Fallen General's Omega (BL)-Chapter 188: Carlton and Celia

After leaving the store, we find ourselves seated in a charming tea and dessert shop tucked away in one of Vitra’s bustling alleys. The scent of fresh pastries and brewed tea fills the air, and the lively chatter of other patrons creates a cozy backdrop.

I take a delicate bite of the cake in front of me, savoring the soft sponge and rich cream. It’s divine, easily one of the best desserts I’ve ever had. Yet, as much as I enjoy the indulgence, my thoughts drift back to Thorne and Mimi. The sweetness of the cake doesn’t compare to the warmth of holding my daughter or the way Thorne’s eyes light up when he sees me.

Opposite me, Jane and Celia are caught up in their conversation, the two of them far too at ease. Jane leans back in her chair, her plate empty save for a few crumbs, while Celia sips her tea with an air of elegance that seems effortless.

"Thank you for this," Jane says to Celia, breaking the comfortable silence. "Callan’s been suffocating me lately—being overprotective and all." She rolls her eyes, though her tone carries a hint of affection.

Celia chuckles, her laughter soft and melodic. "He’s just like his father. When I was pregnant with the twins, he wouldn’t even let me take a single step down the stairs without hovering like a worried hen."

They laugh together, their bond apparent. It’s a sweet moment, but as I listen, a pang of sadness wells up in my chest. I didn’t have Thorne with me during my pregnancy. I didn’t have his hands on my shoulders, guiding me gently, or his voice reassuring me when I felt uncertain. That time in my life had been so lonely, and while I wouldn’t change the outcome—because it gave me Mimi—I still feel the ache of what was missing.

I glance down at my half-eaten cake, my appetite suddenly diminished. If I ever get pregnant again—and I hope I do—things will be different. Thorne will be there every step of the way. He’ll hold my hand during the sleepless nights and fuss over every little thing. The thought brings a bittersweet smile to my face.

Needing to shake the melancholy, I clear my throat and decide to steer the conversation. "How did you and the Duke meet?" I ask Celia, genuinely curious.

Celia’s lips curve into a soft smile, her blue eyes sparkling in a way that feels so familiar. It’s the same warmth I see in Thorne when he looks at me. She sets her teacup down gently, as though savoring the memory she’s about to share. freeweɓnovel.cøm

"Oh, it’s a bit of a long story," she says, folding her hands in her lap.

***~

Seventeen years ago, in the city of Aspen, a lone carriage rumbled to a halt in the midst of the notorious Red Lantern District. The area reeked of decay—clouds of smoke rose from makeshift fires, the sharp tang of liquor and unwashed bodies filled the air, and shouts from drunken brawls echoed down the narrow streets. Yet, amidst the squalor, one building stood in stark contrast to its grim surroundings. A luxurious establishment with golden lamps illuminating its façade, it exuded opulence and exclusivity, drawing the attention of even the most jaded travelers.

The carriage door opened, and out stepped a striking man who seemed out of place in such an environment. His presence was commanding—his tall frame draped in an impeccably tailored coat, his tawny brown skin glowing in the warm light of the street lamps. His hair, white as freshly fallen snow, fell in soft waves around his sharp features. But it was his eyes, bright and silver-gray, that drew attention, carrying both the weight of grief and the resolve of someone who refused to be bowed by it.

This was Carlton Remiro, heir to the prestigious Remiro Duchy of Vitra. He was a man burdened by sorrow, having recently buried his wife, the love of his life. For months, Carlton had wandered from city to city, leaving the polished halls of his family estate behind in search of solace or perhaps distraction. He had no desire to inherit his father’s title yet, though the old Duke’s frailty loomed as an undeniable reminder that his time as heir was nearing its end. Tonight, in the heart of Aspen’s decadence, Carlton sought a reprieve—not in the arms of another, but in the simplicity of a good drink and a moment’s peace.

He tossed a coin to the carriage driver without a word and entered the establishment. Inside, the contrast to the streets outside was even starker. The air was thick with perfume and the soft murmur of indulgent conversation. Ornately dressed women moved through the space like living art, their laughter like the chime of silver bells. Their eyes gleamed with hunger as they noticed Carlton, their steps quickening as they sought to catch his attention.

But Carlton remained unmoved, brushing past their advances with a disinterested air. One particularly bold woman pressed herself into his path, the plunging neckline of her dress leaving little to the imagination. Carlton’s gray eyes flickered to hers, a polite but distant smile tugging at his lips as he stepped neatly around her and continued on his way.

He’d been told this place had the finest drinks in all of Aspen, and for now, that was all he wanted.

The bar was crowded, the din of voices loud and vibrant. Carlton ordered a glass of their most expensive whiskey, the amber liquid poured into a crystal glass with practiced precision. He held the glass in his hand as he surveyed the room, his sharp gaze taking in every detail. It was lively, yes, but nothing about it truly captivated him.

His curiosity led him further into the building, to a grand staircase guarded by two imposing figures. When one of them raised a hand to stop his ascent, Carlton’s response was wordless: a coin slipped between his fingers into the guard’s palm. The glint of gold was all the persuasion needed. The guards stepped aside, allowing him to climb the stairs.

The atmosphere shifted as he ascended. The air felt lighter, tinged with notes of jasmine and sandalwood. The women here were even more beautiful, their attire more refined, their movements more graceful. Yet, even among them, Carlton found himself unimpressed. Compared to the beauties of Vitra, these women, while stunning, lacked the spark that could ensnare a man’s soul.

He eventually found an empty seat near the balcony overlooking the grand hall below. Reclining with his drink in hand, he allowed the burn of whiskey to soothe the ache in his chest. For thirty minutes, he sat alone, brushing off the attentions of those who approached him. His mind wandered, skimming the edges of memories he wasn’t yet ready to face.

Then, a sudden ripple of excitement coursed through the room. Conversations hushed, and heads turned toward the staircase. Curious, Carlton followed their gaze.

And that’s when he saw her.

Descending the grand staircase was a woman unlike any he had ever seen. She wore a flowing blue gown that clung to her figure like a second skin, the fabric shimmering like moonlight on water. Her hair, as black as a raven’s wing, cascaded down her back in glossy waves, swaying gently with each step she took. Her features were delicate yet arresting—high cheekbones, a small nose, and lips painted a rich red.

But it was her eyes that held him captive. Dark blue and fathomless, they seemed to hold a world of secrets, and yet they revealed nothing.

As she reached the bottom of the stairs, music began to play, and she moved to the center of the room. Her movements were precise, almost mechanical, yet breathtakingly graceful. She danced like a porcelain doll brought to life, her face devoid of emotion, her body bending and twirling with perfect control.

Carlton couldn’t tear his eyes away. She was art, beauty incarnate. For the first time in months, he felt the sharp pang of desire—not just for her body but for the mystery she carried. He wanted to unravel her, to know what lay behind that emotionless mask.

A servant appeared at his side, drawn by the sharp motion of his raised hand. "How much for her?" Carlton asked, his voice low and steady as he gestured toward the dancer who had stolen his breath.

The servant blinked, clearly startled by his boldness. "Oh, sir... That is Celia. She’s not like the others. She’s... special. Extremely pricey."

Carlton’s gaze never left Celia as she moved, her dress fluttering around her like water. "Money is not a problem," he replied with a finality that brooked no argument.

The servant hesitated only a moment before nodding and motioning for him to follow. Carlton rose, his heartbeat quickening as he was led toward a private room. Whatever the cost, whatever the outcome, he knew one thing for certain—he would not leave Aspen tonight without claiming the woman who had ignited his soul.