Shadow Unit Scandal: The Commander's Omega-Chapter 95: Cold night

The night air was cold enough to bite, but Rafael welcomed it.

He had slipped out onto one of the palace balconies under the pretense of needing air, though in truth he needed space - space from the music, from the eyes, and from the tension he had woven through the hall like a silk thread pulled too tight.

Stone was cold beneath his palms as he rested them on the balustrade. The city beyond glittered, distant and indifferent, a constellation of lights that did not care about coronations, bloodlines, or the carefully staged provocations of one omega with a very specific target.

His breath fogged faintly.

Then the air behind him shifted.

Rafael did not turn. A familiar presence settled at his back, warm and unmistakably Gregoris. A moment later, a heavy coat was draped over his shoulders, the fabric still carrying the heat of another body. It was dark, impeccably tailored, and smelled faintly of fabric perfume, winter, and the bite of Gregoris’s scent.

The coat was adjusted with care. "You will catch cold," Gregoris said quietly.

Rafael let himself lean into it, just slightly, the warmth seeping in. "I wanted to breathe."

"Am I stopping you?" Gregoris asked, leaning over him just enough for Rafael to catch the raised brow and the flicker of amusement in his eyes.

Rafael’s lips curved.

He turned his head just enough to look at Gregoris properly, the city lights catching in his eyes, the cold sharpening his features into something bright and dangerous.

"Did you like it?" he asked simply. "The suit. The whole performance. Or was it too much for your very disciplined nerves?"

Gregoris studied him in the way he assessed battlefields and men who thought they were in control.

"It was... effective," he said at last, a trace of amusement in his voice. "You were precisely where I could see you. Precisely how you wished to be seen."

Rafael’s smile deepened. "That’s not an answer."

"It is," Gregoris replied. "But not the one you want."

Rafael waited.

Gregoris’s gaze dipped, just briefly, to the open line of Rafael’s collar, the pale skin, the explicit vulnerability framed by gold and cream.

"You looked exceptional," he said. "But the suit was incomplete."

Rafael blinked. "Incomplete?"

"Yes." A faint, dangerous curve touched Gregoris’s mouth. "It lacked one thing."

"And what would that be, Bloodhound?"

"A collar," Gregoris said calmly. "Mine."

For a heartbeat, the cold air seemed to shatter.

Then Rafael laughed - soft, surprised, and entirely unashamed. "You are unbelievable."

Gregoris hummed and drew him back until Rafael’s shoulders met his chest, arms closing around him. He dipped his head, inhaling the familiar sweetness of Rafael’s scent, grounding and intoxicating all at once.

"I would have dragged you to bed again," he murmured, voice low and even, "if not for the pregnancy. Does that satisfy you... or should I growl again?"

Rafael’s breath caught despite himself, not from the cold, but from the way Gregoris’s voice dropped low, threaded with possession that made his blood boil.

"Growling is unnecessary," Rafael said lightly, though the faint tremor in his voice betrayed him. "Your tone already does the job."

Gregoris’s arms tightened around him. "You enjoy knowing you can provoke me," he murmured. "That you can stand in a room full of power and still command my attention."

Rafael tilted his head back just enough to meet his gaze. "I enjoy knowing that you let me."

A corner of Gregoris’s mouth curved. "I do more than let you."

The city lights flickered below them, distant and irrelevant, as the night held their quiet, charged pause.

—

Delphine Rosenroth stood at the center of her court.

Not the one ruled by Damian and Gabriel - she had never needed a throne for that - but the kind built from whispered alliances, perfect timing, and women who knew how to smile while sharpening knives. Silk and diamonds, champagne and controlled laughter. The modern socialite queen, watching the world like a board that still, in her mind, belonged to her.

Her circle hovered close, elegant, and attentive, waiting for cues. They were discussing the coronation, the foreign delegations, and the subtle shifts in influence that followed every public appearance of the imperial family.

And then the doors of one of the balconies opened, and Rafael entered the gala room.

Gregoris Frasner walked beside him. The Duke of Alamina in dark authority, the Emperor’s Bloodhound carved in restraint and power, and beside him Rafael, pale, luminous, dressed like intention given form.

Delphine’s fingers tightened imperceptibly around her glass.

So. He had not come crawling back...

Before she could school her expression fully, a woman from her inner circle hurried toward her, breath quick, eyes bright with the thrill of dangerous information.

"Lady Rosenroth," she whispered urgently, leaning close. "I have confirmation. From a very reliable source."

Delphine did not look at her. Her gaze remained fixed on the pair crossing the room, every movement synchronized in a way that spoke of something far more binding than convenience.

"Speak," she said softly.

"They are married. The documents are already filed. And the Duke of Alamina intends to make it public very soon."

A pause, heavy and precise.

"Public how?" Delphine asked.

"With an announcement coordinated with the palace. The press is being prepared. It will be presented as a celebration. A union. And..."

The woman swallowed. "They had no plans to make anything public other than the declaration prepared by the dukedom lawyer."

Delphine scoffed - softly, elegantly, but it was still a scoff.

"Well... well... well. They plan to sign a form, and just like that, the world is supposed to accept it as a marriage?" Her smile sharpened. "Not while I am alive."

Her circle leaned in, instinctively sensing the shift from observation to strategy.

"What do you want to do?" one of them asked.

Delphine’s gaze followed Rafael and Gregoris as they moved through the hall, the way the Duke’s presence curved subtly around him, protective, claiming, and infuriatingly public.

"We will not challenge their legitimacy, as I am confident the Emperor has already signed it," she said calmly. "We are going to attack the perception of their relationship."

She lifted her phone, already scrolling through a list of discreet contacts with editors, anonymous accounts, and gossip channels that thrived on half-truths wrapped in plausible deniability.

"There is a shadow network that feeds the society pages. They adore the words ’secret,’ ’second,’ and ’replacement.’ Her lips curved. "We will give them all three."

The women around her exchanged looks, understanding dawning.

"Gregoris Frasner is a dominant alpha," Delphine continued. "Biology and law allow him more than one bonded omega. That is public knowledge. Perfectly respectable. Perfectly legal. Which makes it perfect for my plan."

She tapped a name.

"The narrative will be simple," she said. "That Rafael was a convenient, hurried choice. A rushed bond. A quiet, legal formality meant to secure an heir and stabilize appearances... while the real duchess is still being selected."

A murmur rippled through her followers.

"We will let it be suggested that proposals are already circulating," Delphine went on. "That noble houses are positioning their daughters and sons. That the Duke is being courted for a ’primary’ mate. Not officially, of course. Only in whispers; we are the best at that."

"And Rafael?" someone asked softly.

Delphine’s eyes cooled.

"Rafael’s greatest vulnerability is his self-esteem." She smiled. "We will make him question that. We will make him wonder if he is first... or merely first for now."

She typed a message and sent it.

"But the Duke isn’t the man to accept all of this. He would retaliate." Someone dared to say.

Delphine’s smile did not waver.

"Of course he will," she said softly. "Gregoris Frasner is not a man who tolerates threats to what he considers his. He is territorial, proud, and dangerously direct."

Her gaze flicked once more to the pair across the hall, to the way the Duke’s presence curved subtly around Rafael, the way his attention never truly left him.

"He will retaliate," Delphine repeated. "Publicly or privately. With force or with influence. And when he does, it will only add fuel to the narrative."

The woman beside her frowned. "How so?"

"Because a powerful alpha reacting looks like confirmation," Delphine replied. "It looks like insecurity. It looks like competition. The more fiercely he defends Rafael, the more people will ask why he feels the need to defend him at all."