Shadow Unit Scandal: The Commander's Omega-Chapter 147: Visitors

For a second after Rafael said it, neither of them moved.

The wards still hummed. Natalie still breathed, warm and content against Rafael’s chest. Light still lay across the sheets like nothing important had just happened.

But Gregoris went very still, like his body had absorbed the words before his mind decided what to do with them.

Rafael immediately regretted having a mouth; saying it out loud made him feel... exposed. Like he’d taken a blade he normally kept hidden and laid it on the table.

Gregoris’s hand tightened on Rafael’s thigh.

Then Gregoris leaned closer, careful and slow, as if even air could startle this moment.

His mouth brushed Rafael’s temple again, soft enough to be almost nothing.

"I love you," Gregoris said.

The words were simple and flat, just like Gregoris was when he meant something so deeply that it became dangerous.

Rafael’s chest tightened so hard he had to swallow.

He tried to roll his eyes, because that was his instinct when emotions got too loud, but his eyes were suddenly wet, and he didn’t want to blink because blinking would make it real.

"You said it like an order," Rafael whispered, voice rough.

Gregoris didn’t apologize. "It is."

Rafael huffed a laugh that sounded like it had been stolen from him. "You’re impossible."

Gregoris’s thumb stroked once, calm. "Yes."

Natalie shifted at the sound of their voices, her little brow furrowing, her mouth making a tiny complaint.

Rafael went instantly quiet, as if the child were the Emperor and Rafael had committed treason.

"She’ll wake," Rafael whispered.

Gregoris’s gaze dropped to Natalie with immediate focus, and the softness that crossed his face was so unguarded Rafael almost felt like he shouldn’t be allowed to witness it.

Natalie yawned, offended at being alive, then settled again with the absolute confidence of someone who expected the world to keep itself quiet.

Rafael exhaled slowly, relief melting through him.

Gregoris’s hand remained anchored on his thigh, steady as a ward.

Rafael stared at the ceiling for a moment, allowing the warmth to settle into his ribs, safe, held, and loved, with a sleeping child on his chest as proof.

Then there was a knock.

Rafael’s eyes flicked toward the door.

Gregoris didn’t move, but something in the air sharpened, instinct rising.

"Enter," Gregoris said.

Peter stepped in with the quiet grace of a man who had served dangerous people long enough to be unbothered by danger.

He wore his usual immaculate attire. His posture was perfect. His expression was calm in a way that suggested he’d already filtered the entire situation through protocol before he dared approach.

His gaze landed on Natalie first - brief, respectful, almost warm - then on Rafael, then on Gregoris.

"Your Graces," Peter said softly.

Rafael’s mouth twitched at the title, because he still wasn’t used to hearing it in a room that smelled like milk and ether wards instead of marble and politics.

Gregoris didn’t react at all. He rarely did to anything Peter said, which was either immense trust or terrifying certainty that his butler wouldn’t say something unnecessary.

Peter’s hands remained folded in front of him, gaze lowered just enough to be respectful without pretending he wasn’t seeing everything.

"You have visitors," he continued, voice quiet. "They arrived at the manor gates minutes ago and requested permission to enter the family wing."

Gregoris’s eyes narrowed. "Names."

Peter’s expression didn’t change, but there was a faint, almost affectionate patience in his tone that made Rafael immediately suspicious.

"Lady Catherine," Peter said. "And her sons."

Rafael closed his eyes for half a second in a gesture that was half relief, half resignation.

Not because Catherine was a problem.

Catherine was... Catherine. A sweetheart with a spine, a woman who could make a room feel warmer just by entering it and could still frighten grown men into good manners with a single look.

Rafael trusted her.

Which was precisely why the thought of her seeing him like this - washed out, soft around the edges, exposed in ways he usually kept armored - made him want to disappear into the mattress and become a rumor.

Gregoris’s hand remained on Rafael’s thigh, steady as ever.

