Chapter 7: Chapter 7: Emotional damage

Rafael blinked at Gabriel, still half-laughing, half-hysterical. “Escalate how? She has already outplayed me before noon.”

Gabriel closed the folder with deliberate calm. “By not fighting her directly.”

Rafael frowned, confused. “What does that mean?”

“It means,” Gabriel said, leaning back slightly, “that refusing her, arguing with her, or trying to escape her plans will only motivate her to become more… inventive. Delphine enjoys challenges. You are providing her with endless material.”

Alexandra nodded, her pale green eyes filled with enthusiasm; she, like Delphina, was one of the socialite queens, her position as a daughter of von Jaunez and wife of Marquis Caelan Lancaster gave her all the weapons she needed. “She thrives on resistance. The more you protest, the more determined she becomes.”

Irina folded her arms, giving Rafael the kind of look one reserves for someone poking a wild animal with a stick. “If you push, she pushes harder. It’s every veteran queen socialite’s way. They don’t negotiate; they escalate until the other side retreats out of exhaustion.”

Max stretched lazily on the couch, his grin sharp. “Which means you’re losing because you’re putting on a show. You’re giving her drama. She feeds on drama. You’re basically marinating yourself and delivering your own plate.”

Rafael stared at all of them like they’d collectively betrayed him. “So my only real mistake was existing with opinions?”

“Yes,” Irina said flatly.

Alexandra nodded helpfully. “And having boundaries.”

“And trying to avoid men,” Max added.

Julian raised a finger. “Also being single.”

Rafael groaned. “So everything?”

Gabriel tapped his fingers on the desk, the smallest hint of amusement ghosting beneath his composure. “She wants victory, Rafael. She wants the feeling of steering your life with elegance. If you deny her, she fights you. If you cooperate just enough, she becomes complacent.”

Rafael blinked, trying to follow the logic and his brain gave up halfway through. “So you want me to play dead?”

“No,” Gabriel said. “I want you to gently pretend you are no longer resisting. There is a difference.”

Max snorted while still sorting through the correspondence Damian forced him to help Gabriel with. “Play dead, but pretty.”

Julian nodded. “Like a decorative corpse.”

Irina elbowed him. “Not helpful.”

Gabriel continued, ignoring the chaos. “By cooperating, you take the fun away. Delphine’s real joy is overcoming obstacles. Remove the obstacle, and she slows down. You’ve watched her at galas. You know how she is.”

Rafael deflated. He knew exactly how she was. “So the blind date… do I go?”

“You go,” Gabriel confirmed. “Calmly, politely, without too much fuss, like you normally are. Let her think she has won.”

Rafael dragged a hand down his face. “Gabriel, I’ve already seen how my mother behaves when she thinks she has won. She starts planning grandchildren.”

Alexandra let out a soft hum. “She once told me she had Rafael’s future nursery mapped out before he turned eighteen.”

Max choked on a laugh. “That’s terrifying.”

Irina nodded. “That’s Delphine.”

Gabriel leaned forward slightly, voice steady. “She can plan all she wants. She cannot force the outcome. You are still in control of who you choose. And, if the candidate is uninspiring, you let him realize you aren’t suitable.”

Rafael’s eyes widened. “You want me to sabotage it?”

“No,” Gabriel corrected, “I want you to exist. That will be enough.”

Max clapped once. “Brutal.”

Julian sighed. “Effective.”

Irina murmured, “Honestly… fair.”

Rafael looked between them, still dazed. “So the plan is that I show up, sit there, drink tea, and let the blind date collapse under the weight of my personality?”

“Yes,” Gabriel said calmly. “It worked for me until Damian.”

Rafael opened his mouth, then closed it. “Is this really the best we can do?”

Gabriel’s tone softened just a fraction. “Your mother is playing a long game. We play a longer one. If Delphine wants creativity, let her use it. She can arrange meetings. She can arrange candidates, but not attraction or compatibility.”

Max leaned forward, eyes glinting. “And if the candidate’s smart, he’ll run before dessert.”

