Fallen General's Omega (BL)-Chapter 251: Good husband and blunt truth

Oliver POV

The beach is bustling.

Something is happening—something big.

Victor and I exchange a look, silently agreeing to investigate.

The sheer number of people moving in the same direction is staggering. Merchants, craftsmen, ability users, and commoners alike, all heading toward a central point with a shared sense of purpose.

We manage to hitch a ride on a passing carriage, sparing Adrian from having to weave through the throng on foot.

The driver—a middle-aged man with strong hands and the kind of face that’s seen years of labor—clutches a single wooden box protectively.

I can’t help but be curious.

"How old is he?" The man gestures toward Adrian, who is bouncing excitedly in my lap, his wild, untamed hair sticking out in every direction—just like his father’s.

"He’s three, soon to be four," I answer, running my fingers through his rebellious curls. He whines in protest, but there’s a smile on my face anyway.

"And you?" I ask, more out of politeness than genuine curiosity.

"I’m one of the head craftsmen working on the estate," the man replies, puffing up with pride. "Clocking in for my shift now."

I blink. Head craftsman?

"That’s impressive," I say, though I don’t actually know what he’s the head craftsman of.

He beams, his pride practically radiating off him.

"It’s all thanks to that Mel." He scoffs, shaking his head. "I thought it was a scam at first, sounded too good to be true, but turns out I was wrong. That idiot got me in on the biggest project of my life."

He talks about it like it’s some once-in-a-lifetime experience.

I glance at Victor, who listens silently, his grip on Adrian tightening slightly.

Our son, oblivious to everything, continues his little bounces, his wide eyes darting around at the passing scenery.

The ride isn’t long.

After a few minutes, the driver slows the carriage.

"We’ll have to walk from here," he announces, pulling the reins to a stop.

We step down, and my eyes widen.

A market.

A mini-market has formed at the base of the massive estate construction site, complete with stalls, temporary setups, and workers taking breaks as they barter for goods.

In the distance—there it is.

The colossal structure.

A castle—no, a palace.

Something massive, towering over everything else, its white stone gleaming in the afternoon sun.

Even from here, I can see the dozens of ability users scattered across the site, working as though their powers were merely tools for manual labor.

It’s unlike anything I’ve ever seen.

Victor shifts Adrian in his arms, holding him a little closer, his protective instincts kicking in. We start weaving through the crowd, the noise and movement almost overwhelming.

And then—Leona appears.

Suddenly.

I nearly flinch, but Victor doesn’t even blink.

How does she do that?

She doesn’t speak, doesn’t acknowledge us beyond a deadpan, blank stare.

Then—she turns.

Victor immediately follows.So, I assume that was our cue to follow her.

We move swiftly, breaking away from the chaotic market and heading toward the grand estate.

The closer we get, the more controlled the environment becomes. The tents here are larger, guarded, clearly for those with higher authority.

We stop in front of a secured tent, and the guards let us in without question.

As we step inside, a familiar voice speaks.

Roman.

He’s already walking out, his usual air of calm arrogance about him, but when he spots Victor—

He pauses.

For a brief moment, his expression betrays surprise.

Victor’s jaw tightens.

I take Adrian from him, not wanting him to feel trapped in this moment. I give them their space and walk further inside.

And what I see stops me in my tracks.

There are two very pregnant figures seated comfortably in plush chairs.

One of them is Noelle.

The other is a woman with vibrant red curly hair, her round belly suggesting she’s just as far along.

At their feet—three children play.

One of them is Mimi, who, of course, is riding the back of one of the other unfortunate children.

The other two are redheads, likely belonging to the woman beside Noelle.

"Oh, Oliver, you’re here."

Noelle’s voice pulls my attention back to him.

He’s smiling, lazy and warm, as if my sudden presence here isn’t surprising in the slightest.

I step forward, awkwardly dropping Adrian into the mix.

He blends in instantly.

I find a chair and sit, feeling somewhat out of place.

"Noelle, who’s your guest?" The red-haired woman asks, her voice carrying a curious lilt.

