Chapter 142: Chapter 142: No.

Rafael discovered, over the course of exactly three days, that ’compromise’ was a word Gregoris respected the way he respected decorative pillows: as a concept that existed in other people’s homes.

Which was how they ended up with two nurseries.

Not a ’main room and an annex.’ Not ’one nursery with two vibes,’ the lie Rafael had tried to sell himself. Two actual rooms, two doors, and two finished spaces sitting side by side like a marriage counseling outcome nobody had asked for.

Rafael’s room was the one he could breathe in. Warm, soft, and gentle without looking washed. Cream that didn’t feel like oatmeal propaganda. Pastels that didn’t look tired because Gregoris had bullied them into being slightly richer, slightly deeper, like even colors had to prove they could survive winter.

Gregoris’s room was… also warm. But it was warm in the way a guarded estate was warm: secure, deliberate, and designed to hold. Deeper green, sturdier furniture, shelves that made sense in a way that offended Rafael on principle. The crib wasn’t just placed; it was positioned, as if drafts were enemies with intent. The chair looked like it could support a grown man in full armor, and Rafael didn’t even want to know what that implied about Gregoris’s expectations for night feeds.

Rafael hated how good it was. He hated even more that he understood it.

Gregoris wasn’t decorating. Gregoris was building safety into the walls, treating the future like something you could outsmart if you prepared hard enough. And Rafael had followed his flow because it was easier than trying to carve softness into a man who had been shaped by duty and violence and the constant need to be the most dangerous thing in any room.

Gregoris didn’t tone that down for his mate and child.

If anything, it became more focused and intimate, as if all of that intensity had finally been given a home.

With soldiers, Gregoris commanded.

With Rafael, he still commanded, just with hands at Rafael’s waist, with a kiss that landed mid-argument, and with a quiet ’eat dessert’ that sounded less like a suggestion and more like doctrine. It was infuriating, and it was also, in its own unfair way, care.

The family arrived the week after the second room was finished.

Lady Frasner entered with her usual composure, her gaze moving like it was collecting information before she allowed herself warmth. Daniel followed, looking like he’d already decided this visit would end in damage control. Philip was grinning, already entertained by the concept of Gregoris attempting domestic life. Bruno said little, but his eyes missed nothing.

They were cordial. They were familiar. They were also, in that subtle way families had, careful around Gregoris, because no one forgot what he was, even when he was standing in a corridor with a nursery behind him.

Lady Frasner stopped when she saw the two doors.

Her gaze moved from the doors to Rafael and then to Gregoris, and her question was both polite and pointed enough to elicit an answer.

“What is this,” she asked, “and why are there two?”

Philip made a delighted sound. Daniel closed his eyes like he was bracing.

Gregoris answered without hesitation. “Two nurseries.”

“And why,” Daniel asked, voice strained, “do we have two nurseries?”

“Our daughter will choose,” Gregoris said.

Philip’s grin widened. “Choose what?”

“Which room she prefers.”

There was a beat of silence that made Rafael’s face heat up before anyone responded, because his body had learned to expect humiliation.

Lady Frasner’s brow lifted slightly. “How will she… choose?”

Gregoris said, perfectly calm, “By crying.”

Philip laughed out loud.

Daniel dragged a hand down his face.

Bruno nodded once, solemn. “Effective.”

Rafael’s throat tightened, half in embarrassment, half in laughter, because Bruno would say that as if approving a tactical maneuver.

Catherine laughed, bright and easy, the sound softening the whole corridor like someone had opened a window.

“Oh, thank the gods,” she said, amused. “I was worried I’d raised four sons and none of them would ever learn the concept of ’normal.’ But no. You’ve all managed to stay consistent.”

Philip looked delighted, like he’d found a new family legend to weaponize at future dinners. Daniel looked like he was already drafting a letter in his head titled Please Never Tell Anyone About This. Bruno remained solemn, which somehow made it worse.

Catherine clapped her hands once, not sharp, just cheerful. “Come. Dinner.”

A member of staff appeared, as they always did, perfectly timed and ready to take over the world quietly. Catherine waved them off with a kind smile.

