Shadow Unit Scandal: The Commander's Omega-Chapter 137: Checkup (1)

Time had started moving as it always did when Rafael didn’t want it to, regardless of whether his mind kept up.

One week he was sitting in a sunlit room with ether-inked clauses spread across the table like open wounds, and Gregoris’s arms around him like the only solid thing in a world that kept trying to rearrange itself. Next, the will was handled, sealed properly, and dead as it should have been. Layle took over the main estate without giving anyone the satisfaction of a public fight. No scandal. No moral story. No hungry cousin brave enough to attach his name to Delphine’s ghost.

Rafael should have felt relief.

He did, some days.

Other days he felt the strange, hollow anger of realizing that Delphine could die and still have the audacity to require paperwork to truly leave.

Layle had been relentless about it. He and his wife didn’t move into the estate right away. They didn’t do the polite thing and ’preserve heritage.’ They did the opposite. They brought in architects and craftsmen and ether-workers, and they began to remodel room by room, slowly stripping the house of Delphine’s fingerprints. Walls repainted. Wards rewritten. Old portraits were removed and replaced with blank spaces until something worth hanging could exist there again.

A patiently executed erasure.

Rafael admired it more than he wanted to admit.

And in the middle of all that, life kept happening to him with an intimacy that felt almost rude.

Gabriel marked Damian.

The news hit the capital like a dropped match in perfume - whispers, awe, the kind of fascination people pretended was political when it was really just hunger for something they couldn’t touch. The marking itself wasn’t unusual in the sense that it existed; it was unusual because of who it was. Because of what it meant. Because it made their bond close and not a soul could propose for additional mates.

Rafael heard it, and, for reasons that made no sense until he admitted them, his mind immediately went to Gregoris.

Not to politics. Not to the court.

To Gregoris’s mouth at his neck. To that quiet, possessive way Gregoris looked at him when he thought no one else was watching. To the instinct in him that wanted to do something equally final. Something that would make the world stop assuming Rafael was available to be managed. 𝑓𝑟𝑒𝘦𝓌𝑒𝑏𝑛𝑜𝘷𝑒𝘭.𝒸𝘰𝑚

He thought, absurdly, ’I should mark him.’

And then reality reminded him what he was.

He wasn’t a dominant omega. He didn’t have the biology for it, no matter how sharp his tongue was or how easily he could make a room fall silent.

He couldn’t brand Gregoris the way Gabriel could brand Damian.

The thought should have left him bitter.

Instead, it left him restless, because Gregoris didn’t seem to need a mark to be loyal.

He was soft in private in a way Rafael didn’t fully trust, with careful hands, a low voice, and unwavering attention. He’d hold Rafael like he had all the time in the world, as if the palace could burn and it wouldn’t matter until Rafael had eaten, until Rafael had slept, until Rafael had stopped looking at shadows like they might be Delphine’s hand again.

And then duty called, and Gregoris became himself immediately - the commander, the weapon, the Emperor’s hound. The softness didn’t vanish, exactly. It was locked away. A private file only Rafael had clearance to open.

Rafael would watch it happen and feel something pull tight in his chest.

Possession. Resentment. Love, in the irritating form it took when it was laced with pride.

Months passed.

Five months pregnant, to be precise, which meant Rafael’s world had become a rotating schedule of appetite, exhaustion, sudden anger, and the strange, humbling realization that his own body now belonged to a future he hadn’t met.

And the baby - of course - had opinions.

Marin’s medical office smelled faintly of antiseptic and dried herbs, because Marin pretended he was modern and clinical right up until the moment he could add an experimental remedy and have a clash with Gregoris about it. The room itself was warm, the ether lamps dimmed to a soft light that didn’t spike headaches, and the wards along the ceiling hummed low.

Rafael sat on the edge of the examination chair, fingers laced tightly in his lap, trying to look like he was merely present.

He was failing.

Marin stood at the counter with a tablet and a stack of notes, silver hair combed back, his expression permanently hovering between bored and amused - an omega in his fifties with the dry humor of a man who had seen every noble panic and had stopped finding it impressive.

He didn’t look up as he spoke. "You’re doing that thing again."

Rafael blinked. "What thing?"

Marin finally lifted his gaze, eyes flat with blunt familiarity. "The imperial-secretary posture. Like you’re about to argue with my diagnosis."

Rafael’s mouth tightened. "I’m not."

Marin hummed. "You are."

Rafael exhaled slowly, then forced his shoulders to drop. "I’m mildly anxious."

"Mildly," Marin repeated, like the word offended him.

Rafael glared. "Don’t start."

"I never start," Marin said. "I simply observe." He tapped his tablet once. "Five months. Bloodwork looked fine. Ether channels are stable. Weight gain acceptable."

Rafael’s brows lifted. "Acceptable? That sounds ominous."

"It sounds like a report," Marin corrected. "You prefer reports."

Rafael hated that he was right.

Marin moved closer, snapping on a thin ether-glove that shimmered faintly, and gestured toward the examination chair with a jerk of his chin. "Lie back. We’re checking the baby’s development and your uterine wall integrity. The last scan showed mild tension in the lower band."

Rafael’s stomach tightened. "Tension?"

Marin’s tone stayed maddeningly calm. "Yes. The kind you get when you refuse to rest, refuse to stop working, and keep pretending you’re not carrying an entire person."

Rafael opened his mouth.

Marin raised a brow.

Rafael closed it again and lay back, as instructed, because he wasn’t suicidal.

The ether lamp above him brightened slightly, the wardline along the chair pulsing once as it synced with his body. Cool gel met his skin; the sensation made him flinch.

Marin noticed and, predictably, didn’t care. "If you jump, I will bill the duke."

Rafael’s eyes narrowed. "He’ll pay."

Marin’s mouth twitched. "Exactly."

The device hummed. A soft pressure followed, and then a flicker of light on the screen.

Rafael stared upward at the ceiling, listening to his own heartbeat like it was too loud. "Is the baby—"

"Alive," Marin said immediately, deadpan. "Very alive. And apparently under the impression that your bladder is a personal enemy."

Rafael let out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding, the relief hitting so hard it made him dizzy with how stupidly fragile it was.

Marin’s focus stayed on the screen, expression professional but not unkind. "Growth is on track. Heartbeat strong. Ether signature stable."

Rafael swallowed. "Ether signature?"

Marin’s eyes flicked to him. "It’s a modern empire fueled by ether," he said, like Rafael had forgotten what world they lived in. "Yes. Babies have signatures too. Yours is... interesting."

Rafael’s mouth went dry. "Define interesting."

Marin adjusted the device, squinting at a measurement. "Define ’you married the Emperor’s hound and keep trying to handle stress like it’s paperwork.’"

Rafael’s glare returned. "Marin."