The Omega Who Wasn't Supposed to Exist-Chapter 62: An Electrifying Storm of Power, Pain, and Pregnant Fury

Chapter 62: An Electrifying Storm of Power, Pain, and Pregnant Fury

[Imperial Palace – Council Room / After the Shatter]

"I feel like..." Lucien’s voice wavered, thick with unshed tears. "I feel like I’m just a person carrying your child, Silas. Not your love. Not your husband. Not your partner. Not the person you fight beside."

His words lingered like a curse.

Sharp. Echoing. Final.

The silence that followed was heavy enough to bend time. Even the flames in the hearth seemed to shrink. Lucien turned away, one hand protectively cradling his belly, the other clenched tightly by his side. He didn’t look at anyone. Not Silas. Not Adrien. Not Elise.

And Silas...

Silas stood frozen.

"My love..." he finally said, voice cracking under the weight of regret. "Let’s talk. Please. Let’s go back home and—"

Lucien turned his head sharply, his voice slicing through the room like a blade: "NO."

Silas blinked. "What... what do you mean, no?"

Lucien slowly turned back, eyes red, face pale, voice steady—but stripped of softness. "I said I’m not going back. Not to the Rynthall estate. Not with you."

The words struck Silas like a blow to the chest. He stepped forward instinctively, reaching out—but Lucien stepped back just as quickly, gaze flaring with warning.

Silas froze. And for the first time... truly looked into Lucien’s eyes.

There was no dramatic wailing. No violent tears.

Just pain.

Raw. Quiet. Terrifyingly still.

"Lucien..." Silas whispered. "What are you saying?"

Lucien took a breath—slow, shaking, like it hurt to even pull in air. "I’m saying I can’t go back to a place where I’m only the vessel of your child. Where I’m protected like a porcelain doll...but never trusted enough to be told the truth."

Silas’s voice dropped. Desperate. "I thought I was protecting you. I swear, I—"

"This child," Lucien said, placing a trembling hand over his bump, "needs both of us, Silas. Not one person hiding behind good intentions. Not one person shielding the other with silence."

He looked away, as if the sight of Silas physically hurt. "I would’ve fought beside you, Silas. I still would have. But you didn’t give me that choice."

Silas’s heart thudded in his chest, uneven and panicked. "Lucien, please..."

But Lucien didn’t answer him. Instead, he turned to Seraphina. Quietly. Cautiously.

"Can I... stay with you? Just until..."

He didn’t finish the sentence. He didn’t need to.

Seraphina didn’t hesitate. She walked up to him and gently took his hand.

"Of course you can," she said, voice warm but furious underneath. "You’re my brother. You’re always welcome."

Lucien’s shoulders dropped just a little, like some of the unbearable weight had been lifted. He gave a small, grateful nod.

Seraphina then turned to Silas. Her expression was carved from marble.

"If you truly want to protect him..." she said coldly, "start by realizing what you did."

And with that, she guided Lucien out of the room—one hand clasped firmly in his, the other on his back like a shield.

They didn’t look back.

Not once.

And Silas?

He stood there in the council chamber—silent, trembling, and completely alone.

And for the first time... He knew he’d failed.

Not by loving too little.

But by hiding too much.

***

[Imperial Carriage—Later]

The door of the carriage shut with a final thunk, muffled slightly by the velvet-lined interior. Lucien settled into the seat nearest the window, his fingers clenched so tightly over his belly.

Seraphina climbed in behind him, her face taut with concern, her eyes flicking toward her brother every few seconds as though bracing for another explosion.

Outside, the late sun dipped behind the palace towers, casting long, gold-drenched shadows across the cobblestones.

The carriage driver turned. "Destination, Lady Duclair?"

Seraphina opened her mouth to respond, "To Duclair Esta..."

But before the words could leave her lips, Lucien spoke first. Sharp. Cold. Absolutely.

"NO."

Seraphina froze, her brow immediately creasing.

She turned slowly to face him. "No?"

Lucien’s gaze remained locked on the passing horizon outside the window. His voice was calm—but that kind of calm that rides just above a wildfire.

"We’re not going to the Duclair Estate."

Seraphina’s frown deepened. "Lucien—where are we going?"

His head turned then. Slowly. Deliberately. And when his eyes met hers, they burned.

"To the Holy Temple."

The words hit her like ice water. "What?"

Lucien didn’t flinch. Didn’t blink. "I need to see him. I need to see that sanctimonious snake in robes with my own eyes. I want to look into the face of the man who thinks he has the right to take my child. My baby. From me."

