Shadow Unit Scandal: The Commander's Omega-Chapter 113: Before dinner

A few hours later, Rafael decided he should probably stop treating ’tonight’ like a rumor and actually prepare for dinner.

He stood in the middle of a room that insisted it was a wardrobe, even though it felt more like a curated museum of expensive fabric and Gregoris’s quiet control. Everything was organized with a precision that screamed ’Shadow commander,’ not normal household. Rafael suspected the hangers were aligned by threat level.

He was in his fourth month now - almost eighteen weeks. There was a bump, yes, but it was still the kind that could disappear under the right waistband and a well-chosen shirt. Which meant he could choose anything.

Which meant he couldn’t choose anything.

"Annoying," he muttered, staring at a row of shirts like they’d personally insulted him.

He considered ordering something ’urgent’ from Gloria - something absurdly overpriced, something that would arrive in a garment bag with a dramatic note and enough unnecessary accessories to qualify as a small weapon. He could picture it already: revenge shopping, paid for by Gregoris, as punishment for having brothers, parents, and the audacity to schedule family dinners.

Except Gregoris wasn’t stingy with money. Gregoris would pay it with a blank face and then look smug about it, as if Rafael spending his money was just another way of claiming him.

Rafael groaned and chose violence in a simpler form.

High-waisted black trousers - elegant, structured enough to make him feel like he could still walk into a room and own it, even if his body occasionally remembered it was growing an heir and decided to make him dizzy for fun. The rise sat comfortably above the faint curve of his abdomen, and he tightened the waist detail, a gold chain, with the satisfaction only control could give.

Then followed the white shirt, crisp and high-collared. The front had subtle texture, like embroidery you only noticed when light caught it. The sleeves were slightly sheer, not enough to be indecent, just enough to be unfair - soft fabric that looked delicate while the rest of the silhouette stayed serious enough for a dinner. He tucked it in, smoothed the placket, and added a minimal accessory at the chest - something that looked like it belonged on a runway, not in a dining room with parents who were apparently ’painfully normal.’

He stepped back and studied himself in the mirror.

The bump didn’t show unless you were looking for it. 𝚏𝗿𝗲𝐞𝐰𝚎𝕓𝐧𝚘𝘃𝗲𝐥.𝐜𝚘𝕞

Which meant everyone would look for it.

Rafael narrowed his eyes at his reflection, as if daring the evening to try him.

"Fine," he murmured. "Simple. Elegant. Mildly threatening."

And just as he reached for his cuff, the door opened behind him with the quiet confidence of a man who never knocked in his own house.

Gregoris’s presence filled the room before his voice did.

Rafael didn’t turn. "If you say anything about how I ’look amazing’ I’m locking you in your office."

Gregoris’s tone came warm and amused. "You look amazing."

Rafael closed his eyes, inhaled, and decided - purely for the health of the Empire - that he would not commit a crime tonight.

"I hate you," Rafael said, adjusting his collar anyway.

"I’m starting to think," Gregoris murmured, tone warm and amused, "that this is how you say you love me."

Rafael opened one eye. "It’s how I say you’re unbearable."

"And yet," Gregoris replied, "you’re still here."

Rafael’s gaze flicked back to the mirror and... stopped.

Because Gregoris was behind him now, appearing in the reflection like a threat dressed as a man.

Black suit, sharp shoulders, the cut immaculate with double-breasted vest beneath, buttons catching the light in small, controlled flashes. A crisp white shirt and black tie. Over it all, a long black coat draped like a cape, the lines heavy and elegant, the kind of silhouette that made ’nice dinner’ feel like a court summons.

There were small details too - subtle metal accents near the chest, pins that looked decorative until you realized they were placed with the precision of someone who thought in contingencies.

Rafael stared at the reflection for a beat too long.

Then, because dignity was his religion, he lifted his chin. "You dressed like a funeral."

Gregoris’s eyes met his in the mirror, silver and smug. "It’s a family dinner."

"That’s the same thing," Rafael said.

Gregoris’s mouth curved. "You’re nervous."

"I’m not," Rafael lied, and smoothed his cuff as if he could iron his emotions flat.

Gregoris stepped closer, close enough that Rafael felt him without being touched - heat, scent, that calm predatory presence that made rooms behave. "You look like you’re planning a speech."

"I am planning survival," Rafael corrected. "Your mother is ’painfully normal.’ Your father is ’nice.’ That’s terrifying. I don’t know the rules for nice."

Gregoris hummed, amused. "The rule is simple. Be yourself."

Rafael’s eyes narrowed. "That’s not reassuring."

"It is to me," Gregoris said, and his hands came to Rafael’s waist, possessive, placed there only to drag the omega closer. "Because I like you exactly as you are."

Rafael’s mouth twitched despite himself. "You like me when I’m angry."

"I like you," Gregoris corrected, leaning in so his voice brushed Rafael’s ear, "when you’re mine."

Rafael inhaled, then exhaled slowly, like a man trying not to be affected by his own husband. "I should bake cookies again."

Gregoris’s hands tightened on his waist. "Poisoned?"

Rafael glanced at him in the mirror, eyes bright with innocence that fooled no one. "You don’t like sweets, sweetheart, unless there is poison involved."

Gregoris went still.

"Sweetheart," Gregoris repeated, softly, as if tasting it.

Rafael regretted it immediately on principle. He lifted his chin, trying to look unimpressed. "Don’t."

Gregoris ignored that with the calm confidence of a man who enjoyed consequences. His grip on Rafael’s waist remained firm, but his posture shifted, from smugness to content possessiveness.

"I like sweets," Gregoris said.

Rafael arched a brow. "Liar."

"I like them," Gregoris insisted, and leaned in so his breath warmed Rafael’s ear again, "when you call me sweetheart."

Rafael’s eyes narrowed, cheeks warming in a way he would deny under oath. "That wasn’t..."

"It was," Gregoris murmured.

Rafael swallowed, then attempted recovery with spite. "Fine. I’ll stop calling you that."

Gregoris’s mouth curved, slow and dangerous. "No."

Rafael blinked. "Excuse me?"

Gregoris kissed the side of his neck, then lifted his gaze in the mirror, silver eyes bright with satisfied calm. "You’ll say it again."

Rafael stared at him, offended. "I absolutely won’t."

Gregoris’s expression remained serenely smug. "You will. You’re already thinking about it."

Rafael opened his mouth, then shut it. Because the worst part was that Gregoris was probably right.

He chose violence instead. "If I bake cookies, they’re for your brothers. Not you."

Gregoris’s hands slid slightly, anchoring him more firmly. "If you bake cookies," he said, voice low, "I’ll eat them."

Rafael’s eyes widened. "You hate sweets."

Gregoris’s gaze dipped to Rafael’s mouth again, infuriatingly slow. "I like your hands in my kitchen."

Rafael made a sound of disgust that came out suspiciously like a laugh. "You’re unbearable."

Gregoris didn’t deny it. He simply pressed another kiss, this time the corner of Rafael’s mouth, then murmured, "Call me sweetheart again."

Rafael stared at him in the mirror, pulse annoying and traitorous.

"Absolutely not," Rafael said, voice too cool to be believable.

Gregoris only hummed.