Chapter 39: Chapter 39: Survivor not martyr
It rang once.
"Chris?" Andrew’s voice came immediately, deep and steady, the same voice that had coaxed him through scraped knees and exam nerves. "What happened?"
Chris’s heart lurched up into his throat. All the words he’d rehearsed scattered like marbles. "Hey, Andrew," he said, and even to his own ears it sounded small. "It’s... complicated."
"Did Mia do something again?" Andrew asked, a thread of amusement slipping through the steadiness, the way it always did when he was trying to keep things light.
Chris closed his eyes and let out a long breath. "I’m recommending you to sit down."
On the other end there was a short pause, then the sound of a chair creaking. "I’m sitting," Andrew said. The warmth was still there, but the amusement had vanished, replaced by the quiet alertness Chris knew from courtrooms. "Now tell me."
Chris stared at the far wall of the suite, fingers tightening on the phone. "Do you remember the false-positive test of my secondary gender when I was eighteen?" he said at last. "It wasn’t false."
Andrew didn’t speak, but Chris could hear his brother’s breathing change, slow and deliberate.
"I’m a dominant omega," Chris went on quietly. "One of two in this generation. And last night at the Fitzgeralt wedding... Dax found out."
Another pause. When Andrew finally spoke, his voice was still steady but lower. "You’re telling me this now?"
Chris’s stomach tightened. He hated that tone, the cool, measured cadence that meant Andrew had slipped from big brother into prosecutor. It meant he was in trouble and, fair enough, he was.
"Well, the plan was for me to pretend I’m a beta until the end," he said quietly. "I didn’t want to make any of you suffer for it and... I was selfish in the end."
On the other end, Andrew’s breath came slow and deliberate. "And how," he said, each word precise, "did you get to meet the King of Saha?"
Chris rubbed a hand over his face, eyes flicking to the untouched breakfast on the table. "By accident," he said. "Or fate. Or Mia’s shift." He let out a humorless laugh. "She begged me to cover her section at the Fitzgeralt wedding. Section One just happened to be the King’s table."
"Chris..." Andrew’s voice dropped another register.
"I was serving him drinks," Chris went on, pushing through before he could lose his nerve. "Clara tried to drag me into the main hall; things got messy. He figured me out, somehow, in about three seconds flat. Next thing I know, I’m in a villa and I’m drinking a latte while talking to my brother."
The silence on the line was heavy, but Chris could almost hear Andrew’s hand going to his forehead the way it always did when he was trying not to curse. "Start at the beginning," Andrew said at last. "Every detail."
Chris swallowed, thumb tracing the edge of the phone. "Before you go full cross-examiner on me... you should know I didn’t just lie. I tested. Three times. The first machine was defective and gave me that false beta result at eighteen. The second and third were on the same day, and I was already taking natural supplements to suppress my hormones. It bought me time."
Andrew didn’t interrupt, but the silence on the line had gone taut.
"I was lucky," Chris went on. "Lucky enough not to awaken fully right away. Lucky enough that the suppressants dulled the spikes. It meant I could work. Stay invisible."
"Suppressants," Andrew said, his voice flat.
"Yeah," Chris said. "After that I found a clinic. Legit, licensed, with credentials that looked good on paper. They didn’t care about my story, just the money. From nineteen until now I’ve been on a tailored mix, designed off my pheromone profile to keep me down, keep me reading like a beta."
His mouth twisted into a wry smile even though Andrew couldn’t see it. "That’s why I never took full-time jobs. Contract work meant no health screenings, no company doctors, and no questions I couldn’t dodge. It was my way of survival and not some rebellious phase."
On the line, Andrew exhaled slowly. Chris pressed on before the lecture could come.
"The wedding blew it all up. Dax didn’t need a lab or a form. He took one look, one breath, and knew exactly what I was. Dominant omega. No hiding after that."
He let his head fall back against the chair, staring at the ornate ceiling. "Now I’m in his villa. Bandaged feet, breakfast, security I can’t even see. He hasn’t threatened me, hasn’t locked me in a cage, but..." He trailed off, fingers tightening on the phone. "There’s no way out, Andrew. Not really. He’ll take me with him. That’s what men like him do."
"You should have told me," Andrew said, his tone firm.
"Maybe," Chris said, rolling his eyes at the ornate ceiling. "But you already had enough on your plate and I thought I had it under control... well, until now. You’ve got your secrets too, Andrew. Don’t pretend you don’t."
A long breath on the other end. When Andrew spoke again, the warmth had drained into something more measured. "Chris, listen to me. Don’t do anything stupid. Dax’s reputation isn’t a rumor. He’s violent, ruthless. But he doesn’t hurt innocents, and he won’t kill you. A dominant omega isn’t disposable to a man like him. You’re the legacy, the heirs, the other half of a dynasty he’s trying to build."
Chris let out a short, humorless laugh. "Oh, great. A dynasty. Exactly what I’ve always wanted... to be a breeding line in someone else’s empire."
"Chris..."
"No," he cut in, still with that dry edge. "I’m not about to pick a fight I can’t win, Andrew. I’m not stupid. But don’t expect me to sit here wagging my tail because His Majesty snapped his fingers. I’ll do what I have to do to survive, but I’m not going to roll over and ’benefit’ just because he says so."
Andrew was silent for a moment, then his voice softened without losing its weight. "That’s exactly the attitude that will keep you alive. Just... be careful where you point it."
Chris smirked to himself. "Always am. Don’t worry, I’ll smile, I’ll eat the croissant, and I’ll bandage my feet. But I’m not going to be his good little project."
"Then promise me you’ll call before you make a move," Andrew said.
Chris tapped the phone against his chin, still looking at the untouched breakfast. "Promise? No. But I’ll try," he said, tone light but eyes hard. "You raised a survivor, not a martyr."