Fallen General's Omega (BL)-Chapter 266: Cooperation

Thorne POV

My beloved star looks up at me, those brilliant green eyes locking onto mine. There’s something in that gaze—something warm, deep, unwavering. That quiet look that says I’m his whole world, and it’s so casual, so unguarded, it hits me like a punch to the chest.

"Hey," I say softly, and the word feels small, inadequate.

But it makes him smile anyway.

Just past him, our little terror is still crouched beside the long pond, tossing petals into the water and watching the lily pads tremble.

"Hey, little tyrant," I say, stepping closer.

She glances at me over her shoulder, her expression utterly unimpressed. Her bright blue eyes, so like mine, flick away just as quickly, bored.

The betrayal stings.

I give Noelle a look—deeply wounded, theatrically betrayed.

"Did you see that?" I ask. "She looked me in the eye and dismissed me. Like I’m just the help."

Noelle chuckles, brushing a strand of hair behind his ear. "I didn’t see anything."

"Traitor," I mutter under my breath, loud enough for him to hear.

And because I’m petty—and because she’s too small to stop me—I swoop in and lift MiMi from her crouched position. She squeals, not in protest, but in delight. A second later, her tiny hands find their usual target: my hair. She grabs two firm fistfuls with practiced ease, tugging as if it were reins.

I wince. "And we’re back to this, I see."

"She thinks you’re a horse," Noelle says, sounding far too pleased with himself.

"She’s three," I protest.

"She’s supposed to adore me unconditionally."

"She’s lucky she’s cute," I grumble, shifting her onto my shoulders properly. She settles there like a queen taking her throne, high and mighty.

I give Noelle a side glance. He’s still seated by the pond, his legs tucked beneath him, his back straight. The sunlight filters in through the greenhouse glass, lighting up his raven-black hair like ink under gold. And the way the lilies bloom just a little brighter where he sits?

I’ve stopped questioning it.

He’s the center of this world. Mine, at least.

Always has been.

I adjust MiMi’s grip so I won’t go bald before thirty-five, and lean down slightly, offering Noelle a hand.

"Walk with me, beloved?"

*

Maggie’s arms are already full with twin toddlers clinging to her skirts, one trying to shove a wooden spoon up the other’s nose. Her eldest is perched on the porch behind her, nibbling on a biscuit with the tired expression of someone who’s already given up for the day, despite it barely being noon.

"Please, Maggie?" Noelle’s voice dips into that soft, velvety tone. The one laced with just enough vulnerability to make even the grumpiest of people melt.

It works every time.

I watch as Maggie stiffens—just for a second. She tries. Genuinely tries to resist. But then she exhales sharply, like a woman accepting her fate.

"I already have five children," she mutters, narrowing her eyes at Noelle. "What’s one more."

Her arms open like a seasoned veteran, and without skipping a beat, Noelle places MiMi into them. Our daughter doesn’t resist. She looks up at Maggie with those big blue eyes and then casually rests her cheek on Maggie’s shoulder, completely unbothered.

Wow. Look at her. Favoritism.

"Hey there, little one," Maggie says softly, already swaying instinctively on her feet.

Then she turns her sharp gaze on me. Her eyes narrow like she’s aiming a loaded crossbow.

"Don’t you go making another child. There’s enough children running around these parts."

I freeze like she’s caught me red-handed. I wasn’t even planning anything—yet.

I raise my hands slowly, palms out. "I didn’t say anything."

"Exactly," she snaps. "That’s what makes me nervous."

Noelle snorts beside me, but quickly covers it with a cough.

"Maggie!" he scolds gently, trying to look appalled while failing miserably.

"Don’t give me that tone, Your Grace," she says flatly, bouncing MiMi on her hip.

"You’re just as bad. Worse, even. You’re the one who always starts it."

Noelle turns a very convincing shade of pink and shoots me a glare, like it’s somehow my fault.

I grin.

Before Maggie can deliver another verbal smackdown, Noelle grabs my wrist and starts dragging me away like a mother separating two bickering children.

"Say thank you to Maggie," he hisses at me under his breath.

"Not making any promises!" I call over my shoulder, half-laughing, half-serious.

"Thorne!" Noelle glares at me as we round the corner, but the corners of his lips are twitching.

"What?" I say innocently, even as I lean in to kiss the top of his head.

Then I lean in closer, letting my lips ghost over the curve of his ear as I whisper.

"Do you know that if we walk west into the woods just before the cliff, there’s a hill with a beautiful view of the island, and a couple of large stones that can hide us from prying eyes..."

My voice drops to a more wicked tone on the last few words.

Noelle stiffens, his entire body reacting before he even speaks, and I can already hear the scandalized tone in his voice before it comes out.

"Outside? Thorne." He whisper-yells, his head snapping toward me as if someone might be hiding in the flowers nearby, listening in on our conversation.

I raise an eyebrow at his dramatics, the corners of my mouth twitching.

"Don’t act so scandalized as if we didn’t spend our wedding night in the great outdoors, or should I remind you a couple of months ago I was taken advantage of not once, not twice, but multiple times in these same woods by a very pregnant omega."

I say it low and pointedly, watching as his face heats, his gaze darting away as if the memory itself was a physical sensation crawling up his spine.

He looks away, and I press just a little more.

"So?"

I ask, my tone casual, though I slide my hand slowly down the side of his waist, fingers brushing along the soft fabric of his shirt. His body tenses just slightly, not in discomfort—but anticipation.

He bites his lip.

And it’s mean, really, because he knows exactly what that does to me. I watch the way his teeth tug gently at the soft pink of his bottom lip and feel something hot spark low in my chest.

Which is why I tug him closer by the waist, until there’s barely space between us. My eyes don’t leave his. I can feel the warmth of him, the familiar pull, the comfort and temptation all mixed together.

"So?" I ask again, more softly this time, letting the question hang in the air between us.

His eyes flick up to meet mine, lips still pressed together in a line of faux reluctance. For a second, he tries to resist it. Tries to hold onto that air of propriety he clings to in public. But it’s a lost cause.

"Okay." He says.

The word is soft.

Surrendering.

And it feels like a win.

A beautiful, intimate, ridiculous win.

I smile, wide and satisfied, and without another word, I lean in and peck his lips, a brief, heated reward for his cooperation.