Caught by the Mad Alpha King-Chapter 423: The Monster [Win-Win]

Chris came home the way people returned from war: upright on principle, sore in places he refused to inventory out loud, and running purely on spite and caffeine that had not yet been administered.

He was on the couch in the private wing like a tragic hero exiled to domesticity.

One leg stretched out, the other bent, a throw blanket draped over him in a way that suggested both suffering and aesthetic intention. He wore a soft, oversized T-shirt that was definitely one of Dax’s gym shirts and lounge pants - comfortable enough to be believable, casual enough to be insulting, and entirely designed to make Dax understand that he had committed crimes.

Nero was in his arms.

Two months old, warm and small, with the absolute innocence of someone who had no concept of ’consequences’ and therefore lived a perfect life.

He babbled gently, as if narrating Chris’s downfall to the ceiling. One tiny hand was curled around Chris’s finger; the other occasionally punched the air like he was voting in favor of more milk.

Chris stared ahead with a thousand-yard gaze, as if he had returned from a battlefield rather than an aggressively romantic conservatory.

When the door opened, he didn’t turn his head.

Dax’s footsteps were quiet; that was a feat Chris couldn’t understand. He was a lot shorter but made noise everywhere he went.

Chris remained still, eyes fixed on nothing, the very picture of noble suffering.

Dax stopped near the couch.

Chris waited for him to speak, but the man, who exuded smugness like the bastard he was, said nothing, waiting for Chris to speak first.

Chris finally turned his head, slow, wounded, and accusatory.

Dax looked down at him with blatant satisfaction. Deeply, quietly pleased, like the last two days had been a personal victory, and he intended to keep it framed and hung on a wall.

Chris narrowed his eyes.

"You," he said, voice level, "are a monster."

Dax answered without hesitation. "Yes."

Chris blinked.

He had expected denial or at least the performance of innocence.

Instead, Dax accepted the title like it belonged on official stationery.

Chris’s gaze sharpened. "You’re not even going to argue."

Dax smiled, and that should have been illegal. "Why would I?"

Nero chose that exact moment to make a delighted, bubbly sound and kick his feet, as if his father’s presence had upgraded the room from quiet domestic recovery to festival.

Chris melted instantly.

It wasn’t fair how quickly the tension left his shoulders when Nero made those innocent, pleased little sounds, as if happiness was the only language he’d ever need. Chris adjusted him carefully, letting the baby settle against his chest, and watched the tiny fist flex like it was conducting an invisible orchestra.

"A menace," Chris murmured fondly.

Nero answered with a gurgle.

Chris smiled down at him - soft, helpless, entirely ruined - and then remembered himself, because Dax was still there being smug and unpunished.

He lifted his gaze slowly.

Nero was angelic.

Nero was also... unmistakably Dax’s child.

The same dark intensity in miniature, disguised behind baby cheeks and a mouth that didn’t know how to form words yet. A clone of Chris’s devilish husband and mate, just with fewer crimes and more drool.

Chris’s smile widened.

"This angel right there," he said, voice warm as he pressed a kiss to Nero’s temple, "is making me want more of him."

Dax’s brows rose.

Chris turned his head sharply toward him, eyes bright with mischief and threat. "Too bad this one devil is your father."

For one heartbeat, the room went still.

Then Dax laughed, low and pleased, the sound of a man who had just been handed a trophy in the shape of a complaint.

"You’re saying that like it’s a problem," Dax murmured.

"It is," Chris said immediately. "It’s a massive, dangerous, entirely unfair problem."

Nero babbled as if in agreement, tiny hands waving like he was voting yes.

Dax stepped closer to the couch with the confidence of someone who owned the room, the palace, and apparently Chris’s ability to stay angry.

He leaned in, gaze moving over Chris’s face, then down to Nero with a softness that always caught Chris off guard.

"More of him," Dax repeated quietly, like he was tasting the words.

Chris narrowed his eyes. "Don’t get ideas."

Dax’s mouth twitched. "It’s too late."

Chris shifted Nero higher against his chest like a shield. "Absolutely not."

Dax’s gaze flicked to the baby, then back to Chris, amused. "You just threatened me with a compliment."

"I threatened you with a truth," Chris shot back. "There’s a difference."

Dax reached out and brushed one finger against Nero’s hand. Nero grabbed him instantly, triumphant.

Chris watched it happen and sighed like a man betrayed by his own household.

"You see?" Chris said to Nero, voice full of false tragedy. "He’s a corrupting influence."

Nero gurgled happily, still holding Dax.

Dax’s eyes warmed. "He likes me."

Chris gave him a flat look. "He likes everyone. He’s two months old."

Dax leaned closer, voice lower, the smugness returning like a familiar weapon. "You like me too."

Chris’s glare held for exactly three seconds.

Then he muttered, defeated and honest in the most annoying way, "Unfortunately."

Dax’s smile deepened, entirely too satisfied.

Chris tightened his hold on Nero and added quickly, "But you’re still a monster."

Dax gently kissed Nero’s forehead, then looked at Chris like he was about to commit another crime.

Chris saw it and warned him immediately. "Don’t."

Dax paused, amused. "Don’t what?"

"Don’t kiss me," Chris said, glaring harder. "I’m trying to maintain moral outrage."

Dax’s eyes softened. "You look beautiful when you’re outraged."

Chris made a sound of pure offense. "That’s manipulation."

"It’s observation."

Nero babbled again, bright and delighted, as if he approved of both the outrage and the manipulation.

Chris stared at his child, betrayed for the third time.

"You," he told Nero, "are going to grow up and be a problem."

Nero kicked his feet like he was proud of that.

Dax’s voice went warm, pleased, and dangerous. "He already is."

Chris looked back at Dax, eyes narrowing, but his mouth was betraying him with a smile.

"You are not allowed to look that happy while I’m suffering."

Dax leaned in just enough to let the words land like a promise.

"I’m not sorry," he murmured. "You asked for more."

Chris huffed, amused despite himself. "What a good husband you are," he said dryly, "listening to everything I say."

Dax hummed like he’d just been praised for excellent governance and bent to kiss Chris, then pressed a gentler kiss to Nero’s forehead.

Nero responded by making a pleased little noise and waving one hand like he was blessing the union.

Dax straightened again, fingers still lightly touching the baby’s fist where Nero had decided to keep holding him like a claim, and then, because Dax never stayed in softness for long without turning it into logistics, he asked, "When is your family going to visit?"