The door closed with a sound that barely existed, soft enough that even the chandelier didn’t stir.
For a while, Christopher didn’t move. He just stood there, staring at the faint reflection of himself in the window, an outline, nothing more, swallowed by gold and glass. The collar was cold against his throat again, like Dax took even the warmth with him. He wanted to rip it off.
He wanted to scream until the walls cracked.
His hand trembled as he reached for the phone. The group chat was still pinned to the top, Glass Crackers, their little bubble of sarcasm and chaos, a place that had always felt safe. The only place that wasn’t him and the crown and the gilded rooms that reeked of someone else’s control.
He opened it, his thumb hovering over the keyboard for a moment before fury steadied him.
Christopher moved to the bedroom and sat on the edge of the bed, shoulders tense, the weight of the collar dragging against the hollow of his throat. The air smelled faintly of cedar, smoke, and him, as if Dax had branded the room.
He stared at his phone, thumb hovering above the screen, breath coming too fast. The faint reflection in the black glass made him look like someone else, someone brittle and furious.
He didn’t even think before typing. He just needed it out. Needed someone to see what he’d become.
Glass Crackers
Chris: I’M DONE.
Chris: HE LOCKED A COLLAR ON ME.
His pulse hammered. The letters looked too small for the magnitude of what had happened. He hit send before he could stop himself.
Mia: what the actual...
He could almost hear her voice, which was part horrified and part incredulous.
He swallowed hard, the collar moving against his skin, leaving the faintest ache. It pulsed once alive, mocking him and his feelings. He wanted to tear it apart with his bare hands.
Chris: WITH HIS PHEROMONES. It’s sealed. I can’t take it off.
His fingers shook as he typed, every keystroke heavy with disbelief.
Mia: Maybe he is just intense... you know the king and all his power?
Chris let out a sharp, humorless laugh. His thumb moved faster, his anger spilling out.
Chris: intense?? INTENSE??? He is insane. I’m going to strangle him with it.
The screen light flickered across his face. He could see his reflection in the glass: a flash of teeth and tears.
Glass Crackers
Chris: I LOOK LIKE A DAMN PET. HE CALLED IT "PROTECTION."
His chest hurt with the words. Protection. As if the king hadn’t already taken everything worth protecting.
Mia: ... well technically it is. now no one can touch you.
He could almost hear her nervous tone, the way she tried to make sense of what made no sense.
Chris: NO ONE COULD TOUCH ME BEFORE. I HAVE HANDS!!
The force of the message made his thumb ache. He wanted her to feel it, the absurdity, the humiliation, twenty million in diamonds and platinum around his neck, and he felt poorer than ever.
Mia: but do your hands cost 20 million?
Chris froze, staring at the screen, then hissed under his breath.
Chris: MIA I WILL END YOU.
The threat was half reflex, half desperation, a tiny piece of their old rhythm peeking through the wreckage.
Lucas: you sound owned, Christopher.
The words hit like a slap.
He gritted his teeth.
Chris: SHUT UP LUKE OR I’LL MAIL YOU THIS THING.
His jaw ached. He imagined the satisfying sound of the collar shattering against marble.
Mia: please don’t; Palatine customs would keep it and then auction it off.
Chris blinked, then typed slowly, the fury cooling into something brittle.
Chris: ...
Chris: ... actually maybe that’s better. let someone ELSE choke on it.
He could almost feel their silence through the screen, everyone waiting, unsure how to respond to the exhaustion creeping into his words.
Serathine: Chris, calm down, I know Dax can be hard to understand but he is doing something traditional.
Traditional. The word burned worse than the metal. He clenched the phone so tightly it creaked.
Chris: I DON’T CARE! HE FORCED DRESSES DOWN MY THROAT ALL WEEK AND LIED TO ME THAT IT’S A NECKLACE.
Chris: I WANTED TO BE THE BETTER MAN BUT NO, HE JUST USED IT. I’M DONE WITH THIS BULLSHIT.
His thumb hovered over "send" for a heartbeat, then pressed down. The message went through, sharp and final.
He could imagine Serathine’s sigh, Mia’s panic, and Lucas’s unreadable silence.
Mia: Chris... breathe. You’re spiraling.
He wasn’t spiraling. He was burning.
Serathine: Christopher, enough. Don’t write what you’ll regret.
Regret. The word made him laugh under his breath.
He typed slower now, deliberate, each letter pressed like carving words into stone.
Chris: REGRET? I REGRET GETTING ON THE PLANE. I REGRET TRUSTING HIM. I REGRET ALL OF IT.
Chris: I’M DONE TALKING.
He sent it and stared at the screen, watching the reply bubbles appear in threes, fours, vanishing and reappearing. He didn’t want to read any of them.
Mia: Chris?
Mia: Answer me. RIGHT NOW.
The light of the phone glowed against his collar, making the diamonds flash like distant lightning.
Serathine: Christopher. Type something. Anything.
He pressed the back of his hand against his mouth, making a sound that was equal parts sob and laugh.
Mia: Luke. Say something. He always answers you.
He waited. He knew Lucas would say something stupid. He always did.
Lucas: Chris. Don’t go quiet on me. Fight, curse, scream, I don’t care. Just answer.
Chris’s throat closed. His vision blurred.
He wanted to. God, he wanted to. But his fingers stayed still. His breath came uneven, each inhale catching against the collar like it didn’t belong to him anymore.
The patch on his arm began to flash an alarming red, but he ignored it; the pain of giving in, of giving everything to someone else only to have it reduced to nothing, was unbearable.
’I should have run. I should never met Dax... I want my life back.’