Shadow Unit Scandal: The Commander's Omega-Chapter 189: Almost

Adam let out another short laugh, more amused than angry now, and shook his head as if the world had personally pranked him.

"That’s..." Adam searched for the right insult and landed on something worse. "That’s almost impressive."

Max’s eyes flicked. "Almost?"

Adam’s gaze narrowed, faintly insulted now, like he’d just realized he’d been underestimated in a new way. "Yes, almost. Because it means you’ve been keeping secrets from me at an Olympic level."

Max’s tone stayed calm. "It’s not a secret to the palace."

Adam’s smile sharpened. "It’s a secret to your marked omega."

Max went very still at the phrasing.

Adam noticed, and his expression turned into something faintly pleased with itself.

Then he waved a hand, dismissing the satisfaction before it became vulnerable. "Also," Adam added, eyes scanning Max again like he was reevaluating a person he’d already catalogued, "I’m mildly offended you thought telling me would make me faint."

Max’s jaw ticked once. "I thought telling you would make you reckless."

Adam’s smile widened. "That too."

Max stared at him, clearly trying to decide whether Adam was taking this well or taking it as fuel.

Adam lifted his whiskey again and took a slow sip. Then he lowered it and looked at Max over the rim with bright, amused eyes.

"So," Adam said, voice smooth and dangerous, "how many other things are you going to drop on me tonight? Are we collecting secret identities now? Do you also have a hidden crown somewhere?"

Max’s gaze darkened. "Focus."

Adam grinned. "Oh, I am."

He pushed off the couch and stepped closer, stopping just short of Max’s space because, irritatingly, he respected the boundaries too when it suited him.

"You being a Shadow," Adam said, voice lighter, "explains a lot."

Max’s eyes narrowed. "Such as?"

"Such as why you move like you’re always ready to break someone’s neck," Adam said pleasantly. "And why do you keep telling me to be ’safe’ like you’ve personally filed risk assessments on my existence?"

Max’s mouth twitched again, almost a sigh. "Because I have."

Adam’s brows lifted. "Romantic."

Max’s voice was flat. "Strategic."

Adam’s grin sharpened. "Same thing, for you."

Max didn’t deny it. He just held Adam’s gaze, calm and dangerous, like he was waiting for Adam to stop enjoying himself and remember the actual threat.

Adam eventually did, albeit reluctantly.

His smile thinned into something more focused.

"Okay," Adam said, still amused but serious now. Shadow, Duke uncle. Emperor’s brother. Father wants him dead." He exhaled. "That’s... a lot."

Max nodded once. "Yes."

Adam tilted his head. "And you want to handle it alone."

Max’s voice stayed controlled. "Yes."

Adam hummed thoughtfully, then smiled again.

"Yeah," Adam said. "No."

Max’s eyes narrowed. "Adam—"

Adam lifted a hand again, calm as a man about to negotiate terms with a bomb. "I’m not saying I’m going to storm Claymore Manor," he said. "I’m saying you’re not going to keep me blind."

His gaze held Max’s, amused and insulting all at once.

"Because if I’m bonded to a Shadow," Adam murmured, "then I’d like to at least know what kind of war I’m sleeping next to."

—

The sun was dropping behind the gardens, pouring warm light through the manor’s arched windows like it was trying to soften the capital on purpose.

Maximilian didn’t fall for it.

He sat behind the massive desk with two oversized monitors blocking half his view, a stack of documents waiting to be signed, and three separate people on his schedule who all thought their problem was the most urgent problem in the Empire. The manor was quieter than the palace, with less ceremony and fewer eyes, but it was still not peaceful. Not with Damian here.

Especially not with Damian here.

Damian Orion Lyon had claimed one of the carved armchairs like it was a throne, and he was doing Max the honor of existing near him. Loose linen shirt. Trousers. Hair slightly disheveled in that deliberately casual way that screamed, ’Look, I can be human too.’ Porcelain teacup in hand. Dark-gold eyes fixed on Max like he was watching a performance he’d already reviewed.

Max signed another page hard enough to leave an imprint, then tapped his pen once against the desk and didn’t look up.

"You’ve mastered the art of doing absolutely nothing while making it look like you’re deep in thought," Max said, dry and sharp. It was the kind of jab that kept Damian from getting too comfortable.

Damian chuckled softly, of course. He set his teacup down as if he had all the time in the world.

"A skill honed through years of court appearances and ceremonial speeches," Damian replied. "You should try it sometime."

Max didn’t bother to hide his smirk. "I’ll pass. Unlike some people, I actually have work to do."

"This is my free day for the month," Damian said, leaning forward like he was making a reasonable request. "Give me a break. I’ve earned this."

Max finally looked up, just enough to notice Damian’s smug expression. It was there, the quiet satisfaction of a man who knew he could sit in a chair and still move the Empire.

"Have you?" Max asked. "The court’s already losing its mind about your next move."

Damian’s mouth twitched. "Let me guess. Marriage prospects."

Max slid the last signed document into a neat stack and pushed his chair back. The wood creaked softly—an unhelpful sound, because it reminded him he was tired.

"You’re not wrong," Max said. "Some of them are pushing to reintroduce the coming-of-age ceremony. ’Strengthen tradition.’ ’Restore unity.’ They want to parade their preferred matches in front of you and call it stability."

Damian’s expression darkened the way it always did when the topic came up. Max could almost hear the court in Damian’s head, gnawing at him.

"I’m a widowed man," Damian said. "Can they not let me mourn in peace?"

Max exhaled through his nose. "Leora died before your coronation. People want stability. You’re not exactly young, Damian. They’re restless."

Damian scoffed and dragged a hand through his hair. "You’re two years younger than me. Both of us are dominant alphas. Don’t give me that."

Max shrugged. "Fair. But it’s not about age. It’s about cornering you. If you marry someone they pick, they get an alliance they can tug like a leash."

The room went quiet for a beat. Max’s gaze drifted to the window, where hedges, garden paths, and the last light made everything beautiful.

He was thinking, against his will, about Adam. About how close he wanted Adam and how impossible it was to want anything uncomplicated.

Damian’s voice cut in, amused. "Let them try."

Max dragged his attention back.

"It’s my life," Damian continued. "I’ll choose who I want, not who they want." The edge in his calm was familiar. "Besides, they haven’t offered anyone interesting."

"The old nobles cling to tradition," Max said. "The newer factions want controlled socializing. Palace-organized events. A way to bridge the divide without open conflict."

Damian’s lips curved faintly. "You’ve always been better at navigating this than I have. Maybe you should take the throne."

Max gave him a look. "Tempting," he said, "but no. I’ll settle for being the one keeping you from setting the court on fire."

Damian laughed, warm and brief, then leaned back - smug again. "You do that well. If only you didn’t insist on hiding behind your company."

Max’s jaw tightened. He kept his voice light because it was easier than acknowledging the truth: the company was the one place Max could build something that wasn’t George Claymore’s.

"You know I wouldn’t work for you," Max said. "Not a chance."

Damian arched a brow. "Afraid I’d work you to the bone?"

"Absolutely," Max replied instantly.