Shadow Unit Scandal: The Commander's Omega-Chapter 126: Still Awake

Gregoris entered the suite quietly, careful not to make a sound, even though he knew Rafael could sleep through storms if needed.

The corridor lamps were turned low, obedient to the hour. Staff were gone from sight, trained well enough to understand that a duke who came home at night did not want questions, greetings, or the sound of someone breathing too loudly in the wrong place.

He slipped through the sitting room, through the short passage, and paused at the wardrobe door long enough to remove his shoes.

Not because he needed to.

Gregoris could move in boots across marble without a sound if he wanted. He’d done it for years. He could cross a battlefield of glass and leave it intact.

But tonight was for Rafael.

So he held the dress shoes in his hand and stepped into their bedroom barefoot, silent as a thought.

The room smelled like sleep that had been attempted and refused.

Rafael was sitting up in bed, pajama loose around his shoulders, hair undone and falling in dark, soft strands that made him look younger than he had any right to. The lamps on the bedside table were dimmed to a warm glow.

He wasn’t reading or working but waiting for his mate to return.

His eyes lifted the moment Gregoris crossed the threshold, and something in Rafael’s posture eased, like his body had been holding a breath and finally decided it was safe to release it.

Gregoris stopped in the doorway, shoes still in hand.

For a beat he only looked at him.

Then his mouth curved into a warm smile that didn’t know how a gala looked.

"Of course," Gregoris murmured, voice low. "You’re awake."

Rafael’s chin lifted a fraction, stubbornness wearing silk like it was armor. "I was sleeping."

Gregoris’s gaze flicked to the unrumpled edge of the pillow beside Rafael and the way the sheets were twisted like they’d been fought with. He hummed, unimpressed.

"Mm."

Rafael’s eyes narrowed. "Don’t do that."

"Do what?"

"That," Rafael said, pointing vaguely at Gregoris’s face, like the existence of amusement was an insult. "You look pleased."

Gregoris stepped inside, closing the door behind him without a sound. He carried his shoes across the room and set them neatly aside, like he had all the time in the world. Then he walked to the bed.

Up close, Rafael looked even more awake than he wanted to admit. His eyes were too sharp. His hands clasped loosely in his lap, like he’d tried to keep them from reaching out and failed the moment Gregoris arrived.

Gregoris’s gaze softened at that.

"You fought with sleep," he said.

Rafael’s lips pressed together. "Sleep is overrated."

Gregoris leaned down and kissed him.

Rafael melted into it, because he always did, because he liked it too much to pretend otherwise. His hands slid up Gregoris’s arms, fingers gripping the fabric of his shirt as if Gregoris might disappear again if Rafael didn’t anchor him to the moment.

When Gregoris pulled back, Rafael followed, chasing the warmth like a stubborn child chasing a closing door.

Gregoris let him.

Then Gregoris exhaled, amused in a way that warmed the room.

"You are incredible," he murmured.

"And you sneaked out to dispose of Mother, didn’t you?" Rafael asked bluntly.

Rafael stared at him for a beat, as if his mind had been bracing for "maybe," for "it went wrong," for "it’s complicated."

But Gregoris had said ’yes.’

Rafael’s shoulders dropped so suddenly it almost looked like surrender. Relief washed through him, loosening something in his chest that had been tight for so long it had started to feel like part of him. His breath left him in a slow exhale he hadn’t known he was holding.

Then the other shoe fell... because Rafael’s mind was sharp even when his heart was exhausted.

He swallowed. "You’re not going to be in trouble for that?"

Gregoris’s expression didn’t change. If anything, he looked faintly amused by the question, like Rafael had asked whether the sun would be fined for rising.

"No," he said.

Rafael’s brows drew together. "That’s not how trouble works."

Gregoris’s thumb traced once over Rafael’s wrist, a small grounding motion. "Delphine had more enemies than you know."

Rafael blinked, then let out a quiet, humorless huff. "I know she had enemies."

"You know the ones who were brave enough to show you," Gregoris corrected, calm. "Not the ones who smiled at her and waited for a moment like this."

