Fallen General's Omega (BL)-Chapter 228: A glimpse of the past 3

Forty-one years ago

I stand in the corner of the lavish sitting room, my hands clutched tightly behind my back, the ache in my shoulders a dull reminder of how long I’ve held this posture. Exhaustion weighs heavy on me—not just from today, but from months, perhaps even years, of moments like this. Endless confrontations, scoldings, and accusations that seem to play on repeat.

The air crackles with tension, thick and suffocating. Sunlight streams through the tall, arched windows, casting long, golden beams across the polished marble floors. The delicate scent of jasmine tea lingers in the air, but even that soothing aroma does little to calm the storm brewing before me.

"What is this?!" Concubine Danielle’s shrill voice slices through the silence like a whip. She slams a newspaper onto the mahogany table with such force that the porcelain tea set rattles precariously. Her perfectly manicured finger jabs at the bold headline splashed across the front page.

"Princess Mirelle Caught at Local Bar Again—What Was She Really Doing There?"

Her face is contorted in fury, auburn curls shaking as she glares across the room. Her brown eyes, usually so calculating and cold, are now wild with frustration.

Mirelle, seated elegantly across from her, seems utterly unfazed. She leans back in her chair, her long raven-black hair cascading over one shoulder, as she lifts a delicate porcelain cup to her lips. She takes a slow, deliberate sip of tea, her expression a perfect mask of nonchalance. If I hadn’t known better, I’d never suspect the burning resentment that simmers beneath that calm exterior. But I do know better.

Mirelle has perfected that look—the impassive, detached face of a young woman who long ago decided that caring wasn’t worth the pain.

"I don’t understand what the big deal is, Mother," Mirelle replies smoothly, setting her teacup down with a soft clink. Her green eyes, sharp and unflinching, meet Danielle’s blazing gaze with a calm defiance that only infuriates the concubine more.

Danielle’s face flushes an even deeper shade of red, her fists clenched at her sides. "You’re a child!" she screams, the pitch of her voice rising. "A child! And it’s unladylike! Do you have any idea how this looks? How it reflects on me?!"

The room feels stifling, the tension nearly unbearable. I hold my breath, knowing that this won’t end quietly.

Mirelle, ever composed, merely picks up her teacup again, turning it slowly in her hands as if bored by the entire exchange. "A bit contradictory, don’t you think?" she says softly, her tone laced with subtle sarcasm. "If I’m old enough to be paraded around as marriage material, then surely I’m old enough to have a little fun."

Danielle’s eyes narrow dangerously. Mirelle doesn’t stop.

"Besides," Mirelle continues, her voice as smooth as silk, "I’ve aced all of my lessons. Singing, dancing, stitching, flower arranging—every single one of your precious, ’ladylike’ disciplines. Isn’t that enough?"

She tilts her head slightly, a ghost of a smirk playing at the corners of her lips. "And none of your tutors seemed to have any issue with me going out."

The silence that follows is deafening.

I can feel the tension rolling off Danielle in waves. Her hands tremble—not with fear, but with barely restrained fury. Her eyes flicker with something dangerous, something unhinged. And then, before I can even process what’s happening, she grabs her teacup and hurls it across the room.

Time slows.

The cup spins midair, porcelain glinting in the sunlight. I open my mouth to cry out, but before I can, Mirelle leans gracefully to the side, effortlessly dodging the projectile. It sails past her, crashing into the wall behind her with a sharp, shattering sound. Fragments scatter across the floor like fallen stars.

A beat of silence.

Then, Mirelle, without missing a beat, straightens up, brushing an imaginary speck of dust from her sleeve. Her green eyes flick to her mother, unbothered and unimpressed.

"Not very ladylike, Mother," she says dryly, the corners of her mouth quirking up in a subtle, almost cruel smile.

I swear, for a moment, I think Danielle might explode. Her face is so red it’s almost purple, her breath coming in sharp, shallow bursts. Her hands tremble violently at her sides, and for a fleeting second, I wonder if she might strike Mirelle. But instead, she whirls around, her skirts swishing furiously behind her as she storms out of the room, the door slamming shut with a deafening thud.

The tension in the room dissipates like a storm finally passing as Concubine Danielle storms out, her sharp footsteps echoing down the hall. The weight that had pressed down on my chest eases, and I let out a breath I hadn’t realized I was holding.

"Good riddance," Mirelle mutters, slumping into her chair in the most unladylike position imaginable—legs sprawled out, one arm draped over the back of the chair, her head tilted back in defiance. It’s a position that would have sent Danielle into a fit if she’d seen it, and I can’t help but chuckle softly.

"Don’t say that, Your Highness," I chide gently, finally allowing myself to move. My legs feel stiff from standing so long, and the exhaustion that clings to me feels heavier than usual. I cross the room and settle into the chair beside Mirelle, my hands instinctively reaching out to massage her tense shoulders. She’s always carried too much weight for someone so young.

"She’s so annoying," Mirelle huffs, closing her eyes as my fingers work through the knots in her muscles. "I hate her so much. It’s always ’marriage this, marriage that.’ I’m just a piece of expensive furniture to her."

