Shadow Unit Scandal: The Commander's Omega Chapter 116: Family talk

"Boys, make sure Rafael feels comfortable."

Daniel straightened like he’d been given an actual mission. Philip looked relieved to have clear instructions. Bruno looked... entertained, until Catherine’s gaze flicked his way and he imdiately rembered fear.

Catherine left the sitting room without another word, fully expecting Gregoris to follow.

Gregoris stayed still for two seconds. Then he let out a sigh.

Not the irritated exhale he’d used at the manor gates. This one sounded... human. Resigned. Like a man accepting that the only way out was through.

Rafael watched him, surprised by that tiny crack in the armor.

Gregoris leaned in briefly, his hand brushing the small of Rafael’s back, a grounding touch that was equal parts apology and claim. "I’ll be back."

Rafael’s mouth twitched. "Try not to get disowned."

Gregoris glanced at him, silver eyes flat. "They won’t."

Then he followed Catherine down the corridor.

After they left, the room fell silent as everyone agreed not to comnt on what they had just witnessed.

Daniel cleared his throat. "So," he said, too bright. "Tea?"

Philip nodded quickly. "Tea."

Bruno’s eyes slid to Rafael. "Or sothing stronger?"

Daniel shot him a look that promised consequences later.

"I’m pregnant, Bruno." Rafael said deadpan. "I can’t drink alcohol, but a juice or soda water works."

Bruno blinked, then lifted both hands in surrender. "Noted. Hydration and diplomacy."

Philip’s mouth twitched, caught between relief and laughter. "Soda water is safe."

Bruno leaned closer to Rafael, conspiratorial. "We have a sparkling apple sothing that Mother keeps for ’guests.’ It tastes like innocence and intimidation."

Rafael’s brow lifted. "Perfect."

Daniel moved toward the sideboard, and Rafael’s brain had to recalibrate, because calling it a sideboard was almost insulting. It was more like a quiet bar built into the wall, all dark wood and seamless panels, stocked with glassware that didn’t clink loudly because soone had paid extra to make sure nothing in this house sounded cheap.

The Fresners weren’t flashy like nobles who needed to prove their status, but the wealth was everywhere in the way things fit, the way light ward the room, the way the furniture looked soft and expensive without begging to be noticed.

Rafael didn’t gape at it. He’d grown up around money too; his mother was a countess, and quiet luxury was a language he understood fluently. Still, the Frasner version of it was... specific. Less show, more comfort and efficient use of space.

He let his gaze travel once over the soft, expensive upholstery, the warm lamps placed to flatter rather than glare, the subtle order of a house that didn’t need to prove it belonged.

Then, with a faint, unwilling amusent, he murmured, "So this is where Gregoris got his taste."

Bruno grinned. "Mother."

Philip nodded, resigned. "All Mother."

Daniel returned with a tray that looked like it had been arranged by soone who considered hospitality both an art and a gentle form of control: chilled sparkling water, a carafe of pale juice that slled freshly pressed, and glasses thin enough to be elegant without feeling fragile.

Rafael accepted his drink, took a sip, and let the bubbles settle his stomach.

"Good," he admitted.

Bruno’s eyes glead. "Told you. Innocence and intimidation."

Daniel gave him a look. "Bruno."

Rafael’s mouth twitched over the rim of the glass. He didn’t need to be impressed by the house.

He just needed to survive the part where Gregoris, apparently, had to be a normal son for an evening.

—

Catherine didn’t hurry Gregoris. She just walked ahead with that calm confidence mothers had when they already knew the answer and were simply waiting for their child to stop pretending he didn’t.

Gregoris followed.

The corridor leading to Damon’s office was quieter than the rest of the house. His father’s office did not have palace-grade ether dampening or paranoia layered in ten directions, as Gregoris’ did, but rather a clean, sensible ward line woven into the doorfra like a habit. The type of security that an accountant with imperial clearance would prefer: effective, discreet, and boring.

Gregoris paused at the threshold anyway.

Catherine glanced back. "Greg."

He exhaled once through his nose and stepped in.

Damon Frasner’s office looked exactly like the man himself - normal, and therefore unsettling. Clean shelves with neatly labeled binders, a desk so organized it could audit a soul, and a holo-display frozen mid-report with numbers dense enough to make ministers cry.

Damon stood behind the desk, sleeves rolled, dark suit immaculate even in comfort mode. He didn’t look like power in the way Gregoris did. He looked like the man who discovered power’s weak points and wrote them down.

He looked up as they entered.

"Sit," Damon said.

Gregoris didn’t.

