Fallen General's Omega (BL)
Chapter 183: Sanctuary

Chapter 183: Sanctuary

"Why don’t you two join us for dinner tonight?" Celia’s voice is steady, but there’s a hint of hesitance beneath her words.

I glance at her, taking in the resemblance she bears to Thorne. There’s something in her expression, a quiet nervousness, as though she’s expecting me to turn her down, to dislike her for some imagined slight.

But I don’t dislike her. Neither does Thorne, for that matter. If anything, we’re indifferent. She’s like a stranger who happens to share a familial bond with my husband—a distant figure neither close enough to have affection for nor far enough to resent.

"Sure," I reply with a polite smile, my hand resting lightly on Mirelle’s back. My little girl is fast asleep, her tiny breaths soft against my chest.

Celia’s shoulders relax, her relief almost palpable, and she nods before stepping away, retreating toward the house. As she leaves, I take a moment to study her. She’s undeniably beautiful, with her midnight-black hair and those piercing blue eyes that seem to cut through the world. There’s a grace to her movements, an elegance that speaks of her years as a duchess. For a fleeting moment, I see a hint of Mirelle in her—the eyes and hair, well that’s a given she is my husband’s mother after all.

I lean back into the gentle motion of the rocking chair, the soft creak of the wood blending with the sounds of the garden. The afternoon sun filters through the trees, casting dappled patterns on the ground. It’s warm, the kind of warmth that seeps into your bones and makes your eyelids heavy.

Mirelle stirs slightly against me, her little hands clutching at the fabric of my shirt. I tap her shoulder lightly, a soothing rhythm that seems to settle her back into sleep. My mind drifts as I rock us both, lulled by the quiet serenity of the garden.

Celia’s invitation lingers in my thoughts, mingling with the distant sounds of birdsong. Dinner tonight.

***

Dinner at the Remiro estate was unusually serene, a rare occurrence after months of tension. Ever since Thorne’s arrival, a dark cloud seemed to loom over the luxurious household, his presence stifling and intimidating to all. But tonight, with Noelle seated at the table, it was as though that oppressive atmosphere had lifted, replaced by a curious warmth.

The household watched in quiet amazement as Thorne, the terrifying man who seemed as though he was made of thorns himself, helped Noelle into his seat with uncharacteristic gentleness. He leaned down, whispering something into his husband’s ear. Whatever it was made Noelle giggle softly, a sound so light and sweet it felt almost foreign in the Remiro estate.

The dining room was as grand as ever, with its high ceilings and glimmering chandeliers casting a warm glow over the massive dining table. Tonight, the guests included the Duke and Duchess, their stepson Callan and his wife Jane, the mischievous twins Rhea and Rian, and Mona, who had decided to grace the dinner with her presence. Ben, on the other hand, had chosen to spend the evening with the sentinels, claiming their company more enjoyable than a family dinner.

As the meal began, Celia, seated at her rightful place beside the Duke, took it upon herself to initiate introductions. "Noelle, it’s such a pleasure to have you join us tonight," she began, her tone polite but warm.

"Thank you, Duchess," Noelle replied, his voice soft and measured, his movements so graceful they seemed almost choreographed.

Celia gestured toward the man at the center of the table, his presence as commanding as the estate itself. "You might not have met him yet. This is my husband, the Duke."

The Duke, a man with tanned brown skin, stark white hair, and piercing ice-blue eyes, regarded Noelle with a curt nod. Noelle returned the gesture with a small, polite nod of his own, their interaction brief but civil.

"And this is Callan, my stepson, and his wife, Jane," Celia continued, motioning to the couple seated further down the table. Callan, merely inclined his head, and Jane followed suit, her expression full of curiosity.

Finally, Celia turned her attention to the youngest members of the family. "And these are the twins, Rhea and Rian."

Noelle’s lips curled into a warm smile as his eyes met theirs. Rhea offered him a bright grin in return, but Rian, the boy with an inherent shyness, quickly averted his gaze, his cheeks tinged with a faint pink. Noelle found it endearing and chose not to press him further.

"A pleasure to meet you all," Noelle said, his tone as genuine as his smile.

Throughout the introductions, Thorne remained silent, his usual brooding demeanor softened but not entirely gone. His attention was fixed solely on Noelle, his dark eyes watching his husband as if afraid he might vanish if he so much as blinked. The intensity of his gaze was not lost on the others, but no one dared to comment on it.

The dinner proceeded with a quiet grace, the household members adjusting to the unexpected calm that Noelle brought with him. Where Thorne’s presence had once been suffocating, Noelle’s was like a balm, soothing the tension and allowing for a rare moment of peace. It was clear to everyone at the table: Noelle wasn’t just Thorne’s husband. He was his sanctuary.

The dinner was served with impeccable elegance, each dish a testament to the Remiro estate’s opulence. The aroma of roasted meats, rich sauces, and freshly baked bread filled the air as the family began to eat. Surprisingly, the conversation was light and pleasant, even with the occasional glowering from Thorne that seemed more a default expression than an actual threat.

Jane, seated beside her husband Callan, leaned forward slightly, a warm smile gracing her lips. "What a coincidence that the person who comforted me that day was you," she said, directing her words at Noelle.

Noelle tilted his head, offering a polite smile in return. Truthfully, he could barely recall the face of the very pregnant noblewoman who had been crying that evening, but he wasn’t about to ruin the moment for her.

"Right," he said smoothly, "how far along are you now?"

"Seven months," Jane replied, her hand instinctively moving to her rounded stomach. "I feel like I’m about to pop any day now." Her tone was affectionate as she rubbed her belly, and the warmth in her eyes was unmistakable.

"I remember those days with Mirelle," Noelle said, recalling his own experience. "I couldn’t wait to get it over with. It was like—’I love you, but it’s time to leave now.’" His jest earned a ripple of soft laughter from around the table.

But as the words left his lips, Noelle caught a fleeting change in Thorne’s expression. The light in his husband’s eyes dimmed for just a moment, a shadow passing across his face before he composed himself again. It was subtle, but it didn’t escape Noelle’s notice. He made a mental note to ask Thorne about it later, filing away the look as another layer of his husband’s enigmatic nature.

"You look amazing, though," Jane said, drawing the conversation back. "So does Mother-in-law. I just hope my body gets back to normal after this. With my luck, I’ll probably gain some permanent weight."

"There’s nothing wrong with a little weight," Callan interjected with an earnest tone. His well-meaning comment earned him a swift smack on the back of the head from Jane, who narrowed her eyes at him.

The sight was enough to dissolve the table into laughter, the tension melting away as the family shared the moment of levity. Even Thorne’s glower softened slightly as he watched Noelle smile, the sound of his laughter soothing the ever-present storm in his chest.