Shadow Unit Scandal: The Commander's Omega-Chapter 112: Morning After

Morning arrived with the manor’s ether wards humming like nothing scandalous had happened in any office at all, indifferent to any remaining feelings.

Rafael, unfortunately, was not indifferent.

He opened his eyes to a ceiling he recognized, a body he did not fully recognize, and a very specific, very personal ache that suggested Gregoris Frasner had spent the night making up for lost time with methodical enthusiasm and zero remorse.

Rafael considered moving.

Rafael decided against moving.

If he stayed perfectly still, perhaps the universe would forget he existed and leave him here. Warm sheets, dim light, quiet. A reasonable place to become a permanent fixture. A historical artifact. A cautionary tale.

He turned his head slightly and found Gregoris already dressed.

Was this man human at all?

Black shirt, sleeves rolled, hair neat in that unfair way that suggested he hadn’t been the one thoroughly ruined. His jacket was draped over the chair like he owned time. His tablet sat on the bedside table, already lit, already populated with a schedule the Empire expected him to obey.

Gregoris looked at Rafael with the calm satisfaction of a smug alpha who had achieved all his objectives.

Rafael narrowed his eyes. "Don’t."

Gregoris’s mouth curved. "Good morning."

Rafael’s voice was hoarse. "If you say ’you survived,’ I will bite you."

Gregoris looked faintly delighted by the threat. "You’re awake."

"I’m not," Rafael said, and pulled the blanket up an inch as if it could shield him from life. "This is a hallucination. I’m still asleep. You’re a nightmare in a pressed shirt."

Gregoris leaned down and kissed his forehead - brief, possessive, irritatingly gentle. "You’re dramatic."

"I am injured," Rafael corrected.

"You are satisfied," Gregoris said, and his eyes flicked with smugness that should have been illegal. "Different category."

Rafael made a sound that might’ve been a groan or a curse. "I hate you."

"No," Gregoris replied calmly. "You don’t."

Rafael stared at him. "You’re insufferable in the morning."

"You’re insufferable when conscious," Gregoris countered.

Rafael squinted. "Why are you dressed?"

"Work."

Rafael pointed weakly at the tablet with a finger that felt like it belonged to someone else. "You have a desk job now. You can be late."

Gregoris’s brow lifted. "I can."

Rafael waited, triumphant.

Gregoris continued, evenly, "I won’t."

Rafael’s eyes closed. "Tragic."

He rolled onto his back with slow, pained dignity and immediately regretted every decision he’d ever made since birth. He stared at the ceiling again and whispered, "I’m staying here forever."

Gregoris’s hand slid under the blanket and settled at Rafael’s waist, warm and steady. "No."

Rafael didn’t open his eyes. "Yes."

Gregoris’s voice stayed calm. "We have dinner tonight."

Rafael’s eyelids fluttered open. "Don’t say that like it’s a threat."

"It’s not a threat," Gregoris said. "It’s the aftermath of your own decisions. You were the one who told my brothers we would go."

Rafael stared at him for a long beat.

Then he let his head fall back onto the pillow with the slow despair of a man who had realized the universe kept receipts.

"I was... morally superior," Rafael murmured.

"You were," Gregoris agreed, entirely too pleased.

Rafael’s eyes narrowed. "Stop enjoying this."

"I’m not enjoying," Gregoris said, and then his mouth curved in that faint, smug way that proved he was lying, "the dinner."

Rafael blinked. "Oh."

Gregoris’s gaze slid over him with quiet satisfaction. "I’m enjoying the consequences."

Rafael made a sound that was half groan, half offended laugh. "You’re insufferable."

"You married me," Gregoris reminded him, calm as a verdict.

Rafael squinted. "I was misled."

"True." Gregoris grinned, silver eyes shining with that smug, infuriating aura he only wore when he knew he’d won. Then he lifted a brow, as if presenting a perfectly reasonable thesis. "Now this is the consequence of you being undertrained."

Rafael stared at him like he was the one who’d lost his mind. "I’m not training. Or training with you. You will ruin me."

Gregoris’s grin deepened. "You need some muscle."

Rafael blinked. "Excuse me?"

Gregoris gestured vaguely at Rafael’s blanket cocoon. "You can’t spend the next months living like a decorative pillow."

"I can and I will," Rafael said, dead serious. "It’s my new career."

Gregoris looked almost offended. "Absolutely not."

Rafael narrowed his eyes. "I’m pregnant, Gregoris."

"Yes," Gregoris agreed, tone infuriatingly calm. "You are also dramatic."

Rafael made a sharp sound of outrage. "You knew that!"

"You will walk," Gregoris continued, as if he was scheduling troop movements. "You will stretch. You will maintain strength."

Rafael’s eyes narrowed. "Or what?"

Gregoris’s gaze dipped to Rafael’s mouth for half a second, then returned to his eyes. "Or you’ll complain later."

"I’m already complaining," Rafael snapped. "And I’m not training with anyone. If you force me, I’m making sure I throw up on every trainer you assign."

Gregoris didn’t look impressed. "My men saw worse."

Rafael’s eyes narrowed. "I’m sure they did. Congratulations on cultivating trauma."

Gregoris’s mouth twitched.

Rafael pushed the blanket down just enough to glare at him properly. "Get out and do some work. Sustain the level of your spouse life like a responsible alpha."

Gregoris blinked once, slow, as if he’d just been handed an unfamiliar concept.

"Spouse life," he repeated.

"Yes," Rafael said, razor sweet. "It involves not terrorizing your pregnant husband before breakfast."

Gregoris leaned a fraction closer, eyes gleaming. "I’m not terrorizing you."

Rafael scoffed. "You’re plotting."

"I’m organizing," Gregoris corrected calmly. "If I were plotting, you’d already be in training clothes."

Rafael’s eyes widened. "Don’t you dare."

Gregoris’s grin returned, faint and smug. "Eat first."

Rafael glared. "No."

Gregoris’s brow lifted. "Yes."

—

And Rafael ate.

Not because he’d been persuaded by reason, but because Gregoris stood there like a smug consequence with shoulder - looming, calm, and entirely committed to ’keeping his mate alive’ as a lifestyle choice.

Rafael took a few bites with the dignity of a duke being forced into compliance. Then, the moment Gregoris turned away, he tried to slide back under the blankets and retire from society forever.

Gregoris caught him anyway.

"Stand," Gregoris said.

Rafael stared. "Absolutely not."

So Gregoris simply lifted him - one arm behind his back, one under his knees - and carried him out like Rafael was a mission objective.

"Gregoris," Rafael snapped, offended. "Put me down."

"You’re lightheaded," Gregoris said evenly.

"I am not—"

Rafael tried to sit up to prove it and the room tilted just enough to make him swallow his pride with his breath.

Gregoris sighed.

Minutes later, Rafael was deposited in the sitting room with a blanket, a mug of hot chocolate, and Gregoris’s calm voice like a lock clicking into place.

"Rest," Gregoris said.

He paused only to add, almost casually, "I’ll come collect you for dinner."

Rafael narrowed his eyes. "Collect me."

"For the Frasner family," Gregoris said, as if that explained everything. Then he left, leaving Rafael wrapped up, warm, and ridiculously aware that the smug alpha would return exactly when he said he would.