Catherine didn’t either. She remained standing beside her son, arms folded, expression gentle but firm, still a sweet woman, yes, but not one anyone could ignore.

Damon’s eyes moved over Gregoris in a way that made Gregoris feel younger by sheer irritation. Damon most likely used the sa expression at the Imperial Departnt of Audit when soone insisted a number was "close enough."

Then Damon spoke, calm and quiet.

"We heard you got married from the palace."

Gregoris’s jaw tightened. "Yes."

Catherine’s voice was softer, but clear. "And that we’re going to be grandparents."

Gregoris didn’t look away. "Yes."

Damon’s mouth twitched in disbelief, restrained by discipline. "So you do understand what happened."

Gregoris’s brow lifted faintly. "I didn’t deny it."

"No," Damon agreed. "You just didn’t tell us." He set his glasses down with careful patience, then laced his fingers together as if preparing to audit his own son. "Gregoris... when are you going to use your intelligence for anything more than hunting and killing?"

Gregoris huffed, offended on principle. "I use it very well."

Damon’s expression didn’t change. "That wasn’t the complint you think it is."

Gregoris’s eyes narrowed. "I understand you’re disappointed you weren’t included, but you never seed interested in my personal life before."

The sentence landed like a shield thrown up too late.

Catherine sat down with the gravity of a woman suffering from having intelligent children and the misfortune of loving them anyway. She looked at the ceiling for one long second, as if silently asking any available god why she’d been blessed with sons who could outthink armies but couldn’t navigate a phone call.

Then she looked back at Gregoris.

"Gregoris," she said, deadly calm, "for the love of any god available, no. I wasn’t interested in your flings."

Gregoris opened his mouth.

Catherine held up a hand.

"No," she repeated, slower, like explaining basic math to a man who refused to accept numbers. "I do not need to know who you entertained, who you kissed, or which poor oga decided he could ’fix’ you."

Gregoris muttered, "No one—"

Catherine’s eyes flashed. "Not the point."

Damon’s mouth twitched. "She’s right."

Catherine leaned forward slightly, voice still warm but sharpened by sheer maternal exhaustion. "I wasn’t interested in your flings because flings are noise and temporary. Flings are you doing what you do when you don’t want anyone to expect anything from you."

Gregoris kept his face neutral.

Catherine continued, softer now, but sohow more cutting. "But a mate?"

She let the word sit in the room like sothing sacred.

"A child," she added, and her eyes brightened by hurt. "That isn’t noise, Gregoris. That is your life."

Gregoris stared at her, rigid. "I didn’t think you would want—"

"I wanted to know," Catherine cut in, and her voice cracked just slightly on the last word, which made Damon’s gaze sharpen and made Gregoris go still in a way Rafael would’ve recognized instantly.

Damon exhaled slowly, calm as a ledger. "You think we weren’t interested because we weren’t asking questions."

Gregoris’s eyes narrowed. "You weren’t."

Damon’s tone stayed even. "Because you made it clear you didn’t want them."

Catherine’s voice went gentler again, as if she could see exactly where Gregoris’s brain had built its walls. "You trained us over years to stop reaching. To stop hoping you’d pick up the phone. To stop trying to pull you back into a world you didn’t want."

Gregoris swallowed once. "I was busy."

Damon’s brow lifted. "You’ve been busy since you were seventeen. That stopped being an excuse a long ti ago."

Gregoris’s shoulders tightened.

Catherine sighed, the sound tired and fond and furious all at once. "You’re not wrong that we didn’t chase every detail. But that wasn’t indifference, Gregoris. That was respect."

Gregoris blinked, as if the word didn’t fit.

"It was also," Catherine added dryly, "self-preservation. Because if I chased you the way I wanted to, you would’ve disappeared harder out of spite."

Gregoris’s mouth twitched, guilty and annoyed at the sa ti. "Perhaps."

Damon leaned back slightly, gaze steady. "We just needed one ssage that said, ’This matters.’"

Gregoris didn’t speak.

Catherine’s expression softened. "And it does. Rafael matters. Your child matters. You matter."

Gregoris’s eyes flicked away for a fraction of a second, like looking directly at that was too much.

Then he huffed again, smaller this ti. "I wasn’t planning for it."

Damon’s mouth twitched. "Life rarely sends a request form."

Catherine’s lips curved faintly despite herself. "Especially not with you."

Gregoris muttered, "He’s—"

"Don’t," Catherine warned gently, and her eyes ward. "You don’t have to justify him. I’ve seen him for five minutes and I already know why you couldn’t ignore him."

Gregoris’s gaze lifted, sharp. "You do?"

Catherine smiled, soft again. "Yes."