Fallen General's Omega (BL)-Chapter 203: Meeting

We walk into the drawing room where Duke Remiro is seated beside his wife, Celia. Thorne, still radiating frustration, stalks in beside me. His jaw is clenched, and I can practically feel the tension radiating off him in waves.

"You better have a good reason for calling us here," Thorne says, his voice low and dangerous, almost a growl.

Duke Remiro raises an eyebrow, clearly unbothered by Thorne’s outburst. "Trust me, I didn’t want to do this either," he says, the amusement in his tone not lost on either of us.

We take our seats across from them. Celia stands, gracefully excusing herself to fetch tea or something—I’m not really paying attention.

"Duke Veyron is here," the Duke says solemnly.

What does that have to do with us? The question must be plastered all over my face because he continues.

"Well, you see," he starts, glancing at Celia as if to gauge her reaction, "Duke Veyron was your mother’s fiancé... right before she left."

The air grows heavier with each word.

"And," he adds, his tone slower now, almost hesitant, "if the timing is right, that makes him your..." He trails off, leaving the sentence hanging in the air like a noose.

"Father." I finish for him.

Silence swallows the room whole.

Thorne’s hand slides gently across my back, a quiet comfort that steadies me even as my mind races.

"Where is he?" I ask softly, my voice barely above a whisper.

"In a guest room," Duke Remiro replies. "I couldn’t exactly turn him away, seeing as he’s also a duke and all."

I take a deep breath, trying to process the sudden avalanche of information. "I’ll have to think about it."

"Understood," the Duke says, rising from his seat. "Take all the time you need." He exits the room, leaving Thorne and me alone with the suffocating weight of this revelation.

I sigh deeply, leaning into Thorne’s side.

"This is... unexpected," Thorne murmurs, his tone laced with disbelief.

I can’t help but chuckle softly. "Yeah, that’s one way to put it."

Thorne shifts closer, pressing a kiss to my temple. "Whatever you decide, I’m with you," he says firmly. "We face this together, Noelle."

I smile, despite the storm brewing in my chest. "Thank you," I whisper, my fingers brushing against his.

"I want to meet him," I say eventually, the words leaving my mouth before I can second-guess myself.

Thorne is silent for a moment before nodding. "Okay."

I raise an eyebrow, caught off guard by his calm response. "That’s it?" I ask, my lips curving into an amused smile.

He chuckles softly, his blue eyes warm as they meet mine. "This is all on you, my beloved star," he says. "I’m just here to stand beside you, whatever you decide."

*

It took everything to convince Thorne to leave me alone with him, but I can still feel his presence, hovering nearby like a silent storm. From the corner of my eye, I spot him leaning against a pillar, his sharp blue gaze trained on the garden. Always protective, always watching. It’s comforting, but also a reminder of why I’m here—to face this man alone.

The morning sunlight filters through the leaves, casting a soft golden glow over the garden. The air is crisp, tinged with the scent of freshly bloomed flowers and dew-covered grass. A tranquil setting for a not-so-tranquil meeting. I take a deep breath, steadying myself, when I hear footsteps crunching along the gravel path.

He appears at last.

Duke Veyron strides into view, his posture as regal as his title demands. His once-dark hair now carries streaks of silver, but his blue eyes remain piercing, sharp, and calculating. Despite his age, there’s an air of undeniable charm about him, the kind of charm that likely once made people forget—or ignore—the venom he carried.

I can’t help but wonder if Thorne will look like this when he’s older. The thought is fleeting, quickly replaced by the cold reality of the man before me.

"Hello," Veyron says smoothly, his voice deep and practiced, as if every syllable is calculated to disarm.

"Hello," I reply curtly, refusing to let his presence intimidate me.

He smiles, a small, almost imperceptible curve of his lips. It’s likely meant to be disarming, but all it does is irritate me. There’s a smugness to it, like he already thinks he’s won some unspoken battle.

"You look just like her, you know," he says, his voice tinged with nostalgia.

It’s an obvious statement, one I’ve heard countless times. My mother’s twin, a living reflection of the woman who defied him and many others.I nod slightly, keeping my tone neutral. "Nothing I’m not aware of."

His smile widens, though it doesn’t reach his eyes. "Seems like you inherited more than just her looks. That sharp tongue of hers, too."

I say nothing, letting the weight of silence stretch between us. His words aren’t worth a response, and I’m not here to entertain his games. I don’t even know why I agreed to this meeting. Curiosity? Closure?

"Why are you here?" I ask finally, my voice steady but firm. His gaze lingers on me, too long, like he’s studying every inch of my face, searching for something. It makes my skin crawl.

"I’m here because I want to know you," he says, leaning back slightly, as if his words should mean something profound. "You’re my blood, my legacy. I have every right to meet my son."

His words ignite a flicker of anger. Blood? Legacy? Is that all I am to him? A symbol of his own arrogance and selfishness? I look at him really look at him.

I meet his gaze, my own sharp and unyielding. "You have no right, my mother left you, from what I hear it was a great decision."

His smile falters for the briefest of moments, but he quickly recovers. "Your mother was always dramatic. She ran away from a life most would kill for. If she struggled, it was by her own choice."