[BL]Hunted by the God of Destruction-Chapter 262: Garlic Bread and the God Complex

Chapter 262: Chapter 262: Garlic Bread and the God Complex
By the time they reached the Numen manor, Elias had calmed down.
Mostly.
Partially.
Well... he was full of garlic bread and not actively plotting a coup, which was the best anyone could hope for at five and a half months pregnant and emotionally scorched by an afternoon of battling Ego Numen’s personal brand of affection-slash-dictatorship.
Now, sprawled across the long velvet couch in the east sunroom, Elias rested one arm across his stomach and narrowed his eyes at the ceiling like it had personally offended him. Again.
Victor was seated beside him. Casually, of course. One ankle crossed over his knee, forearms resting along the arms of the chair like he was posing for a silent film about tailored vengeance. His white t-shirt was soft and slightly wrinkled, the sleeves hugging his biceps just enough to be illegal, and his hair was still damp from the shower.
Which was rude. Unfair. Possibly a crime.
He wasn’t even trying to look good.
He just was.
"Can you not exist like that," Elias said flatly. "It’s distracting."
Victor didn’t look up from his book. "I’m literally sitting."
"You’re lounging with intent. There’s an aura."
Victor turned a page. "That’s not my fault. I’m a god."
Elias made a sound that was mostly exhaustion and a little bit resigned attraction. "You can’t keep saying that every time you look good in soft lighting."
"I absolutely can."
"I hate you."
"You asked me to bring you garlic bread and carry you up three flights of stairs."
"You’re enabling me."
Victor finally looked up. His eyes were warm and dark, soft in a way Elias hadn’t earned today but was still getting anyway.
"I’ll always enable you," he said. "It’s one of my many flaws."
"You have an entire portfolio of flaws," Elias muttered. "You just hide them under charm and muscle and perfectly brewed tea."
Victor set the book down. "You forgot
’excellent taste in partners.’
"
"I didn’t forget," Elias said. "I’m trying to repress it."
Victor laughed, low and easy, and reached over to gently shift Elias’s feet more firmly into his lap. He started massaging his calves without asking, thumbs pressing into tired muscle, knowing exactly where to apply pressure without causing discomfort.
Elias blinked down at him suspiciously. "What did you do?"
"Nothing."
"You’re rubbing my legs."
"They looked sore."
"They are sore," Elias admitted, flopping his head back again. "But that doesn’t explain why you’re being this nice. What’s the catch? Did you schedule a photo shoot without telling me? Is your father coming over?"
"No," Victor said smoothly. "But the gala is in four days."
Elias made a sound that could only be described as betrayal wrapped in fabric.
"No."
Victor kept massaging. "Yes."
"No," Elias said again, louder, eyes wide. "No. No. I thought we had another week. I made peace with the existence of that hideous guest list under the promise of time."
Victor’s voice was too calm. "There was a scheduling shift."
"Is this your father’s fault again?"
"Possibly."
"I will build a trebuchet," Elias swore. "And he will be the payload."
Victor grinned. "It won’t reach his estate. He’s an hour away."
"Then I’ll aim higher."
The baby kicked once, almost as if in agreement. Elias grunted and shifted, both hands bracing under his belly. "Even the fetus hates him. Good instincts."
Victor reached for the throw blanket and tucked it over Elias’s legs, movements slow and practiced. "You don’t have to think about the gala tonight."
"I am thinking about it. It’s four days away, Victor. Four. There are going to be cameras. And stylists. And at least one person who tries to bring an illegal gift. Probably covered in rhinestones."
Victor leaned back, arms behind his head again. "Well, we can do something if you want to feel in control of it."
Elias’s hazel eyes narrowed behind his gold-rimmed glasses. "Are you planning to hijack the party?"
Victor laughed, his crimson eyes glinting. "No, it’s still a party for you and me. But we can ditch Ego’s design for our clothes and choose something ourselves."
Elias’s hazel eyes narrowed behind his gold-rimmed glasses. "We can’t ditch his designs. They’re already in circulation. His assistant sent out fabric samples to the press."
Victor didn’t flinch. "I intercepted the physical deliveries."
"You intercepted them?"
"I had them rerouted to the legal department’s office, where no one reads anything."
Victor paused. "I might have also bribed the printer to jam the silk embossment proofs."
Elias blinked. "You committed premeditated sabotage."
"I committed damage control," Victor corrected. "Because no one, not you, not me, not this child, should be seen in gilded asymmetrical collars and organza side trains stitched with the words ’Numen Ascendancy.’"
Elias groaned into his hands. "He said the fabric was
’heritage inspired.’
And I have no idea what it means."
Victor nodded solemnly. "I read the design notes. He called the cuff beading
’ancestral integrity.’"
"I’m going to scream."
"Don’t. You’ll attract Laziel."
Elias froze. "Who?"
Victor leaned back again, letting the name hang.
Elias stared. "You did not."
"I did."
"You called Laziel Wynn?"
Victor’s expression was far too calm. "You said you wanted control."
"I wanted to not look like a sequined heirloom."
"And Laziel will ensure that."
"He made a veil out of razor wire for a divorcee who only considered crying in public."
Victor smiled faintly. "And that woman now chairs the fiscal committee."
"Because she terrified everyone!"
"Exactly."
Elias threw a pillow at him. "You’re emotionally manipulating me with fashion."
"I’m offering you weapons disguised as fabric," Victor replied, catching the pillow and tucking it behind Elias’s lower back. "You deserve to walk into that gala and make the press forget every single Numen who came before you."
Elias exhaled. "You’re too good at this."
Victor stood slowly, brushed the wrinkles from his shirt, and adjusted the fall of his sleeves. "He’s arriving in fifteen."
Elias sat bolt upright. "What?"
"He’s early."
"He doesn’t do early!"
"He said, and I quote,
’This union is unstable enough to be interesting.’
"
Elias looked toward the door like it might burst open with fabric bolts and judgment.
Then back at Victor.
Then down at his stomach.
"You’re going to stand by me while he mocks my ankles, right?"
Victor leaned in and kissed his forehead. "I’m going to stand behind you. He doesn’t get to mock anything unless we approve."
A sharp chime echoed through the manor.
Victor’s phone lit up.
A single message.
Laziel Wynn: Open the gates. I brought ruin and silk.
Elias groaned. "We’re all going to die in organza."
Victor grinned, his voice low and full of quiet delight. "Only if it’s lined with vengeance."