Noelle gestures lazily.

"Maggie, this is Oliver. Oliver, Maggie."

That’s it.

That’s the entire introduction.

He adds on, almost as an afterthought—

"Maggie is the wife of the man in charge of bringing this all to life, and Oliver is an... old friend."

I glance at Maggie, who looks mildly amused by Noelle’s lack of effort.

"Pleasure to meet you," I say.

"Uh, yeah, you too," she responds.

Awkward silence.

I clear my throat.

Maggie shifts in her seat.

We fumble through small talk.

I learn that she has an older son, ten years old, and these two boys here are his younger brothers.

She’s hoping for a daughter this time around.

I also find out—Noelle is expecting twins.

Before I can process that information further, Noelle’s chair suddenly floats toward the entrance of the tent.

Floats.

Maggie remains completely unfazed.

So, apparently, this is normal.

"Later, Maggie. I owe you one," Noelle calls as he’s effortlessly levitated out of the tent.

Maggie waves him off like this is just another regular day.

The chair drifts back into the tent with an eerie smoothness, landing precisely where it had been before.

Maggie seems completely unfazed as well, which tells me this is a common occurrence.

She adjusts her seat, swinging one leg up onto the empty chair beside her, stretching as though settling in for a casual conversation. But her gaze sharpens, locking onto me with an intensity that makes my stomach turn.

"So," she says, her tone deceptively light.

"What really happened between you two?"

I blink, caught completely off guard.

"What?" I ask, feigning ignorance.

She smirks, tilting her head slightly.

"Oh, don’t play dumb. Noelle clearly doesn’t hold any grudges, but you—" she gestures vaguely at me, "—you were on edge the entire time. You looked like you were carrying the weight of a thousand unsaid words."

I swallow, shifting uncomfortably in my seat. I shouldn’t be surprised. She’s perceptive, sharper than most. And she’s right—I had been tense, struggling to balance my emotions between nostalgia, regret, and relief. But I don’t know if I’m ready to unpack all of that with a woman I just met.

Still, something about her straightforwardness makes it easier. She’s not judging me—just stating facts, blunt and unfiltered.

I exhale and give her a version of the story, the heavily censored and neatly summarized account of what happened all those years ago. A sanitized truth, stripped of the aching, messy emotions beneath.

When I finish, Maggie hums thoughtfully, leaning back in her chair.

"Well," she says at last, stretching her arms over her head before resting them behind her neck.

"On the bright side, you would have probably lost your mind trying to be the second consort."

I tense at the words, but she continues without hesitation.

"Noelle’s husband literally worships the ground he walks on," she says, matter-of-factly.

"Even if the you back then thought you could handle it, you wouldn’t have. You’d have spent every day drowning in comparison. Whether you admit it or not, Thorne and Noelle? They’re one of those once-in-a-lifetime pairings. You would’ve been miserable, Oliver."

Her words hit harder than I expect them to. A dull ache forms in my chest, the remnants of a life that never was, of a possibility that I had once entertained in my youth. She’s right. I know she’s right. And yet, hearing it said so plainly stings.

She doesn’t stop there.

"And let’s say you had succeeded in tying yourself to him—say you’d had his child," she muses, tapping a thoughtful finger against the table.

"Do you really think there wouldn’t have been blatant favoritism between your children and Noelle’s? Be honest with yourself. That man would’ve never divided his heart."

I stare at her, unable to argue. Because she’s not wrong.

I look down at my hands, feeling the weight of the truth settle over me. And yet, when I think of Victor—of my husband, my family, the life I have now—I feel something steadier, something firm beneath my feet.

Maggie watches me carefully before offering something softer.

"You should be glad," she says finally.

"You’ve got a husband who, at the end of the day, is yours alone. Someone who treats you right." She pauses, then adds with a wry smile, "He does treat you right, right? If he’s an asshole, I take back all the wisdom I just dropped on you."

That startles a laugh out of me. A small, genuine one.

"No," I say, shaking my head with a smile. "Victor’s... a really good husband."

And as I say it, I realize just how much I mean it.