I don’t say anything because... well, she’s right. Mirelle’s words are sharp, but they cut with truth. Danielle has never seen Mirelle as anything more than a pawn to be positioned in the endless game of court politics. There was a time when Mirelle tried—oh, how she tried—to earn her mother’s love and approval. She danced when Danielle asked her to dance, stitched every perfect flower into pristine linens, and smiled through every lesson on etiquette, hoping that maybe... just maybe... Danielle would say, I’m proud of you.

But Danielle never did. And now, Mirelle doesn’t care anymore. Or at least, that’s what she tells herself.

Eventually, Mirelle leans over, resting her head on my lap with a soft sigh. My fingers instinctively thread through her long raven hair, smoothing the strands as I’ve done since she was a little girl. Her breathing slows, and for a moment, the tension leaves her body, replaced by a fleeting sense of peace.

"You’re a big girl now, Your Highness," I whisper softly, though I don’t mean anything by it. Just a passing thought.

"Nope," Mirelle mumbles stubbornly. "I’ll always be your baby, Joan."

A smile tugs at my lips, and I lean down to press a soft kiss to the top of her head. She’s right. She’ll always be my baby.

But the moment shatters with a loud, jarring slam. The doors to the sitting room burst open, and Mirelle bolts upright, her body stiff with sudden alertness. My heart leaps into my throat as I turn to see Danielle standing in the doorway, her expression cold and unreadable.

Before I can ask what’s going on, she steps aside, motioning for someone behind her to enter.

"Come in," Danielle says curtly.

A group of four women enters the room, their faces expressionless, their posture rigid. Something about them sets me on edge immediately. Mirelle narrows her eyes, her instincts flaring just as quickly.

"What’s going on?" Mirelle demands, her voice sharp with suspicion.

The women don’t answer. They simply move toward her with practiced precision. Mirelle, quick and fierce, jumps to her feet, backing away. But it’s too late. They grab her, their hands rough despite their delicate appearances. Mirelle struggles, thrashing against their hold. freēwēbnovel.com

"What the hell are you doing? Let me go!" Mirelle screams, her voice rising in panic as she fights them.

"I have to check that you haven’t... ruined yourself," Danielle says coolly, her tone devoid of emotion.

My heart stops.

No. No, no, no.

"You can’t do this, Your Highness," I plead, rushing forward and falling to my knees before Danielle. Desperation claws at my chest, tightening like a vice. "Please, I beg you, don’t do this. It will ruin her."

Danielle looks down at me with thinly veiled disgust, as though my very existence offends her. "What is this?" she sneers. "Pathetic."

"Please," I whisper, clutching at the hem of her gown, but she kicks me away with a sharp jerk of her leg. Pain shoots through my side where her foot connects, but it’s nothing compared to the anguish tearing through me as I hear Mirelle’s screams.

"Let me go! LET ME GO!" Mirelle cries out, her voice raw with fear and fury.

I close my eyes tightly, wanting to shut out the world. Wanting to burn this memory from my mind. But the sounds—the struggling, the muffled sobs—won’t let me.

The minutes crawl by like hours. Each second feels like a lifetime, each scream like a knife to my heart. And then, finally, silence. The kind of silence that breaks you, that tells you something irreparable has just happened.

I open my eyes to see Mirelle trembling, silent sobs wracking her body. Her green eyes, usually so full of fire, are now glassy and hollow.

"Thank God," Danielle breathes, brushing off her skirts as if this were merely an inconvenience. "At least you still have your purity."

Mirelle’s head snaps up, her eyes narrowing with a sharpness that cuts through the room like a blade.

"At least I still have my fucking purity?" she spits, her voice venomous. "You just violated me, and that’s what you care about?"

The betrayal in her voice is palpable, a deep, raw wound that has been slashed open for all to see. Her hands curl into fists at her sides, and I can see it—the exact moment something inside her breaks. The spark of innocence that once flickered within her is extinguished, leaving behind a hollow shell of rage and bitterness.

Danielle, either oblivious or uncaring, shrugs. "Well, I wouldn’t have had to go to such drastic lengths if you gave me a reason to trust you."

Mirelle’s body goes rigid. Her voice, when it comes, is low and steady, but it crackles with barely restrained fury.

"Leave."

Danielle raises an eyebrow, unmoved.

"I said fucking leave!" Mirelle screams, her voice shaking the very walls. The women with Danielle flinch, but the concubine simply turns on her heel and strides out, the others following closely behind her. The door clicks shut behind them, leaving a deafening silence in their wake.

For a moment, neither of us moves. And then Mirelle crumbles, her legs giving out beneath her. I rush to her side, falling to my knees as I gather her into my arms. She clings to me tightly, her sobs muffled against my shoulder, her small frame trembling violently.

I hold her close, rocking her gently as if she’s that little girl once more, the one who climbed trees and laughed too loudly. My heart breaks for her, for the pain she should never have known.

"I’m here," I whisper, pressing my lips to her templ

e. "I’ve got you. I’m here."

And she holds me tighter, as if I’m the only thing keeping her from falling apart completely.