Rafael glared weakly at him. “Why?”

“Because,” Max replied, stretching again, “you are a walking red flag to anyone with sense.”

Julian added dryly, “High-stress job. Impossible hours. Imperial proximity and the occasional emotional damage.”

Irina added, “And Gabriel.”

Rafael blinked, more confused than reassured by his friends. “What about Gabriel?”

Irina shrugged. “Anyone trying to date you has to get past Gabriel. That alone will scare away half the continent.”

Gabriel didn’t deny it.

Rafael closed his eyes. “This is my life now.”

Gabriel stood, smoothing the front of his coat. “Then do it properly. Wear something neutral, be pleasant, and for the love of God, don’t panic. Let Delphine tire herself out.”

Rafael exhaled, defeated. “If this backfires, I’m moving to the mountains.”

Max grinned. “We’ll visit your grave out of respect.”

Julian nodded. “And bring flowers.”

Irina patted his shoulder. “Try not to die.”

Gabriel gestured toward the door. “Now go prepare. Warfare runs in your family, Rafael. Use it.”

—

Rafael left Gabriel’s office like a man walking away from a battlefield he hadn’t technically died on but probably should have. Gabriel had waved him off with a simple, “Take the rest of the day. And tomorrow. You need the time,” which was the political equivalent of declaring Rafael unfit for duty due to emotional shrapnel.

He stepped into the hallway, still processing the words “blind date” like they were in an unknown language. His mind felt foggy, drifting between panic, dread, and the crushing realization that his mother was orchestrating his romantic future with military precision.

He walked without really seeing anything. The palace corridors were gorgeous, with carved columns and soft, golden polished floors, but Rafael moved through them like a ghost. A tired, introverted ghost who wanted to be in his quiet apartment with a blanket over his head.

He kept mumbling to himself. “A blind date. A candidate. I can’t do this. I’m going to die. I’m going to sit there and choke on tea.” He dragged a hand over his face. “Why do I even talk to people? I was supposed to do desk work. I was promised desk work.”

He turned a corner.

A shadow detached itself from the wall behind him and followed.

Rafael kept walking.

The shadow quickened its pace.

Rafael still didn’t react.

The shadow grew larger, with broader shoulders, heavier steps, and a calculated presence.

Rafael drifted forward, lost in thoughts of Delphine’s Salon of Doom.

Finally, the shadow stepped right behind him.

Gregoris Frasner didn’t loom. He existed in a way that made everyone else feel loomed over. People stiffened when he entered a room. They whispered about him. They feared him. He had never been ignored.

He moved closer, his voice low and designed to make grown alphas flinch. “Rosenroth.”

Rafael didn’t stop walking.

Gregoris frowned.

His voice dropped further, a subtle warning rumble. “Rafael.”

Nothing.

He narrowed his silver eyes, stepping directly into Rafael’s path like a wall of lethal intent.

Rafael walked around him.

Gregoris blinked. He actually blinked.

He tried again, moving to block him a second time, shadow falling over Rafael like a threat most people only experienced once.

Rafael finally lifted his head, expression flat and exhausted, eyes glazed with socially induced trauma.

“Not now, Gregoris.”

He stepped around him again and kept walking down the hallway like a sleep-deprived bureaucrat trying to catch a train.

Gregoris remained rooted in place. Utterly, profoundly stunned.

He stared after Rafael with the expression of a man who had just been patted on the head instead of feared. No one ignored him. No one brushed past him. No one denied him the satisfaction of a proper reaction.

He watched Rafael disappear around the corner, coat swaying softly, oblivious to the fact that he had just broken a universal law of palace existence.

Gregoris murmured, barely audible, “Did he just… dismiss me?”

A passing palace guard, who had witnessed everything and feared for his own life, whispered, “Sir… are you all right?”

Gregoris didn’t respond. He continued staring down the corridor as if Rafael had become the first anomaly in an otherwise perfectly controlled universe.

Slowly, very slowly, a dangerous, amused smirk pulled at the corner of his mouth.

“Well,” he muttered to himself, “that’s new.”

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