Chapter 108: Chapter 108: Brother

He was wrong. Because Gregoris didn’t say, ’Send them away.’

Gregoris said, calm and flat, “Open the gate.”

Rafael blinked. “What?”

Gregoris didn’t explain. His fingers moved over the tablet, and the manor’s ether lattice responded immediately, the permission rippling outward through the wards like a pulse, the perimeter shifting from denial to controlled access.

On the front gate feed, the three men straightened as if they’d been waiting for that exact instruction. The one hiding behind the pillar stepped into view. The one studying the shrub abruptly remembered the concept of forward-facing posture. The one who’d offered the camera only an ear turned just enough to reveal the sharp edge of a profile.

Rafael leaned forward, suspicion returning. “You’re letting them in.”

“Yes,” Gregoris said.

“That doesn’t sound like you.”

“It is,” Gregoris replied, and Rafael could swear his alpha’s tone was like he was talking about annoying family.

Rafael’s eyes narrowed. “Who are they?”

Gregoris didn’t answer.

A few minutes later, the office door chimed. They were granted entry but were still polite enough to wait.

Gregoris didn’t look away from the security display. “Enter.”

The door opened.

Three men stepped inside.

They were dressed in expensive restraint in their dark suits, with clean lines and no decorative crests, visible weapons, or anything that screamed power because they didn’t need to. Their posture was disciplined, their gaze quick, and their shoulders set, as if they knew exactly how and when not to hurt someone.

They stopped the moment they registered Rafael.

Not because he was dangerous, though he was, but because he was on Gregoris’s desk, flushed, scented, and too close, with the unmistakable aftermath of a kiss still lingering in the air like a private claim.

Rafael’s mind reached for words and found… nothing.

No sarcasm. No polished greeting. No blade-sharp remark.

Only a blank, offended stare as his brain tried to reconcile Gregoris Frasner having visitors who looked like this.

Gregoris, infuriatingly, remained composed. He stood beside Rafael, close enough that a hand could return to Rafael’s waist without thinking, and regarded the three men the way he regarded reports: assessing, unhurried, and already deciding what mattered.

The tallest of the three cleared his throat. His face was sharp in the way “respectable” could be sharpened into a weapon.

“Brother,” he said.

Rafael froze.

He stared at Gregoris.

Then he stared at the men again, as if the word might vanish if he refused to accept it.

Brother.

Rafael’s eyes moved again, slowly this time, like his brain had decided to start collecting evidence instead of emotions.

The resemblance wasn’t dramatic at first glance. Gregoris didn’t have some obvious family stamp across his face, no single trait that screamed lineage. But once Rafael saw it, he couldn’t unsee it.

Two of them, the tallest and the one who looked like he’d rather be anywhere else, had the same ash-blond hair, cut short and neat, the color muted like winter wheat under cloud cover. Their eyes were hazel, shifting between green and brown depending on the angle of the light.

The third was the one who hit like a knife.

Brown hair, cut clean, and combed back with the same sort of discipline that felt familiar. And silver eyes.

Silver… like Gregoris.

Not the exact shade, but close enough that Rafael’s stomach gave a small, offended twist.

He looked from the silver-eyed brother to Gregoris, then back.

“You’re joking,” Rafael said quietly.

Gregoris didn’t blink. “No.”

The eldest brother inclined his head, as if introducing himself to a foreign court instead of his brother’s spouse. “You’re Rafael Rosenroth.”

Rafael stared at him like he was the one being unreasonable. “Seems like it. Who are you?”

The ash-blond brother with the hazel eyes, the one with the tight mouth, made a small sound that could’ve been a sigh if he’d allowed himself one. “He… didn’t tell you anything about his family… Didn’t he?”

Rafael’s gaze slid, slow and lethal, to Gregoris.

Gregoris held it without flinching. Not guilty. Not defensive. Just… annoyingly firm. He even raised a brow in defiance.

“No,” Rafael said, still staring at Gregoris. “He didn’t.”

The eldest brother’s expression tensed, as if he’d just stepped onto a landmine and felt it click. He recovered quickly, diplomatic instincts snapping into place, then inclined his head again, more formally this time.

“Daniel Frasner,” he said. “Eldest.”

Rafael’s eyes flicked to him. Daniel looked like the sort of man who had learned how to lead by being unremarkable on purpose and had the faint, weary authority of someone used to cleaning up messes other people created.

“Daniel,” Rafael repeated, the name tasting like a fact he should’ve been given months ago.

The ash-blond with the tight mouth spoke next, voice clipped and controlled. “Philip Frasner.”

“Philip,” Rafael echoed, and watched the way Philip’s gaze flicked once, quickly, over Rafael’s posture, the desk, and the scent in the air. Not judgment. Like a man trained to read rooms because rooms sometimes killed people, or maybe because Gregrois was his brother.

Then the third brother, the one with brown hair and silver eyes, the one whose resemblance to Gregoris had hit Rafael like a slap, stepped forward half a pace, just enough to claim presence without challenging.

“Bruno,” he said. “Bruno Frasner.”

His voice was smooth, almost too calm. It carried that faint edge of something dangerous that Rafael recognized in Gregoris, not identical, but kin.

Rafael’s eyes narrowed. “Bruno.”

Bruno’s silver gaze held his without apology. “You’re smaller than I expected.”

Rafael’s expression didn’t change, but the air around him sharpened. “And you’re ruder than I hoped.”

Daniel cleared his throat, a warning disguised as etiquette. “Bruno.”

“What,” Bruno replied mildly, not looking away from Rafael. “It’s an observation.”

Rafael’s smile turned razor-thin. “So is mine.”

Philip’s mouth twitched, like he was trying not to find this entertaining.

Gregoris, still beside Rafael, did not intervene. He looked faintly… pleased at Rafael holding his ground without flinching, at the fact that his brothers were being forced to recalibrate around someone they couldn’t intimidate.

Rafael leaned a fraction back on his hands, maintaining control of his posture like it was a weapon. “So. Daniel. Philip. Bruno.” He let the names settle in the room. “Frasner.”

“All of us,” Daniel confirmed carefully, “are here because Mother is…”

“Upset,” Rafael supplied, voice flat. “Yes, I’ve met one of those.”

Philip’s gaze flicked to Gregoris for the briefest moment. “She thinks you’ve been… taken advantage of.”

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