“No, no,” she said warmly. “Tonight my boys set the table.”

Rafael blinked. “Catherine…”

Daniel’s head snapped up. “Mother, we have…”

“We have staff, yes,” Catherine agreed, still smiling, like she was humoring a child. “And I have sons. Let me enjoy them while they’re all in one place and not trying to overthrow something.”

Philip’s grin widened. “This is a trap.”

“It’s a tradition,” Catherine replied, sweet as honey. “From now on.”

Bruno accepted a stack of plates with the seriousness of a man receiving a sacred duty. Daniel muttered under his breath like this was a human rights violation. Philip was already laughing as he carried cutlery like he’d been assigned a punishment for a crime he’d committed in a past life.

Rafael followed Catherine into the dining room, still smiling, because somehow this was the most domestic chaos he’d ever seen attached to the Frasner name.

Catherine moved around the table like she belonged there, straightening a napkin herself and adjusting a chair, not because the staff couldn’t do it, but because she liked doing things with her hands when she was happy.

“Sit,” she said, and it sounded like a kindness.

Rafael sat.

In the next room, Daniel and Philip argued over whether forks should be on the left or right as if this was a constitutional crisis. Bruno placed glasses with careful precision, like he’d decided the table was another thing he was responsible for keeping stable.

Catherine watched it all with fond amusement, then turned back to Rafael.

“You look well,” she said simply.

Rafael’s smile softened. “I am. Mostly.”

“Mostly,” Catherine echoed, and there was no judgment in it, just gentle curiosity. “How is he?”

Rafael glanced toward the doorway out of habit, like Gregoris might materialize just because his name had been referenced.

Catherine noticed and laughed again, softer. “Yes. That habit. You’re already catching it.”

Rafael exhaled, half embarrassed. “He’s… Gregoris.”

Catherine’s eyes warmed. “Yes. Unfortunately.”

Rafael let out a quiet laugh, then added, because it mattered, because she would understand, “He’s good. He’s just… intense.”

Catherine’s expression didn’t change into worry. It stayed kind. “He loves intensely,” she said, like it was something she’d made peace with long ago. “It’s the only way he knows.”

Rafael’s throat tightened a fraction. “He’s gentle with me.”

Catherine’s face softened in a way that made Rafael feel strangely seen. “Good,” she said, and the word carried relief without making a spectacle of it. “I’m glad.”

Rafael hesitated, then admitted, with a small smile, “He isn’t gentle with anyone else.”

Catherine hummed, not surprised. “No. That’s… also Gregoris.”

There was a pause that felt comfortable rather than heavy. Catherine reached for the teapot and poured Rafael a cup herself, like she wanted to keep him anchored in small, normal things.

And then, because Catherine was a sweetheart and also a mother who adored her son and his mate, she tilted her head and said, lightly, “Still. If you ever want to escape him for an afternoon, you can come stay with me. I have quiet halls. No floor plans. No tactical nurseries.”

Rafael laughed, startled and warmed at the same time. “You’re offering me refuge.”

“I’m offering you tea,” Catherine corrected, eyes bright. “And peace. Briefly. Before he notices.”

Rafael’s laughter came easier. “He would notice.”

Catherine smiled like that was part of the charm. “Yes. He would.”

Rafael took the cup, the warmth seeping into his fingers. “You’re sweet,” he said, genuinely.

Catherine’s smile widened. “I’m reasonable.”

Rafael was still smiling when a presence settled behind them, so quiet it would have been frightening if it wasn’t familiar by now.

Gregoris didn’t announce himself.

Catherine didn’t flinch. She just looked up at him with fondness, as if he was still the boy who used to stand too close to doors.

Rafael turned slightly, and Gregoris’s hand found his shoulder, more anchoring than possessive, even if the possessiveness lived under it.

Catherine lifted her brows, amused. “You’re early.”

“I heard you,” Gregoris replied.

Catherine’s smile turned playful. “Of course you did.”

Gregoris’s gaze was calm, his voice simple, like he was stating a fact rather than issuing an order. “No.”

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