CHAPTER 121: CHAPTER 121: YOU WIN

"Go to hell."

The words slipped out before Christopher even realized he’d said them. They were quiet, but the words made the room feel smaller, the air sharper.

Dax froze. For the first time since stepping into the suite, he looked less like a king and more like a man trying to understand how everything had gone wrong in a single heartbeat.

"What did you say?" His voice was low, measured and so calm that even Chris thought, for a moment, that he might take the words back.

Christopher’s lips twisted, a bitter, tired smile forming at the edge of his mouth. "You heard me."

The silence between them cracked like glass. The chandelier above them flickered once, the amber light cutting through the haze of pheromones that still lingered thick in the air.

"I said," Christopher repeated, his voice rising, trembling with rage and exhaustion all at once, "go to hell. You, your kingdom, your people, and everything you think you’re saving."

Dax took a step forward, the sound of his boots swallowed by the rugs. His jaw was locked, his hands rigid at his sides. "You don’t mean that."

"I do," Christopher snapped. "I mean every word."

He was shaking now, a tremor that came after holding too much inside for too long. The collar gleamed under the chandelier, pulsing faintly in rhythm with his unsteady breathing. "You talk about sacrifice as if it’s sacred. As if suffering makes you holy. But all it’s ever done is turn you into something you swore you’d destroy."

Dax’s eyes narrowed, the faint violet glow under the lamplight deepening. "Be careful what you say next."

"Why?" Christopher’s laugh was sharp and breathless. "Are you going to punish me for it? Add another layer to the cage?"

"Enough," Dax warned, his voice cutting through the air like a blade. "You’re angry, tired, and sick. You don’t..."

"No," Christopher interrupted, stepping toward him this time, fury shaking his voice apart. "I’m awake. I finally see what this is. You call it devotion, duty, or maybe love, but it’s control. You want me silent and grateful while you decide how I live, what I wear, and what I’m worth."

"You think I enjoy this?" Dax’s voice broke its restraint, raw and loud now. "You think this is what I wanted for either of us? I’m trying to protect what I’ve built, what keeps us alive!"

"Alive?" Christopher’s black eyes glistened, the words tumbling out between breaths. "I haven’t felt alive since you took me from my home. Since the day you looked at me and decided I was something you could use!"

The words landed like blows. Dax flinched once, barely perceptible, but enough.

Christopher’s chest rose and fell too fast, his voice thinning, quieter now, more dangerous. "I never wanted this. Any of it. I never wanted to be a king’s toy, or his symbol, or his good little omega behind glass."

He took another step forward, tears streaking down his face, though his expression was cold. "I wanted a life, my life, the one I’d hidden from alphas like you and this gilded coffin you call safety."

Dax’s voice softened, but the fury beneath it remained. "You think I don’t know what you’ve lost? You think I don’t carry the same weight?" He moved closer, eyes burning. "You can’t imagine what it costs to hold a kingdom together. To keep millions alive. To..."

"Then you can have it," Christopher said, his voice suddenly flat, dead. "Keep your kingdom. Keep your people. Keep your throne. And burn with them if you must."

His next words came quieter, but each syllable carved through the silence like a knife.

"I hope your perfect empire keeps you warm when there’s no one left to love you."

Dax’s breath caught. His control slipped for a fraction of a second; his pheromones surged, filling the room with power and heat, making the air hum. The chandelier trembled; the lights in the sconces wavered.

He reached forward, fingers twitching like he wanted to grab Christopher, to shake him, to make him take it back. "Say that again," he whispered. "Say it... and mean it."

"I already did," Christopher said.

Something broke in the way he said it. There was no heat, no tremor, just the cold, final calm of a man who had run out of things to fight for.

Dax’s expression faltered. The fury drained from his face, leaving something worse: disbelief, maybe fear. "You don’t mean that," he said again, softer now, almost pleading. "You’re just tired. You don’t..."

Christopher cut him off with a slow shake of his head. His eyes looked different now, pale, distant, and hollow. "No. You win, Dax."

Dax blinked, confused. He expected Chris to be angry about the lock, but this wasn’t just anger but desperation.

Christopher’s voice was steady, terrifyingly calm. "You wanted obedience. Silence. A figure to sit beside your throne and never question you. Congratulations." He straightened, the faint glow from the collar glinting against the tears still wet on his jaw. "You’ve got exactly what you wanted."

The words landed like frost.

"Chris," Dax breathed, stepping forward, his tone breaking at the edges. "Don’t do this."

But Christopher didn’t answer. He just looked at him blankly, unmoved, and empty.

Then, with the quiet finality of a closing door, he whispered, "It’s over."

Dax’s throat worked soundlessly. His hand twitched at his side, the same hand that had touched the collar minutes ago, that had held, restrained, and almost caressed. But he didn’t reach for him again.

He turned away. He didn’t trust himself to do the right thing.

The door opened and then closed behind him, the sound so soft it almost didn’t exist.

And Christopher stood alone in the amber glow of the chandelier, staring at his reflection in the window, a man wearing the crown’s finest cage.

He raised a hand to his throat. The diamonds were cold again, lifeless.

"Congratulations, Your Majesty," he whispered to the empty room. "You finally broke me."

The collar pulsed once, faint and obedient, and went still.