Seraphina sat there, frozen in place. Half of her wanted to scream. The other half wanted to throw herself in front of the carriage.

But the look on Lucien’s face—fury painted over heartbreak, resolve forged from betrayal—told her one thing.

She couldn’t stop him.

She shouldn’t stop him.

So instead, she exhaled sharply and turned to the palace maid who stood by the carriage door, waiting to see them off.

"You," she said, voice low but urgent. "Run to the Empress. Tell her we need imperial knights—now. As many as she’s willing to spare."

The maid bowed hastily, but Seraphina caught her wrist before she could dart off. "And one more thing... Inform Grand Duke Silas that his husband is riding to the Holy Temple."

The maid’s eyes widened.

Even she knew what that meant. With a breathless nod, she turned and bolted, her footsteps echoing across the marble courtyard.

Inside the carriage, Lucien sat stiffly, arms crossed over his stomach. The wind had picked up outside, tugging at the tassels of the royal banners. The air buzzed with something electric—like the calm before a divine storm.

Seraphina glanced sideways at him. "You know this isn’t going to be a polite visit."

Lucien’s jaw clenched.

"It’s not meant to be."

***

It didn’t take long.

Too short, actually.

Within minutes, the thundering of hooves filled the palace entrance. Seraphina leaned out the window, expecting perhaps four or five knights. Six, because they’re imperial knights.

Instead—dozens.

Polished armor. Blue cloaks bearing the royal seal. Swords gleaming at their hips. The imperial crest was stamped on every shield. They lined up like a wall of judgment around the carriage, horses snorting, boots hitting stone in synchronized thuds.

Even Lucien blinked.

Seraphina exhaled slowly, half-impressed. "Well... I guess Elise isn’t playing games when it comes to you."

A knight stepped forward and saluted. "By order of Her Majesty, Empress Elise—we are to escort Lord Lucien Rynthall and Lady Seraphina Duclair directly to the Holy Temple. Under full protection."

Lucien gave a nod, tight and sharp. "Then let’s ride." freeweɓnovēl.coɱ

The carriage began to roll—slowly at first, then faster, surrounded by a glittering army of royal knights. As the palace gates opened and the path to the Temple loomed ahead, Seraphina looked at her brother once more.

His hand rested protectively over his belly, his other curled into a fist.

He didn’t speak.

He didn’t have to.

Whatever was about to unfold inside those sacred halls...would shake the heavens. And this time, Lucien wouldn’t be the one who would be trembling.

This time, the gods better pray he shows mercy.

Because Lucien Rynthall was not some weak, delicate omega meant to flinch and falter under pressure.

He was a storm wrapped in silk. A wildfire disguised as nobility. A walking tornado with gold-plated fury in his eyes and a child in his womb.

And when it came to that child—not even the holy order would be spared.

***

[Holy Temple—Later]

The carriage wheels struck the stone steps of the Holy Temple with a sharp, echoing thunk.Outside, the imperial knights dismounted in perfect unison, forming a wall of silver and discipline—not as escorts.

But as a warning.

Inside the marble corridors, temple acolytes peeked from behind columns and tapestries, eyes wide with scandal and fear.

"Is that Lord Lucien? The Rare Male Omega?"

"Why is he here...with knights?"

"What happened?"

"It doesn’t seem like they are here for prayers."

The great temple doors towered ahead—carved with scripture, gold leaf, and divinity itself.

Most who approached them knelt.

Whispered blessings.Bowed in reverence.

Lucien?

He didn’t even blink.

He stepped from the carriage, one hand cradling his bump like a vow, the other brushing down his coat with slow, deliberate grace. His spine was straight. His lips set in stone.

His fury?

Louder than the cathedral bells.

Seraphina followed a breath behind him, her heels striking the marble like thunder before a storm. She paused beside him, her voice low.

"What exactly are you planning to do, Lucien?"

Lucien didn’t turn. His eyes remained fixed on the temple gates, where sermons and secrets lived. And then, with a voice like velvet laced in venom, he said:

"I’m going to drag the god out of that High Priest—even if I have to rip him out with my bare hands."

And with that, Lord Lucien Rynthall—pregnant, furious, unstoppable—marched into the temple like the reckoning they never saw coming.

Because the person in danger is not Lucein...but the High Priest...who messed with the wrong Omega mother.

The source of this c𝐨ntent is freewe(b)nov𝒆l