Fallen General's Omega (BL)-Chapter 230: A glimpse of the past 4

I don’t like him.

The thought gnaws at me every time I see him. He’s handsome, yes—too handsome, with that charming smile and honeyed voice that could make anyone swoon. But there’s something behind those sharp eyes, something slick and cold that reminds me of a snake coiled and waiting to strike. freewebnøvel.com

And my sweet little girl—my Mirelle—has fallen for his lies.

It’s too easy to see why. Growing up with a mother like Danielle, who only saw her as a pawn, and a father—the king—who barely spared her a glance, the only true affection Mirelle ever knew came from me and her brother. But Adrian’s love, as much as Mirelle cherishes it, has always been possessive, controlling, a tether more than a comfort.

So when he appeared, an Alpha with a charming smile and soft words, promising her the world, how could she resist?

I see it every day. The way she lights up when he enters the room, the way she practically jumps from her seat to greet him, her laughter bubbling up so easily when he whispers something to her. It twists my heart into knots. She’s an Omega, and he’s the first Alpha to show her genuine attention.

Or what she believes to be genuine.

I tried to warn her. I did. I pulled her aside, told her my concerns, begged her to be careful. But she wouldn’t hear it. She brushed me off with a laugh, waving me away like I was being overprotective. "You worry too much, Joan," she said, her eyes sparkling with excitement. "He’s not like the others."

But I know better. I made it my business to know better.

I dug into his past, asked the right people the right questions. What I found... unsettled me. Whispers of mistreated lovers, Omegas left brokenhearted or worse. There were no concrete details, nothing I could place before Mirelle like evidence, but there was enough. Enough to know that he is dangerous in ways she cannot see yet.

I close my eyes for a moment, trying to push away the anxiety clawing at my chest. But when I open them again, the sight before me makes my heart ache even more.

There he is, standing tall and confident, holding out a delicate bouquet of flowers. And there’s Mirelle—my Mirelle—her cheeks flushing a soft pink as she accepts them with a shy smile, her green eyes shimmering with joy.

It’s a look I haven’t seen on her face in so long.

I’m torn.

On one hand, my heart swells at the sight of her so genuinely happy, so full of life. She deserves happiness more than anyone. She deserves love, tenderness, and care after everything this cold, unfeeling court has put her through.

But on the other hand... I’m terrified.

Terrified of what will happen when the bubble bursts.

Because it will.

And when it does, I don’t know if I’ll be able to pick up the pieces of her shattered heart.

***

The sharp knock at my door jolts me from sleep. My heart races as I sit up, blinking into the dim glow of the bedside lantern. A young servant girl stands at the doorway, wringing her hands.

"Lady Joan! Lady Joan, wake up! The princess is asking for you!"

Fear grips me instantly. Mirelle never calls for me in the middle of the night unless something is wrong.

I throw on a robe and rush through the corridors toward her chambers, the cold marble floors biting against my feet. The hallways are eerily quiet, save for the frantic pounding of my heart.

When I enter her room, the metallic tang of vomit hits me immediately. Mirelle is hunched over the side of her bed, retching violently into a porcelain basin. Her dark hair hangs in tangled strands over her face, her body convulsing with every heave.

Without a word, I rush to her side, pulling her hair back with one hand and rubbing her trembling back with the other. Her skin is clammy beneath my fingers, her breath shallow.

"Call for a physician!" I bark at the servants hovering near the door.

"No! No!" Mirelle gasps, her voice hoarse with desperation. She grips my wrist with surprising strength. Her eyes—wide, haunted—plead with me.

I hesitate, then nod. "Leave us," I order the servants. They file out without question, closing the door softly behind them.

For a long moment, the only sounds in the room are her labored breaths and the distant crackle of the fireplace.

I move to prepare a bath, knowing how much she loves the water when she’s sick or overwhelmed. My hands tremble as I mix herbs into the steaming water—lavender for calming, chamomile for soothing. I help her to her feet, carefully unfastening the corset that constricts her ribs. I’ve never understood how she endures these layers of silk and bone.

The dress slides from her shoulders, pooling at her feet, and I freeze.