Rafael’s gaze dropped briefly, then lifted again, searching Gregoris’s face. "So what happens now?"

Gregoris leaned back slightly, settling against the headboard like he was discussing the weather and not the removal of a social pillar. His voice stayed low so the room could keep its softness.

"It will be blamed on a noble faction," he said, "and not ours."

Rafael’s mouth went flat. "Which faction?"

Gregoris’s lips curved, a small smirk this time. "The one that annoys Damian the most."

Rafael stared. "You’re serious."

"Very," Gregoris said. "They’ve been pushing their luck for months. Delphine was useful to them when she wanted to be. She was unbearable when she didn’t. She had the kind of mouth that creates enemies in every direction."

Rafael’s fingers tightened lightly on Gregoris’s shirt, a quiet, unconscious claim. "And House Crystal?"

"They’ll act horrified," Gregoris replied. "They’ll offer condolences, maybe demand justice, and they will pretend they didn’t build a whale out of premium ether for entertainment."

Rafael’s lips twitched despite himself.

Gregoris glanced at him. "Don’t laugh."

"I’m not laughing," Rafael said immediately, offended by the accusation and guilty of it anyway.

Gregoris hummed, unimpressed. Then his gaze softened again, returning to what mattered.

"You’re safe," he said simply.

Rafael held his eyes. "And Layle?"

"It depends on you," Gregoris said. "If you want him to know."

Rafael didn’t answer right away.

He sat very still, as if any sudden movement might crack whatever fragile calm had finally settled over him. The lamplight softened the sharp angles of his face, but it couldn’t soften the truth sitting behind his eyes - the complicated, aching relief of something ending, and the strange guilt that tried to climb up after it like a habit.

Gregoris watched him without pressing. His hand stayed at Rafael’s waist, firm and warm, a quiet reminder that Rafael was here, now, and not in a childhood room where every breath had been measured.

"If you don’t tell him," Gregoris continued, voice low, "he’ll still understand enough. The Empire will talk. People will offer condolences they don’t mean. Someone will suggest it was politics or envy or a factional dispute. He’ll listen, and he’ll recognize what happened."

Rafael’s fingers twisted lightly in the sheet. "And he’ll be... okay?"

"He’ll be free," Gregoris corrected, simply. "Free to have his family without her reaching into it. Free to hold his title without having to factor her moods into every decision. Free to breathe without waiting for the next knife she calls love."

Rafael’s mouth went tight for a second, like the word "knife" had landed too close to the bone.

Gregoris’s thumb pressed once, grounding. "You don’t owe him the details unless you want to give them."

Rafael’s gaze flicked up again, sharp even through exhaustion. "And if he asks?"

"Then you decide what you can live with," Gregoris said. "You decide what you want your relationship with him to look like after this."

Rafael swallowed. The sound was small in the quiet room.

He shifted closer without thinking, leaning into Gregoris like his body had already chosen its answer to the night. His shoulder pressed to Gregoris’s chest; his hand found Gregoris’s wrist again.

"I don’t want to make him carry it," Rafael murmured.

"You won’t," Gregoris said.

Rafael’s eyes stayed on the space between them for a moment, as if he was watching an old version of himself dissolve - one that still believed he had to keep suffering in order to be considered decent.

Gregoris kissed the top of his head once.

"If you tell him," Gregoris added, "you do it when you’re ready. Not when guilt decides you should."

Rafael’s breathing evened out, like he was finally learning what it felt like to exist without bracing for impact.

"And if I don’t?" Rafael whispered.

"Then he still wins," Gregoris said, voice calm. "Because she’s gone."

Rafael’s lashes lowered.

A quiet sound left him - something between a laugh and a sob, neither of them fully, because he refused to give Delphine even that much of him.

"Okay," he said finally.

Gregoris’s hand moved in slow strokes down his back, patient and possessive without being suffocating.

"Sleep," he murmured.

This time Rafael didn’t fight.

He only shifted closer, shamelessly taking warmth, and let his eyes close - because Gregoris was here, and because for the first time in his life, the night felt like it belonged to him.