it hard to breathe. I can’t bear the thought of not seeing him, not when the hope of it is the only thing keeping me steady.

And that’s when I see him.

Thorne. My beloved husband.

My heart almost stops at the sight of him, and a swell of emotion so intense it feels like I’m drowning crashes over me. He’s there, standing just across the room, but he looks different—gaunt and worn down, with dark circles smudged beneath his blue eyes, the telltale signs of sleepless nights and worry. I know the toll our separation has taken on me, but seeing it mirrored on him hits me like a physical blow. My chest tightens, and a storm of feelings—grief, relief, yearning—washes over me all at once.

He’s looking right at me, and the moment our eyes meet, everything else disappears. The crowd, the noise, the stifling presence of the king at my side—all of it fades. There’s only Thorne. Only the man who is my home, my heart, my everything. His eyes are brimming with emotion, a raw intensity I’ve missed so deeply that it almost breaks me right there on the spot. It’s like he’s trying to say everything we’ve both held back with just a look, and I can’t help but feel the overwhelming urge to run to him, to throw myself into his arms and cling to him until this nightmare is over.

But before either of us can move, an older man steps in, stopping Thorne. The man has warm tan-brown skin, and his hair is a striking white, a stark contrast that commands authority. He places a hand on Thorne’s arm, says something and I see Thorne’s jaw clench, the muscle ticking with barely restrained frustration. He wants to come to me, I can feel it in the way his whole body tenses, in the way his hands curl into fists. But he stays put, forced to obey, forced to wait, and it’s excruciating to watch.

Thorne’s eyes soften just for a moment, and he gives me a small, almost imperceptible smile. It’s the kind of smile that carries both pain and hope, a fragile thread holding us together in this sea of uncertainty. I blink back tears, swallowing the sob that’s threatening to escape. I want to call out to him, to scream his name, to demand that he come and take me away from this hell. But I can’t, not when the king’s hand tightens on my arm, pulling me away.

I crane my neck, desperate to catch one last glimpse of Thorne, but when I turn to look, he’s gone. Disappeared into the crowd, swallowed by the sea of faces. My heart drops, the ache of his absence tearing through me like a wound reopening. The loss is suffocating, and for a moment, I feel like I’m going to collapse under the weight of it.

But I force myself to breathe, to keep my head held high. Be strong, I tell myself, clinging to the hope that’s kept me going. There’s no way Thorne would leave me here. No way he’d let me face this alone. He’s here, and that has to mean something. I repeat it like a mantra, over and over. No way. No way. No way. I have to believe it, even if the fear of losing him again gnaws at the edges of my heart.

Be strong, I remind myself. For him. For us. This is not the end.

Don’t do it. Don’t do it. I chant the words in my head like a prayer, trying to rein in the overwhelming need to break away, to run straight into Thorne’s arms where I belong. My heart is pounding so hard I can feel it echoing in my ears, drowning out the chatter and music that fill the hall. Every nerve in my body is screaming at me to close the distance between us, to throw every consequence to the wind and just let myself be held by him, even if only for a moment.

But I can’t. I can’t afford to be reckless, not here, not now. The king’s grip on my arm is a vice, a silent reminder of the suffocating reality I’m trapped in. His fingers dig into my skin, and the weight of his possessive hold keeps me rooted, even as my entire soul pulls in the opposite direction. My legs are trembling, the sheer willpower it takes to stay put almost too much to bear.

I draw in a shaky breath, my chest tightening painfully. Thorne is here. He’s here, and that should be enough to keep me steady. But seeing him and not being able to reach him—it’s agony. Pure, unadulterated agony. My hands curl into fists, nails biting into my palms as I try to ground myself, to cling to some shred of control. Every fiber of my being longs for the comfort of his embrace, for the safety and love I’

ve been so cruelly deprived of.

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