[BL]Hunted by the God of Destruction-Chapter 264: Photos

Chapter 264: Chapter 264: Photos
Laziel didn’t speak right away.
Which was, frankly, terrifying.
He studied Elias for a few seconds, then gave a sharp nod, like something had finally passed a test.
"Good," Laziel said. "You have a spine. I was starting to think you were just another pretty face buried under silk and passive-aggressive tailoring notes."
Elias crossed his arms. "If I wanted to be wrapped in overpriced symbolism, I’d let Ego dress me."
Victor let out a low laugh, clearly enjoying himself. "You’re making Laziel work harder. He likes that."
"I do," Laziel said smoothly. "It means I get to design for a person, not a puppet."
He waved a hand.
One more rack was brought forward, this one smaller and more tightly packed, with no dramatic cover or grand entrance. The assistants moved carefully, but there was no flair this time.
The clothes, when revealed, were different.
Darker palette. Modern cut. Sharp details. The suit had depth without flash, a charcoal base with a tailored finish, bronze-gold accents on the lapel and cufflinks, and a tie that looked classic from afar but had a subtle spiral design built into the pin. Nothing screamed for attention.
Elias stared at it for a beat.
Then at Victor.
Then back to Laziel.
"...This one doesn’t look like it’s trying to sell my bloodline to a museum," he muttered.
"That’s the point," Laziel said. "You’re not a product. You’re a person. And people don’t need sequins to make an entrance."
Victor stepped forward, eyeing the design with more interest now. "It’s sharp."
"It’s honest," Laziel replied. "Let him wear something that doesn’t look like a campaign."
Ten minutes later, Elias was seated on the velvet-backed chair in the sunroom, the suit fitting like it had always belonged to him. The cut framed his shoulders without exaggeration, the color brought out the gold in his eyes, and the tie rested on his chest. He wasn’t posing. Just sitting there. Comfortable. Tired. Himself.
Victor leaned against the wall, arms crossed.
"You look like a threat."
"Good," Elias said. "Now nobody can say you married for looks alone."
Laziel folded his tablet and looked pleased for the first time. "We’re done here."
Victor didn’t look away from Elias.
"Almost."
Victor stepped forward, with the elegance of someone indulging a ritual. The next rack Laziel motioned to was narrower with only one outfit.
It was a crimson suit, rich and dark like a glass of wine poured at midnight. The fabric caught the light in a way that made the seams look edged in shadow. No embroidery or decorations. The lapels were slightly peaked, the waist cinched, and the shirt underneath was black, deep enough to match his eyes in a dark room, and soft enough to dull the sharp edges of the suit.
There were rings laid out beside it. Gold, silver, one carved with obsidian, another with a red stone that wasn’t quite ruby.
Victor shrugged into the jacket without a word.
By the time he turned around, the look was complete.
Elias stared, one brow rising. "Seriously?"
Victor smirked faintly. "It matches my eyes."
"You’re dressed like a man who smokes in velvet chairs and ruins political careers for fun."
Victor tilted his head. "And?"
Elias pointed at him. "That’s my line."
"You’re not the only one allowed to dress like a threat," Victor said smoothly. "Besides..." He reached for one of the rings, sliding it onto his index finger with his usual flair. "Someone has to look like they planned this engagement on purpose."
Laziel made a pleased sound under his breath. "Perfect. You look like you have options and none of them are forgiveness."
Elias narrowed his eyes. "You’re both enjoying this."
Victor didn’t deny it. He leaned down, fixing Elias’s collar with care, hands brushing the edge of his lapel.
"You married into a family that builds empires and dresses like war," he murmured. "This is what we do."
Elias gave a tired sigh. "You’re lucky I’m too pregnant to storm out."
Victor smiled. "And you’re lucky I’m too in love to let you."
Laziel clapped once. "Right. Photos in ten. Try not to look like you’re plotting a corporate takeover, unless you are, in which case please let me adjust your lighting."
"Photos?" Elias asked, his brows creasing behind his gold-rimmed glasses.
"Yes," Laziel said without looking up. He was already tapping something into his tablet, expression calm and unforgiving. "For the press release. And the archives. And because your face does things to lighting algorithms that I frankly consider a public service."
Victor, still adjusting his cuff, looked entirely unbothered. "Ego insisted."
"Of course he did," Elias muttered, sitting back harder into the chair. "Nothing says ’private engagement’ like broadcasting it in high-definition to twelve billion people."
Laziel arched a brow. "You’re marrying a Numen. Privacy is a tax bracket you no longer qualify for."
Victor moved behind him, resting his hands lightly on Elias’s shoulders. "We’ll control the narrative. Pick the right angles. Make sure they see what we want them to."
Elias tilted his head back just enough to give him a look. "So we’re doing propaganda now?"
Victor grinned. "No, love. We’re doing branding."
Elias groaned but didn’t move. The suit was comfortable, annoyingly so. He’d expected stiff shoulders and hidden buttons, but it moved with him like it had been worn in already. Tailored enough to say he belonged here. Subtle enough not to scream it.
An assistant crept in holding a camera case, clearly under orders not to breathe too loudly.
Laziel snapped his fingers again, and the sunroom lighting shifted once more. The warmth returned, but filtered this time, diffused and flattering. A spotlight without looking like one.
"Okay," Elias said, standing slowly. "Let’s get this over with."
Victor joined him at his side, the crimson of his suit catching the light like liquid heat. They stood together, one dressed like a clean scalpel, the other like the aftermath, and the photographer visibly swallowed.
"Smile," Laziel said dryly. "Or don’t. Either way, they’ll frame you like royalty."
Victor’s hand found Elias’s waist, grounding and possessive.
Elias didn’t smile.
But the camera clicked anyway.
And somewhere, probably already typing up a headline, the world began to adjust.