“Where are you going?” I ask, panic rising.
“Back to the gala. I’m going to enjoy the rest of my evening without hiding who I am.”
The door opens, and he steps out without looking back, leaving me alone among the cleaning supplies and shadows.
I watch him walk away down the corridor, his shoulders squared, head high. Every instinct screams at me to follow him, to grab his arm and pull him back.
Near the gala entrance, two men stand talking. Theo passes them without looking. The shorter one’s head turns half a beat too long.
I know that turn. I know that head.
Dawson says something to the man beside him and keeps walking. Doesn’t look back at the corridor. Doesn’t have to.
But I remain frozen, torn between the man I’ve always been and the man I might become.
26
THEO
The champagne glass feels cool against my fingertips as I watch the crowd from my DJ booth. Eclipse pulses with energy—not the usual frantic weekend energy, but something more intimate, more real. Sloane’s outdone herself, transforming the VIP section into a celebration space with simple elegance rather than the ostentatious displays I’ve become accustomed to in Ravenwood’s elite circles.
“Happy birthday, superstar!” Sloane appears beside me, her electric blue hair catching the lights. “Thirty-three looks good on you.”
I smile, though it doesn’t quite reach my eyes. “Thanks for this. It’s exactly right.”
And it is. My closest friends, key industry contacts, artists I’ve worked with—all gathered to celebrate me. The playlist shifts to a track I produced last year, and several people raise their glasses in my direction.
My phone stays dark in my pocket. No messages from Victor.
Because he doesn’t know.
“He’s not coming, is he?” Sloane follows my gaze across the room, reading me as she always does.
“I didn’t invite him.”
“Did you even tell him it was your birthday?”
I take another sip of champagne. “What’s the point? He wouldn’t come anyway. Can’t risk being seen at the birthday party of a man he fucks in secret.”
The bitterness in my voice surprises even me. Seven months since the Hunt. Two months since our confrontation in that supply closet. We’ve seen each other since then—always in private, always on his terms. Nothing’s changed.
“You deserve better than being someone’s secret, Theo.”
I scan the room—Jasmine from the gallery, laughing with Devon from the label. Julian standing with his arm casually draped over Elliot’s shoulder, completely at ease in their public display of affection. My chest tightens.
“I know,” I say quietly. “I just thought...”
I don’t finish the sentence. What did I think? That Victor would suddenly overcome decades of identity denial—for me? That he’d walk through that door tonight, take my hand in front of everyone, and acknowledge what we are to each other?
I check my phone again. Nothing.
Because he doesn’t even know it’s my birthday.
Julian presses another glass of champagne into my hand. “To the man who’s transformed Ravenwood’s music scene.” He clinks his glass against mine, his eyes warm with genuine affection. “Happy birthday, Theo.”
I down half the glass in one go, my head already swimming pleasantly from the three—or is it four?—drinks I’ve had. The DJ booth has been taken over by Devon, one of my producers, who’s spinning a set of remixes he made from my tracks.
“Come on, birthday boy!” Sloane grabs my wrist, pulling me toward the dance floor. “Stop brooding and dance with me.”