Her skin—pale and delicate—is marred with bruises. Deep, ugly splotches of blue, black, and sickly green stretch across her arms, ribs, and thighs. Some are old, faintly yellowed at the edges, but others are fresh. Finger-shaped impressions encircle her wrists, and there’s a large, swollen bruise near her collarbone.

My vision blurs with rage. I want to scream, to tear through the palace and rip Duke Veyron apart with my bare hands. My sweet girl, my mischievous, tree-climbing, book-loving Mirelle—reduced to this.

But I don’t scream. I breathe. I swallow my fury and help her into the bath, watching as her body relaxes into the warm water. Her eyes flutter shut when I run a comb through her tangled hair and massage oil into her bruised skin. The tension slowly drains from her shoulders, and for a moment, I dare to hope that she’ll find some peace tonight.

That hope dies when the door slams open with a deafening crack.

"Mirelle!"

Prince Adrian’s voice shatters the fragile calm like a blade.

I rise immediately. "I’ll ask him to leave," I say, already moving.

"No," Mirelle whispers, voice thin and exhausted. "I need to speak to my brother."

I help her out of the bath and wrap her in a robe. She stands on shaky legs, her face pale but determined. Together, we step into the sitting room where Adrian paces like a caged predator. The room is dimly lit, the fire casting shadows across his face.

The moment he sees us, his eyes narrow. His jaw tightens with poorly concealed anger.

"What the fuck, Mirelle? Why are you here?" he snaps. His voice is sharp, unyielding.

Mirelle stiffens beside me. "Am I not allowed to be here?" she asks coolly. "Last I checked, I haven’t been married off yet."

"Don’t act smart with me." He runs a hand through his raven-black hair, his expression darkening. "Veyron sent word about you."

Mirelle scoffs. The sound is brittle, sharp. "Did he also tell you that he has children? Not one or two, but several?"

Adrian’s lips twist into a mocking smile. "Is that it? Mirelle, he’s a duke and an Alpha. It’s only natural."

"Natural?" Mirelle’s voice rises, her composure cracking. "He lied to me. He told me I was the first, that he wanted a family with me. I believed him because you introduced him to me."

Adrian sighs and rubs his temples. "Gods, Mirelle. Spare me your fantasy nonsense about true love and mates. You’re not a child anymore."

Mirelle flinches as if struck. "I knew it was far-fetched," she says, voice trembling. "But he made me believe. And you... you let me believe. You listened to me go on about him, watched me blush and laugh while you knew the truth. Was it funny? Did you enjoy watching me play the fool?"

I hold my breath, praying Adrian will apologize, will say something—anything—to soften the blow.

But he doesn’t. His gaze shifts to the floor. He can’t even look her in the eye.

Mirelle’s face crumples. She takes a step forward and grabs him by the collar. "He’s a horrible person, but you—" her voice breaks, "you’re my brother. I expected this from Mother, but not you. I trusted you. I loved you."

Adrian jerks free of her grip and scowls. "What did you want me to do? Tell you the truth? Please, Mirelle, grow up."

Her mouth falls open. "Did you also know how he hurts his partners? The things he does to Omegas?"

He doesn’t answer. His silence is damning.

Mirelle staggers back as though he’s struck her. "I hate you," she whispers. "I hate you so much. I’m not your sister anymore. I don’t belong to you. I’m not on your side." Her voice cracks. "I wish you would just die."

Adrian’s eyes go cold. "Is it really so hard to endure? Just a few years until I get the throne. I’ll bring you back here when I’m king, and you’ll live in the palace like a proper princess."

Mirelle lets out a hollow laugh. "I’d rather die in Veyron’s hands than live under your roof again."

"Ha!" He shakes his head. "Big words. But you belong to me, Mirelle. It’s the only reason you’re alive."

Mirelle draws herself up, shoulders squared despite the tremble in her limbs. "I don’t. I’m my own person. Now get out."

"We’ll talk again when you’ve cooled down."

The door slams behind him, rattling the walls. Mirelle’s composure collapses. She crumples into my arms, sobbing, screaming into my chest like a wounded child.

And I hold her. Because it’s the only thing I can do.