Chapter 25: Chapter 25: The date (2)

Rafael’s knuckles became whiter as he realized something. “you… You will never let Augustus meet me.”

Gregoris laughed, low, pleased if not for the darker undertone. “No. I won’t.”

Gregoris’s foot remained exactly where it was, pressing just a little harder on Rafael’s ankle.

Rafael didn’t breathe for a moment. He stared at him, trying to find the line between mockery and madness, if there even was one. “I didn’t ask for your permission.”

“That’s the problem,” Gregoris said, leaning forward with dangerous ease, wine glass balanced between his fingers. “You thought you had a choice.”

“You do not own me.”

Gregoris let out a quiet, amused hum. “No, but you dressed like you wanted someone to.”

Rafael’s spine snapped straighter, fury flickering over his face.

Gregoris continued, undeterred. “I had every intention of letting Augustus see you tonight. I even cleared the path. And then, ” he gestured lazily at Rafael’s chest, at the way the lace shimmered like sin and high treason, “you walked out in that.”

His smile widened, inch by slow inch.

“And suddenly, the game got more interesting. I don’t like sharing when I’m entertained.”

Rafael’s mouth opened to argue, to insult, maybe escape but Gregoris cut him off with soft, terrifying calm.

“So I called Kent. Told him that if he so much as stepped within ten meters of the meeting point tonight, one of his very expensive cars might spontaneously combust.”

“You’re insane.”

“Very likely.” Gregoris sipped his wine again, the picture of civilized menace. “But effective.”

“You threatened your friend,” Rafael hissed.

Gregoris didn’t even blink. “Friend is a generous term. Kent and I coexist. Occasionally we collaborate. Mostly we compete. He understands the rules.”

“That isn’t a rule,” Rafael said, voice thin. “It’s extortion.”

“It’s scheduling,” Gregoris corrected. “Creative scheduling.”

Rafael’s pulse hammered at his throat. His ankle was still pinned by the weight of Gregoris’s foot, light enough to pretend it wasn’t intentional, heavy enough to remind Rafael exactly who controlled the table, the night, and the air.

For a breathless second, Rafael searched for a solution, an escape route, a loophole, a diplomatic pivot, anything. His mind skittered through plans: call the Shadows, walk out, overturn the table, flip his wine, and storm off. But all of them ended the same way.

With him realizing he was sitting across from a man who didn’t bluff. A man whose existence was a collection of threats he always followed through on.

“You…” Rafael swallowed, forcing his voice steady, “You can’t keep dictating who I see.”

Gregoris tilted his head, studying him like a puzzle that delighted him too deeply. “You keep mistaking observation for ownership. I’m not stopping you from seeing Augustus.”

Rafael exhaled in something that wasn’t relief. “Good-”

“I’m stopping Augustus from seeing you,” Gregoris finished smoothly.

Rafael froze.

Gregoris smiled like he’d been waiting for that exact look. “He’s harmless. Mostly. But he’s predictable. He’s safe. And you…” his eyes dragged down Rafael’s chest, over the shimmering lace and the sharp lines Gloria had carved into fabric, “didn’t come here tonight looking for safe.”

Rafael’s throat went dry. “I didn’t come here looking for you.”

“You walked into my car,” Gregoris said. “My restaurant. My evening. In a shirt that should be classified as a strategic weapon.” His voice dropped lower, darker. “Own your choices, Rafael.”

Rafael’s hands curled under the table. “I should leave.”

“You won’t,” Gregoris said instantly, softly, as if stating a law of nature.

Rafael’s head snapped up.

Gregoris leaned back, but the pressure on Rafael’s ankle increased, barely, but enough. A warning disguised as intimacy.

“You won’t leave,” he repeated, “because you know walking out would make this worse. For you. For Kent.” His smile sharpened. “Possibly for the building.”

Rafael stared at him, breath quick, fury and something colder threading through his ribs. “You’re a monster.”

“Of course,” Gregoris said simply. “But I’m your monster for the evening. And you knew that when you stepped out of the palace in that shirt.”

Rafael’s pulse jumped.

Gregoris noticed. Of course he did. “There it is,” he murmured, pleased. “The moment you realize exactly whose table you’re sitting at.”

Rafael lifted his chin, even as his ankle remained trapped, even as every instinct screamed danger. “I am not prey.”

Gregoris’s smile turned feral. “Then stop acting like it.” He tapped his glass lightly, the sound sharp. “Eat. Drink. Talk. You have my attention tonight, Rafael. That is more than most men survive long enough to enjoy.”

His eyes glinted, steel and storm.

“And if you still want Kent at nine,” he added softly, “you can try to negotiate for him.”

Rafael’s stomach dropped.

Gregoris lifted his wine in a casual toast.

“Go on,” he murmured. “Impress me.”

“Do I look like a trained pet?” Rafael asked, tilting his head, his eyes shifting from anxiety and outrage to cold disdain.

Gregoris’s lips parted slightly, not in shock, but in something far more dangerous.

Enjoyment.

“No,” he said, voice velvet and violence. “You look like a man who knows how to play the part when cornered.”

The candlelight flickered, catching the angles of Gregoris’s face in soft gold. There was something ancient in his expression now, older than diplomacy, colder than strategy. Not just a duke, nor a Shadow commander, but something else entirely.

The predator who didn’t hunt because he was hungry.

He hunted because he liked the sound of bones breaking beneath silk.

Rafael straightened, ignoring the sting of ether along his spine and the simmering heat of the lace against skin that had long since stopped pretending to be safe. He reached for his glass, not to drink, but to create distance. It didn’t help. Gregoris was still there, still watching, still pressing against his ankle like he was anchoring him to the moment.

“I don’t perform,” Rafael said coolly. “Not for you. Not for anyone.”

“You’re lying,” Gregoris replied, voice silk-wrapped and sure. “But it’s charming that you still try.”

He cut into his food with leisurely elegance, as if they weren’t surrounded by nobles half-pretending not to stare, as if this weren’t a game already tipped too far toward danger.

“You know,” Gregoris continued, reaching for his knife without looking, “I wondered why Gabriel chose you for his secretary team. He could’ve asked for any of the trained staff. He could’ve promoted someone safer. Simpler. But he picked you.”

He sliced through the delicate dish on his plate like it was an inconvenience.

“And I thought… ah. That one. The one who tried to catch the Emperor’s attention once, not because he was hungry for power, but because he was afraid of his mother.”

Rafael stilled.

Gregoris chewed, swallowed, and then smiled.

“But here it is. Your real face. You do resemble Gabriel more than anyone I’ve met. Not in looks.” His eyes dragged down the omega’s frame. “Though you’d win that contest too, if I were judging.”

Rafael’s jaw tensed.

Gregoris leaned in slightly, the candlelight flickering in his silver-flecked eyes. “But in the genius that hides behind a very carefully crafted facade. I thought about making you a shadow first, but Alexandra gave me a more entertaining plan.”

Rafael’s breath caught, but he didn’t let himself look away. The weight of Gregoris’s stare was relentless, and for a heartbeat too long, the world narrowed down to just the table, the glass, and the hand clenched around it.

The moment snapped.

The glass in his hand tilted with the grace of someone who had long since mastered etiquette, performance, and theater. But the liquid inside it caught the candlelight like blood about to be spilled.

One smooth motion.

One elegant flick of the wrist.

And…

The wine arced through the air like a declaration of war.

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