Caught by the Mad Alpha King Chapter 94: A forgotten chat

The room fell quiet again, and Chris’s gaze flicked to the phone resting beside him. His fingers itched. He told himself not to. He’d already humiliated himself enough for one lifeti.

Rowan’s voice, light but edged with knowing, broke through the silence. "You could always write first, you know."

Chris groaned, dragging both hands down his face. "You’re enjoying this way too much."

"I’m providing emotional support."

"You’re mocking ."

"Mutually inclusive concepts," Rowan said smoothly.

Chris sighed, muttering sothing unintelligible, then grabbed the phone anyway.

He knew Dax wasn’t supposed to contact him. When the Emperor traveled, his communication channels were locked down to prevent tracking. But Dax had already left for almost three days and there was no sign of him. Either he was busy like hell or he was ignoring him intentionally.

’Do you not have object permanence? Or you don’t care about your hostage?’

Chris stared at the ssage for a long mont before his thumb slamd send with more force than necessary.

Rowan, stationed across from him in what looked like permanent, polite readiness, raised a brow. "That’s a bold opener."

"It’s a valid opener," Chris countered imdiately. "He kidnapped , moved into a gilded fortress, and now he’s ghosting . That’s emotional terrorism."

"I think that’s called diplomacy," Rowan said mildly, not even glancing up from his tablet.

"Sa thing," Chris muttered, tossing the phone onto the couch beside him. It buzzed once as if mocking him, then fell silent.

A minute passed. Then another. The silence stretched so thin that the faint hum of the air filtration system began to sound personal.

Chris reached for the phone again, jaw tight. "Maybe it didn’t go through."

Rowan didn’t look up. "Or maybe you just accused the King of Saha of not having object permanence."

"That was a joke." Chris retorted while falling onto the couch, returning his phone with the indignation of a ghosted man by his captor.

"I’m sure he’ll find it hilarious," Rowan said flatly. "Eventually."

Chris scowled, thumbs already moving. ’Blink twice if you’ve been eaten by Rohan’s parliant.’

Send. The screen stayed blank.

Chris stared at it like he could manifest a reply through sheer irritation. "He’s ignoring ."

Rowan, still scrolling, said, "He’s likely in etings, sir. Rohan’s council chambers are notoriously chaotic."

"That’s a polite way of saying yes." Chris shot him a glare that could freeze lakes.

"I try to be diplomatic."

The minutes trickled by with the weight of hours. Sumr rain tapped against the windows, soft and relentless. The muted light of the palace suite made everything look expectant for its owner.

Chris glared at the phone again. Nothing. Not even a ’seen.’ He could practically feel the void laughing at him.

He slumped further into the couch, running a hand through his hair. "You know what’s ridiculous? I don’t even like ssaging. I hate it. I hate waiting for replies, I hate the stupid typing bubbles, I hate..."

"The emotional vulnerability?" Rowan suggested, tone smooth as silk.

"Exactly." Chris pointed at him like he’d proven a thesis. "It’s manipulative."

"So would call it communication."

"I’d call it cruel and unusual punishnt."

Rowan didn’t bother to respond this ti. His attention stayed politely fixed on the security reports open on his tablet, though the faint curve at the corner of his mouth gave him away.

Chris flopped sideways, half-buried under a throw pillow, glaring at the unread ssages like they’d personally offended him. "You know what? Fine. He wants silence; he gets silence. I can play that ga too."

"Of course," Rowan said, tone neutral. "You’re very good at gas you invented thirty seconds ago."

Chris threw the pillow at him. It missed.

He closed his eyes, determined not to think about it. About Dax’s unread ssages, about the way the man’s presence still lingered in the room even when he wasn’t there, the faint trace of spice and smoke in the air, and the mory of that low voice filling the space.

But then, of course, the phone vibrated.

Chris’s eyes snapped open. He grabbed it so fast it nearly flew from his hand. His pulse spiked, a ridiculous, traitorous thing. But the notification wasn’t from that chat.

It was from another channel. From what Chris could guess, another secure one.

He hesitated for a second before unlocking it.

Dax Altera: Sorry for no contact. Negotiations got hectic. I’ll call tonight.

That was it. No greetings, no asking how he was, just the kind of ssage you’d send to a subordinate or soone you didn’t want to spook.

Chris stared at the screen, expression caught sowhere between exasperation and disbelief. "Oh, sure," he muttered. "He can’t open the private chat, but he can text like I’m one of his advisors. Perfect."

Rowan looked up briefly. "He reached out?"

"Technically." Chris held up the phone, waving it like proof in a trial. "Official line. Generic apology. Probably dictated by one of his aides."

Rowan leaned back, unimpressed. "And yet you’re smiling."

"I’m grimacing," Chris snapped automatically, though his lips betrayed him with a faint upward tilt. "There’s a difference."

"Of course." Rowan returned to his tablet, unruffled. "Should I schedule your next dramatic monologue for after dinner or before?"

Chris ignored him. His gaze drifted to the silent, private chat, the one that still read "delivered" and nothing more. He unlocked it again without thinking, the empty thread glowing faintly on the screen.

It felt oddly comforting now, that stillness. That small, digital void where his words could exist without consequence. ’Maybe they deactivated this one. That gives an idea. A bad one.’

He started typing again.

’Fine. You win. Negotiations, diplomacy, whatever it is. Just letting you know, Rowan made eat an actual vegetable today. I hope you’re proud of your hostage’s survival progress.’

He hit send, then set the phone down gently this ti.

Rowan’s voice carried over from the desk. "Therapeutic?"

Chris leaned his head back against the couch, eyes half-lidded. "Can you stop monitoring ?"

"I will not read it from now on, if that makes you feel better, but seems like they won’t use it anymore."

"Even better."