Fallen General's Omega (BL)-Chapter 253: Tethered

Noelle POV

When Thorne left, he acted normal. Too normal. But I know my husband—every shift in his expression, every subtle change in his breathing, the slight tightness in his shoulders.

He was furious.

I followed, curious, knowing that when Thorne gets like this, something will happen.

And I was right.

By the time I reached him, Veyron was already gasping for breath, dangling in the air like a fish on a hook, Thorne’s hand wrapped around his throat, his strength making it look effortless.

Had I arrived a few moments later, he would have snapped the man’s neck like a twig.

Would that have been such a bad thing? No.

Would it have been satisfying? Absolutely.

But death is too easy.

Thorne doesn’t look at me at first when I step forward. His fingers twitch, his body rigid with the urge to finish the job.

I let out a soft breath, pretending to contemplate something.

Then I speak. "Knock him out."

Thorne hesitates. Just for a second. "Wait—"

Too late.

The dull thud of a fist meeting flesh echoes in the air, and Veyron crumples like a broken doll.

I glance at Thorne, raising an eyebrow. He doesn’t argue, but I can see the reluctance in his eyes. He wants this man dead.

So do I.

But I have my own plans.

"Do we have a room?" I ask smoothly.

Thorne’s expression hardens. He knows me well enough to sense that I’m up to something, but he also knows better than to question it right now.

After a pause, he exhales sharply and nods. "Yes."

"Good. Also, call for Felix." I turn away, already walking, my mind moving a thousand miles ahead.

I don’t need to look back to know that Thorne is staring at me, torn between curiosity and concern.

It doesn’t matter.

Because Veyron’s suffering is just beginning.

*

The room is dimly lit, the air thick with the scent of herbs and potions as Felix moves about, mixing concoctions with practiced precision.

Thorne wanted to be here, of course.

I chased him out.

This is my moment. My vengeance.

Veyron lies unconscious on the bed, his chest rising and falling steadily, completely unaware of what’s to come. I take a seat beside the bed, crossing my legs, watching with a detached sort of interest.

"How strong do you want it?" Felix asks without looking up, his fingers working swiftly to grind a handful of dried leaves into a fine powder.

"Strong enough that he’ll won’t be coherent," I say simply.

Felix hums. "That can be arranged."

Duke Veyron—the mighty Duke Veyron. A man feared across the continent, a noble with a reputation so vile that entire families have been destroyed in his wake.

The reports were damning.

Over twenty known illegitimate children, with an unknown number of others scattered across different territories. His tastes were revolting—young omegas, naive, desperate for guidance. He loved the thrill of the chase, the deception, the power imbalance.

When seduction wasn’t enough, he simply took.

How many lives have been ruined? How many families destroyed? How many omegas left broken in his wake?

If he were a lesser man, one without status or title, he would have been executed years ago.

Instead, he flourished.

Because men like him always do.

Until now.

*

I can feel Thorne’s gaze on me, heavy with questions he wants to ask but knows better than to voice out loud.

I don’t open my eyes.

Instead, I lean further into the warmth of the water, letting the steam curl around my skin as I settle deeper into the wooden tub.

The scent of lavender and herbs lingers in the air, the faint crackle of the fire nearby adding to the stillness of the moment.

I know exactly what’s coming.

"My beloved s—"

"Drop it, Thorne." My voice is quiet but firm, leaving no room for argument.

Silence.

I can hear the way his jaw clenches, the way he wants to push, to question, to demand why I did what I did.

But he doesn’t.

Eventually, he sighs, the sound barely audible over the soft lapping of water against the tub.

A moment later, I feel his presence shift, the warmth of his body close to mine, and then—

His hands.

Familiar, steady, strong hands sliding through my damp hair, gathering the strands with a tenderness that contrasts sharply against the ruthless man who nearly snapped Veyron’s neck earlier.

I close my eyes.

His fingers work through the knots with slow, careful movements, massaging my scalp with a touch that is both soothing and intimate.

Despite everything—despite his frustration, despite his lingering anger—I feel no hesitation in the way he touches me.

He is always gentle with me.

"Your hair has gotten longer," he murmurs, voice softer now, as if the simple act of washing my hair has pulled him away from his earlier thoughts.

"Has it?" I ask lazily, not really caring about the answer.

I feel him nod against the back of my head. "Mmm. It’s beautiful."

I hum in response, allowing the warmth of his touch to lull me into a state of near drowsiness.

For a while, we stay like this.

Him washing my hair.

Me letting him.

The water ripples as he scoops some up, gently pouring it over my head, his fingers threading through the strands to rinse them clean. His touch is deliberate, like he’s memorizing the feel of me beneath his fingertips.

I let out a slow breath.

Moments like this remind me why I love him so much.

Thorne is not a man of subtlety. He loves me loudly—through his actions, through his unyielding devotion.

And this—this is one of the many ways he shows it.

A silent promise in the way he holds me.

A wordless vow in the way he cares for me.

When my hair is clean, I feel his lips press lightly against the top of my head.

"Done, my star."

His voice is softer now, almost hesitant, as if he’s waiting to see if I’ll let him in.

If I’ll talk.

If I’ll tell him why I made sure Veyron wouldn’t die.

I don’t.

Instead, I lift my hand, blindly reaching for his wrist, and tug him forward.

His breath hitches slightly as I pull him into the tub with me, water splashing over the edges as his arms instinctively wrap around me, pressing my back against his chest.

"Stay," I murmur, resting my head against him.

His arms tighten around me, holding me like I’m the only thing keeping him tethered to this world.

"Always."

And just like that, the tension in his body eases.