Chapter Text
Voices clamoured together. The intensity grew in volume; until it started shaking glasses on top of the table. Christian felt light-headed. This wasn’t supposed to happen! Hands clenched around the delicate wood, cracking it by the seams. He was so close to get what he wanted. Chants echoed down the streets. Hammered into his ears;
DOWN WITH THE CEOS.
He loosened his sweater, with precious fingers. His grey eyes ghosted over the crowds, their banners having every single CEO on them, including his. Could it be Fsociety? A part of Christian wondered. Have I been underestimating Elliot this whole time? Chills went down his spine. Palm clenched over his chest. Wariness etched into his every feature.
Tyrell wasn’t anywhere to see; he was out on errand.
It didn’t matter ━━ The whole world knew by now what was going on. The pressure cooker was turned on, and all the warnings, Christian Grey had ignored. Too self-absorbed to see what was straight in front of him.
All it would take, was one accurate target to find his head. And Christian would be as dead as the rest of humanity.
The endless rows of protests in every direction showed him there were no mercy for him out there. Even when he wasn’t one of the worst.
Christian walked over to mini-fridge, leaning down, and taking a wine out. He closed it swiftly, moving to the other part of the small kitchen. With slender fingers, took out a glass to sip from. His nerves were getting fried from the tensions outside. Christian checked his bank via his phone, if only to reassure himself he still had the money to buy off the press.
The sense of vertigo rolled through his veins. Captured him alive.
He could call his family and other friends in the industry. Yet Christian hesitated. If anything were to happen to him, it would point the masses to others. Is this what the French Revolution felt like? The chants never ended, continuing until the break of dawn. Not allowing Christian any rest.
His phone began to ring in his pocket. Without a second thought, hoping Tyrell was on the other end of the phone. His faith was quickly crushed when he recognised the voice on the other end.
“Tick tok,” Whiterose said. Amused clear in her tone. “Your time is up.”
“How did you get my number?” His palm slammed down on the table, rattled the wine glass. The sweet scent filled his nostrils, neither calmed his fear.
“We’ve a common friend,” Whiterose teased him. The sound of heels clicking through the floor was heard from the other end. “And he has been the most helpful to me.”
“… Elliot?” Christian froze.
“Yes,” Whiterose said. “Perhaps your own brother.”
“You wouldn’t dare!”
“You’ve been very bad, Mr. Grey,” Whiterose sighed. “We had a proper agreement. Everything would’ve been fine if you had followed my lead. But you decided to betray me instead. Tick tok.”
Christian grits his teeth. Hands clenched until skin ripped. The stings of pain a reminder of the power he had. “Anastasia won’t let you touch a hair on my head.”
Whiterose chuckled through the phone. “Naïve child.”
To be talked down to, as if he was lesser, when he held the whole world between his palms made Christian see red. The crash as the glass was launched off the table. Directly impacted an expensive mirror, splitting it into a thousand ends. His features twisted within the glass.
“In time, your empire will fall like dominoes, and your legacy will be dust,” Whiterose said, snarling. “The moment you chose Tyrell over yourself, the clock started ticking.”
Part of it sounded like utter nonsense to him. Tyrell and him were one, one couldn’t exist without the other.
“Or do you think yourself the hero?”
Yes, all my life, Christian wanted to answer. Any American in the movies were the heroes, weren’t they? Yet Whiterose made him question everything he had ever known. As if she had access to files very few were privy too. As if she was hacking him. To hack his time left on this Earth.
“What do you want?” Christian forced himself to speak. Hairs rose on his neck. A deal with the devil, was the closest comparison he had to this. And she was luring him into it, as a starving man looking for salvation.
“Revenge.”
Before Christian could reply, the line was cut off. His breath heaved. Blurred vision, like a glitch spread. The distant sound of running footsteps and screaming staff broke the disassociation. From outside the building, he heard the clashes of police with the protestors. A familiar hand jolted him out of his trance. His grey eyes widened in shock. Mouth hang open. Tyrell’s well-knowing gaze stared into his own. The words were muffled, as if he was listening to Tyrell through a wall.
“The protests are breaking the barricades,” Tyrell said. He shoved Christian against the surface, he groaned in pain. “We’re sitting ducks here.” His calm demeanour, shocked Christian, considering their circumstances.”… Christian?” Tyrell shook Christian violently.
“Y-Yeah, we’ve to go.” From his peripheral vision, he noticed one of the towering skyscrapers shake as explosion spread through them. The stones and glass turned into a million projectiles. Fires and smoke swallowed what was left of an empire by another CEO.
Tyrell tugged him outside the door, already ran through the maze of corridors. His grip like iron against steel. Lights began to flicker over his head. Transformed the once harmonise and rich corridors into a horror movie. Screams echoed in front of them. Panic spread like a virus everywhere Christian Grey looked. He had ignited the flame, and now he would pay the price for it.
He stumbled in front of the elevator, but Tyrell shook his head when he gave a questioning head tilt. And tugged Christian upwards ━━ To the skies. When his gaze landed on the sight of his helicopter, he realised what Tyrell was thinking.
“Let’s go!”