Shadow Unit Scandal: The Commander's Omega-Chapter 82: Outing (1)

Gregoris laughed, the sound something that belonged only to men who found danger familiar and oddly comforting.

"You tried once," he replied, the laugh still lingering at the edge of his voice. "You were thorough, creative, and very motivated."

"I was offended," Rafael said dryly. "You were insufferable."

"I still am," Gregoris corrected with a bright smile. "But now I’m your mate too."

He placed a hand on Rafael’s back. "Now," he added calmly, "let’s get you fed before you decide that poisoning is a reasonable response to hunger."

Rafael snorted despite himself. "So this is concern?"

"This is prevention," Gregoris said. "You’re far more cooperative after food."

Rafael glanced at the sea once more, then allowed himself to be guided inside, warmth and salt air giving way to cool stone and shade.

"...You’re disturbingly practical about everything," he muttered.

Gregoris’s hand stayed at his back, guiding him to the dining room.

"It’s how I keep the people I care about alive."

—

Later that afternoon, Rafael stood in front of a tall mirror and tried to reconcile reality with the reflection.

He had been fed properly, not the polite, strategic portions of court meals but something warm and rich and stubbornly satisfying. He had showered, the salt and heat of the sea washed from his skin, and the lingering haze of travel and sleep finally gone.

And now he was dressed in something that was very much not his.

The fabric alone told a story. Soft and weighty, it moved like liquid when he shifted, catching light in subtle, expensive ways. The cut followed his frame with alarming precision, tailored so perfectly it felt less like clothing and more like a second skin designed to remind him that yes, he did in fact have shoulders, a waist, and a posture that deserved to be acknowledged.

Rafael lifted an arm, watching how the sleeve fell, how the line of the seam emphasized everything without showing an inch of skin.

"This is ridiculous," he murmured.

Gloria’s work was always unique.

He turned slightly, examining the fall of the jacket, the way it framed him without softening him.

"...You had this commissioned," Rafael said flatly, not even needing to turn around.

Gregoris’s reflection appeared behind him in the mirror, arms crossed, posture relaxed in that infuriating way that still radiated control.

"Yes," he said.

"How long ago?" Rafael asked.

Gregoris considered. "Before you poisoned me."

Rafael closed his eyes for half a second. "Of course you did."

"You had already caught my attention," Gregoris added calmly. "I simply anticipated that you would eventually stop trying to kill me long enough to accept clothing."

"That is not a normal courtship milestone."

"I do not conduct normal courtships."

Rafael studied his reflection again. The clothes didn’t try to make him smaller. They didn’t try to make him decorative. They made him look... formidable. Composed. Like someone who belonged in rooms where decisions were made.

Like someone who wouldn’t be overlooked.

"...Gloria outdid herself," he admitted quietly.

"She was given very specific instructions," Gregoris replied. "You would be surprised how well she works under pressure."

"She hates you," Rafael said flatly.

Gregoris’s mouth curved, unapologetic. "Mutual respect expressed through open hostility."

Rafael huffed. "That is not respect. That is couture warfare."

"Yes," Gregoris agreed. "She threatened to stab me with a pin."

Rafael blinked. "You’re lying."

"I am not. She said, and I quote, ’If you make him look like an ornament, I will personally dismantle your silhouette.’"

Rafael laughed under his breath despite himself. "That does sound like her."

Gregoris stepped closer, his gaze returning to the cut of the jacket, the line of the collar, the way the fabric settled against Rafael’s shoulders.

"She understands you," he said. "She understands structure, and she understands defiance. That is why I went to her."

Rafael’s fingers brushed the lapel, feeling the hidden weight, the balance of it.

"...You planned this," he murmured.

"Yes."

"How far ahead do you plan everything?"

Gregoris’s eyes met his in the mirror. "Far enough that you never have to worry about being unprepared again."

—

Rafael found himself in yet another expensive car, but this time...

Gregoris was driving.

Which in itself felt like a small, unsettling revelation.

He handled the wheel the way he handled everything else, elegant and economical with one hand resting lightly at the bottom of the steering column, the other steady, and his posture relaxed but alert. Sunglasses hid his eyes, but Rafael could tell from the angle of his head that he was enjoying this far too much.

Rafael sat in the passenger seat, newly dressed, still half-aware of how expensive the fabric felt against his skin, how the cut made him sit straighter without effort.

He honestly didn’t know how Gregoris was able to do it when Rafael was already used to the high end of everything.

"This is suspicious," he said.

Gregoris didn’t look at him. "You say that about most things."

"Because most things around you are, in fact, suspicious." Rafael crossed his arms. "Where are we going?"

"Ahead," Gregoris replied pleasantly.

"That is not an answer."

"It is an accurate one."

Rafael narrowed his eyes. "You are deliberately not telling me."

"Yes."

"Why?"

"Because you are trying to guess," Gregoris said. "And I am enjoying watching you fail."

Rafael scoffed. "You’re impossible."

"I am driving," Gregoris corrected. "Which means, currently, I am also in control."

"That is not helping your case."

The road curved along the coast now, the sea flashing between cliffs and greenery, sunlight spilling through open windows. The air was warm, salt-heavy, and alive.

Rafael studied the direction, the angle of the sun, and the landmarks that slid past.

"This isn’t toward the main city," he said. "And it’s not one of the ports."

Gregoris’s mouth curved faintly. "Good observation."

"So it’s private," Rafael continued. "Isolated. Somewhere with restricted access."

"Mm."

"A secure location with... what? A view. Probably elevated."

Gregoris finally glanced at him, amused. "You’re profiling the destination like it’s a hostile target."

"It is a hostile target," Rafael said. "It is withholding information."

The car took another turn, climbing slightly now.

Rafael leaned back with a huff. "You’re enjoying this."

"Yes," Gregoris said calmly. "You’re alert. Engaged. Not thinking about Delphine, politics, or the court. You’re thinking about terrain and intent."

Rafael paused.

"...That’s unfair."

"It’s effective."

Rafael looked out the window again, watching the blue stretch of sea widen.

"You’re not taking me somewhere dangerous, are you?" he asked, quieter.

Gregoris answered without hesitation. "No."

Rafael exhaled, some hidden tension easing. "Then you’re taking me somewhere you think I’ll like."

Gregoris’s lips curved. "Now you’re getting closer."

"How much closer?"

"You’ll see," he said. "In a few minutes."

Rafael groaned softly. "I hate surprises."

"No," Gregoris replied, the car cresting another rise as sunlight flooded the windshield. "You hate not being in control of them."

Rafael shot him a look.

Gregoris just smiled and kept driving.