"No," Gregoris said anyway, because his first answer to the world was always no.

Rafael opened his eyes and looked at him. "Gregoris."

Gregoris didn’t look away from Natalie. "No."

Peter waited, perfectly neutral, because Peter had served the Frasners long enough to know that neutrality was how you survived family dynamics.

Rafael exhaled, careful not to jostle Natalie. "She’s not coming to declare war on us."

Gregoris’s gaze flicked to him. "She is coming to enter this wing."

Rafael’s mouth twitched. "Yes. To see the baby. To help. Catherine’s definition of ’help’ is probably food and insisting I sleep."

Gregoris didn’t relax.

He was still a wall, still a commander, still a man who treated this room like a protected site.

But the edge in him shifted slightly when Rafael said Catherine’s name without tension, when Rafael’s tone carried familiarity instead of alarm.

Peter, sensing the adjustment, added quietly, "Lady Catherine asked if you are comfortable. She said she would not enter unless you want her to."

Rafael blinked.

Of course Catherine would ask.

That was the difference between entitlement and love - between people who demanded access and people who offered it gently.

Rafael’s throat tightened, stupidly.

He cleared it softly. "And the brothers?"

Peter’s mouth almost twitched. "They are... very polite, Your Grace. Also very stunned."

Rafael’s lips parted in a soundless laugh. "Stunned."

Peter continued with the same calm, "Lord Daniel has checked three times that he understood correctly. Lord Bruno has been silent for most of the talk. Lord Philip asked if this is a prank."

Rafael let out a quiet huff, amused despite himself. "It’s not."

Peter’s eyes softened. "No, Your Grace. It is not."

Gregoris finally looked up, eyes narrowed. "Where is my father?"

"At the palace," Peter said. "He sent word that he is buried in council work and will come as soon as he can. He also sent... his congratulations."

Gregoris’s expression didn’t change, but acknowledgment settled behind his eyes. He gave a small nod that looked more like acceptance than gratitude.

Rafael shifted slightly, careful with Natalie, and felt the old instinct rise: control the situation, manage the room, and decide who sees what.

Then Natalie made a tiny content sound against his chest, soft and warm, and Rafael remembered he wasn’t at court.

He was at home.

He looked at Gregoris. "Let them in. Catherine will be good. The brothers will behave."

Gregoris’s gaze held him for a long moment, and Rafael could see the war in it: instinct versus trust, protection versus family, and control versus what Rafael wanted.

Then Gregoris’s hand slid a fraction higher on Rafael’s thigh, closer to the blanket edge, like a question.

Rafael answered it without words. He simply nodded once.

Gregoris exhaled through his nose, almost imperceptibly.

"Five minutes," he said to Peter. "Quiet. No touching without permission."

Peter inclined his head. "As you wish, Your Grace."

He turned to leave, then paused. "Lady Catherine also asked if she may bring broth and bread."

Rafael’s mouth twitched. "Yes."

Gregoris said at the same time, "Yes."

Rafael glanced at him, amused. "You’re approving broth."

Gregoris’s eyes flicked to Natalie. "You need to eat."

Rafael rolled his eyes weakly. "I’m going to start charging you for every time you use ’need’ like a weapon."

Gregoris leaned in, voice low. "Put it on my tab."

Rafael huffed a quiet laugh.

Peter slipped out, and the room returned to its soft hum, to wards, warmth, Natalie’s breathing, and Gregoris’s steady presence.

Rafael adjusted the blankets again, bracing himself, and whispered, mostly to himself, "This still feels unreal."

Gregoris leaned close, mouth near Rafael’s temple. "It’s real."

Rafael swallowed, eyes on Natalie’s sleeping face.

A few minutes later, footsteps approached, lighter than guards and familiar in their rhythm, and Rafael felt his chest tighten with something that wasn’t fear.

It was... family.

Even if it arrived with Catherine’s warmth and four brothers’ collective disbelief.