Shadow Unit Scandal: The Commander's Omega-Chapter 185: Break the bond.

Max’s mouth twitched, but there was no amusement in it. "It became my problem when you asked me to stop your heat and then tried to pretend the mark was an unfortunate weather event."

Adam’s eyes narrowed. "Don’t."

"Don’t what?" Max asked quietly.

"Don’t come here and—" Adam gestured vaguely at the air between them, at the bond he refused to talk about, at the way Max could stand in a hallway and make Adam feel like the floor had shifted. "—do this."

Max held his gaze. "Then let me in," he said, his voice calm again. "So we can talk like adults and not like two idiots arguing through a crack in a door."

Adam stared at him.

Max didn’t move. Didn’t push. Didn’t even lift a hand.

Just waited, because he knew Adam would rather die than be physically overpowered, and Max, infuriatingly, respected that.

Adam exhaled slowly through his nose, feeling the last of his wine rebellion turn into sour irritation.

He unhooked the chain.

The sound was small, metallic, and final.

Max’s gaze flicked to it, then back to Adam’s face. No triumph. No satisfaction. Just a quiet relief that looked dangerously like tenderness before Max buried it again.

Adam opened the door wider.

Max stepped in, careful not to brush Adam’s shoulder or crowd him. He moved like a man entering a space that wasn’t his, even though the bond between them made that distinction complicated.

Adam shut the door behind him with a sharp click.

For a beat, they stood in Adam’s entryway, too close, both pretending the air wasn’t thick with things unsaid.

Adam’s robe clung slightly at the collarbone where steam had dampened it. Max’s coat smelled like cold night and expensive restraint.

Adam lifted his chin. "Now talk," he said, voice flat.

Max’s eyes held his.

And when he finally spoke, it was quieter than Adam expected.

"George Claymore knows about you," Max said.

"A lot of people know about me, Maximilian," Adam replied, forcing lightness into his voice like it could keep the room from tipping. He crossed the space to the counter and reached for his wine glass with steady fingers. "I’m a singer. A popular one, I might add."

Max didn’t take the bait. He followed Adam with his gaze, measured and intent, like he was tracking movement in a room where danger could hide in ordinary gestures.

"He is my uncle," Max said, and as he spoke, he slid his coat off with that precise, controlled economy of movement that made it obvious he’d walked into far worse rooms than this one. "And he knows we are mates."

Adam’s grip tightened around the stem of the glass. He didn’t drink. He just held it, feeling the cold of it against his skin.

Max’s voice stayed calm, but something rough lived underneath it. "So I’m here to ask what you were too coward to ask."

Adam’s eyes narrowed. "Oh, don’t—"

"Let’s break the bond," Max finished.

The words landed like a slap.

For a heartbeat, Adam didn’t move. The apartment felt too quiet, as if even the walls had paused to listen.

Then Adam’s mouth curved into something sharp and bright. "No."

Max didn’t blink. "Adam—"

"No," Adam repeated, louder, because if he let Max build momentum, he would bulldoze right through this like he did everything else in his life. "Absolutely not."

Max’s jaw ticked once. He held himself still, as if forcing his own instincts into obedience. "It’s the safest option."

"For who?" Adam snapped.

Max’s eyes stayed on his. "For you."

Adam let out a short laugh that held no humor. "That’s rich. You show up in my apartment, announce your uncle is interested in erasing me from the board, and your solution is to cut the one thing that makes it harder for you to pretend I don’t exist?"

Max’s gaze darkened. He didn’t deny it fast enough, and that hesitation was an answer all on its own.

Adam’s smile sharpened. "Right. It’s not ’for me.’ It’s for you. So you can go marry whoever he picked without having to look at what you did."

For a brief moment, Max’s face remained composed, polite, and controlled, with that familiar charm, like a suit he could button up even while bleeding.

Then something in him snapped... the last thread of his calm breaking.

"Adam," Max said, voice still level, but the calm had teeth now. "We are not mates."

Adam’s eyes narrowed.

"Yes, there’s a physical bond," Max continued, jaw tight, "because I was stupid enough to think - maybe, just fucking maybe - you wanted me." His green eyes flashed. "But you didn’t. You wanted a fuck buddy."

The words landed hard and ugly, meant to hurt on purpose.

"And that ends now," Max said flatly.

Adam opened his mouth...

Max didn’t let him.

"My uncle is a fucking duke," Max snapped, and the curse word sounded exhausted rather than dramatic. "And not just any duke. He’s the only one with a legal army under his thumb, and the only one Damian still needs as an ally. The only one the Emperor can’t just casually piss off without the Empire paying for it."

Adam went still.

Max leaned forward slightly, not crossing the space or touching, but bringing the weight of the truth closer until it filled the room.

"George doesn’t threaten people," Max said, voice low and shaking with restraint. "He removes them. Quietly. Legally. With paperwork and ’accidents’ and a fucking smile."

Adam’s fingers curled around the edge of the counter.

"And don’t you dare," Max added, the last veneer of charm fully gone now, "don’t you dare tell me this is about me being selfish." His laugh cut out, sharp and bitter. "Both Damian and George would kill you to keep me where they need me. They’d do it, and they’d call it stability, and half the court would clap."

Adam’s throat tightened. "Why would Damain chose you..."

"Because he is my fucking brother!"