Fallen General's Omega (BL)
Chapter 50: Excitement

Chapter 50: Excitement

I lock the door behind me, eager for solitude. The letter I hold in my hands is from Noelle, and the thought of it makes my heart pound like a war drum. I sit on the edge of the bed, my fingers trembling slightly as I tear open the seal. It’s been three long weeks without him, and I haven’t felt his presence since I left. Just seeing his handwriting again sends a surge of warmth through me.

I unfold the letter carefully, my eyes devouring the words with a hunger I didn’t realize had built up so fiercely.

"It’s been 3 weeks. This is the first time we’ve spent time apart, and you’re gone for so long. The clothes you left behind, I can barely smell your pheromones, my body no longer aches. I spend my days in the garden and time with Grape. I saw Mona yesterday; she’s going to be a seamstress, learning from a local tailor. Ben is Ben. I don’t know what else to do. Life without you feels bland. I miss you, hope to see you soon. Your star."

A short letter, but so full of him. The calm, no-nonsense way Noelle has always been. Yet the longing between the lines is unmistakable, that quiet need I know he tries so hard to hide. I hold the letter up to my face, breathing in deeply, catching the faint trace of his scent. It’s barely there—faint and fleeting—but enough to stir something deep inside me. My body responds instinctively, like it’s conditioned to his presence, to his pheromones.

I fall back on the bed, clutching the letter to my chest. The ache in me is overwhelming, more than just physical. I miss him—Gods, I miss him more than I thought possible. Every day without him feels like an eternity. I can picture him, standing in that garden, surrounded by flowers, his bright eyes glowing under the sun, his voice soft but firm.

I unbuckle my belt with shaky hands, the need for him rising to the surface like a tide that can’t be held back. The image of him, his slender fingers, his soft moans, floods my mind. I stroke myself, desperate for the memory of his touch, the sound of his voice whispering my name.

It doesn’t take long. My imagination is vivid enough to bring him here with me, if only in my mind. My hand moves faster, driven by the thought of him beneath me, his body arching in pleasure. My breathing quickens, matching the frantic pace of my movements, and when release finally comes, it’s with a hollow sense of satisfaction.

I lie there, staring at the ceiling, breathing hard. Even the pleasure feels empty without him here, just a temporary fix for a much deeper need. I groan in frustration, rubbing my face with his letter still in hand. The scent is fading, just like the memory of him is slipping away the longer I’m apart from him. Three weeks without Noelle and I already feel lost.

I miss him. Heavens, I miss him so much.

**

The air in the castle hummed with an unusual energy, as if the very walls were holding their breath. Servants moved swiftly through the corridors, dusting, scrubbing, polishing every corner with a diligence that hadn’t been seen in years. The castle, grand and imposing, had undergone a transformation over the past week, its halls now gleaming and immaculate. Yet, the most curious part wasn’t the sudden rush of activity—it was the master of the castle himself.

Thorne, the infamous Crimson General, known for his ruthlessness and icy demeanor, had been spending an unusual amount of time in the greenhouse. There, amidst rows of plants and boxes of seedlings, he seemed more intent on arranging nurseries and caring for delicate flora than maintaining his reputation as a fearsome warrior. The servants had grown accustomed to the sight, though they still exchanged puzzled glances when he wasn’t looking. His restlessness was palpable, and it rippled through the entire estate.

The five sentinels—Thorne’s most trusted guards—observed their master from a distance, confusion etched into their faces.

"What’s gotten into him?" Raul, the large, bald sentinel, asked Roman, Thorne’s closest confidant. His voice was low, but his curiosity was clear.

Roman, ever weary from running Thorne’s errands all across the capital, sighed deeply. "I don’t know," he muttered. "I’ve never seen him like this, not even before a major battle."

Victor, seated nearby, nodded in agreement. "He’s been restless for days, pacing, ordering things for that damn greenhouse. It’s almost like he’s preparing for something."

Leona, the silent assassin of the group, didn’t say a word. Her sharp eyes, however, betrayed her interest. She had never seen Thorne behave like this either, and that made her uneasy.

Felix, the youngest of the group and an omega, piped up from where he was stacking supplies. "I’ve been running all over the capital, through random forests, fetching seeds and plants. Trying to keep these damn things alive is exhausting." He groaned, wiping sweat from his brow.

Roman shook his head, exasperated. "I’ve already told you—I don’t know anything more than you do. All I know is that Thorne’s husband is coming."

"Husband?" Raul grunted. "What kind of person is he? To be married to him?"

Roman shrugged. "I didn’t spend enough time with him to say, but he’s beautiful. And he loves his gardens—that much is clear."

Victor stood, stretching his arms. "Whoever he is, we just need to make sure nothing goes wrong when he arrives. If anything happens, it’ll be our heads on the chopping block." A shiver ran down his spine at the thought of Thorne’s wrath.

Leona, ever the silent killer, melted into the shadows, her presence disappearing as she moved through the room like a ghost. She rarely spoke, but the seriousness of the situation was evident in her sharp gaze. This was no ordinary visit.

Despite their best efforts to keep it quiet, word had spread like wildfire through the capital—Thorne Alden, the Crimson General, was married. The news had shocked the city, sparking countless rumors and speculations. Who was this mysterious person who had dared to marry such a cold-hearted man? And why had it been kept a secret for so long?

Amid the gossip, however, one person took the news particularly hard—Oliver. He had rushed to the castle gates, but they were sealed shut, the entire estate in lockdown in preparation for Thorne’s husband’s arrival. No one was allowed in or out, and Oliver had been turned away without a second thought.

As the city buzzed with curiosity and the castle prepared for its special guest, a sense of foreboding lingered in the air. Something was about to change—and the sentinels could only hope they were ready for whatever came next.

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