CHAPTER 120: CHAPTER 120: TO HELL

"You..." His voice faltered. "You put a collar on me."

Dax’s brows drew together. He didn’t move away and didn’t seem to understand what he had just done. "You agreed," he said quietly, almost defensively. "I asked if I could put it on. I thought Hanna explained..."

"She didn’t," Christopher cut in, his voice sharp enough to cut through the still air. The flicker of red from his patch pulsed again, brighter now, betraying his pulse. "She said it was a necklace. That’s what you said too."

"It is a necklace," Dax said, his tone steady but uncertain now, his hand hovering near the clasp. "It just..."

"Locks?" Christopher’s laugh came out brittle, empty. "Yes, I noticed."

He stood abruptly. The cushions gave way under his weight, the silk folds whispering against his legs as he moved. The chandelier’s amber light caught in the diamonds around his neck, turning them into fire.

"I endured everything," he said, voice trembling with rage. "Every order, every absence, every lie that came wrapped in your protection. I let you make me part of your kingdom, your games, and your quiet threats, and I said nothing."

Dax took a slow step closer, his expression unreadable. "Christopher."

"Don’t," he warned. "Don’t say my name like that."

The air thickened between them, Dax’s pheromones brushing against the edges of Christopher’s scent. The collar responded again, faintly glowing where the metal met skin, the built-in sensors syncing to the alpha’s presence. The vibration was subtle, almost imperceptible, but Christopher felt it in his pulse, in the place where breath became heat.

He tore at it with his fingers, the chain refusing to yield. "You think I needed more reminders that I belong to you?"

"That’s not what this is," Dax said sharply, stepping forward now, his voice losing its calm. "It’s meant to keep you safe..."

"Safe?" Christopher’s voice cracked. "Do you even hear yourself? You caged me in gold and called it protection!"

Dax’s eyes narrowed, confusion flickering into something close to anger. "You think I would hurt you?"

"I think you already did."

The words hit Dax harder than he wanted to admit. For a heartbeat, the only sound was the low hum of the purifiers and the uneven rhythm of their breathing. The faint red pulse on Christopher’s patch reflected in Dax’s eyes, a warning light neither of them could ignore.

"I don’t understand," Dax said finally, the edge of command stripped from his voice. "You agreed, Christopher. You said yes."

Christopher laughed again, softer this time, but the sound was far from gentle. "Yes, because I thought it was jewelry. Not a chain. Not something that reacts to your scent like a brand."

"It’s not a brand," Dax said, taking a hesitant step closer. "It’s a seal of protection, a symbol..."

"Don’t," Christopher cut him off, his tone trembling with restrained fury. "Don’t you dare call it that. You talk about protection as if it’s some noble act. You don’t get to dress control in gold and call it devotion."

The chandelier’s light trembled above them, throwing uneven shadows across the silk walls. The scent of Dax’s pheromones grew heavier, pressing against the space between them until even the air felt like it belonged to him. The collar responded again, faintly vibrating with each word he spoke, syncing to the alpha’s presence like a living pulse.

Dax closed the distance between them before Christopher could step back. The motion was quiet as if sound itself were afraid to exist.

In a single movement, Dax’s hand rose, his fingers wrapping around the side of Christopher’s throat, not tight enough to hurt but firm enough that resistance would’ve been useless. The metal of the collar was cool under his palm, the faint hum of the lock pulsing between them like a shared heartbeat.

"Look at me," Dax said.

Christopher refused.

So Dax tilted his chin upward, forcing his head back until their eyes met. The angle bared his throat, the sharp line of his jaw catching the amber light. The diamonds around his neck blazed like a warning.

His purple eyes glinted with something that made Christopher’s breath catch, not the calm control of a ruler, not the sharp calculation of an alpha used to winning, but something far more dangerous. A light that didn’t belong to a man at all.

"This," Dax said, voice low and oddly warm, each word a weight, "is what happens when you forget who you’re speaking to."

Christopher’s pulse stuttered against his hand. His entire body went still, except for the quick rise and fall of his chest.

Dax leaned in just enough that his words brushed the space between them like heat. "You think you can stand in front of me and speak as if I’m one of them, the courtiers, the servants, the ones you can mock and outthink? I command nations, Christopher. I break them when I have to. Do you really believe you’re above consequence?"

Christopher’s breath trembled, but his gaze didn’t waver. "I thought you were better than this," he whispered.

Dax’s fingers flexed against the curve of his throat, his expression unreadable, beautiful, and terrible under the light. "Then you thought wrong," he said softly, almost cruelly.

The words landed like a blow. They cut deeper because he sounded calm, as if he wasn’t angry at all, but rather certain.

For a moment, Christopher couldn’t speak. He felt the hum of the collar, the faint vibration syncing with Dax’s pulse through his hand. The air between them was alive, too warm, too close, and too full of everything he didn’t want to feel.

"Let me go," he said finally, his voice raw.

Dax didn’t. His gaze dropped briefly to the collar, then back to Christopher’s eyes. "If I do, will you stop looking at me like I’m the monster who put you here?"

Christopher’s laugh came out hoarse and uneven. "You are the monster who put me here."

The silence after that was unbearable.

Dax’s grip loosened, but he didn’t step back. His thumb brushed along the metal edge at Christopher’s nape, slow, an unspoken apology that failed before it began. His scent shifted, darker now, threaded with frustration and something faintly mournful.

"Maybe," he murmured, "but you still said yes."

Christopher flinched as if struck. "You really don’t get it, do you?" he said, voice trembling. "You don’t understand what it means to take from someone who has nothing left to give."

Something inside Dax flickered with confusion, irritation, and something close to pain. But he didn’t show it. He straightened instead, the warmth of his hand vanishing from Christopher’s skin, replaced by cold air and silence.

He stepped back once, then again, jaw tight, eyes still locked on Christopher’s face. "Careful," Dax said quietly, the cruelty gone but the warning still there. "You’re forgetting who’s trying to keep you alive."

Christopher’s voice broke, sharp and trembling. "And you’re forgetting I never asked you to."

"You dishonor me," Dax snapped, the last of his calm gone, his voice echoing against the walls. "You dishonor my people, my traditions, and this kingdom that has taken you in when you had nothing. I have waited long enough for you to accept what you are."

"Go to hell."