There was absolutely nothing Callum hated more than parties. They were stiff, and everything smelled like too-small “luxury” meals and leather dress shoes. But as the heir to the Bruin name, he had no choice but to attend. As was the case with most of the elite families that made up the social inner circle of the country. Sometimes, if the event was held by an important enough family, the world elites would attend. 

This gala, however, was being hosted by the Hawthornes—a mid-tier family with only one alpha heir, as every other child in their line turned out to be betas. It must have been nice, Callum thought absently to himself, to be a beta who did not need to worry about the ins and outs of alpha society. He sat at his table, letting the small talk that was drilled into him from a young age fizzle out around him. He was seated with the other heirs, as was the usual tradition, which meant he was seated with Beck and Courtney—though Courtney had slipped away to god knows where earlier in the evening. 

Callum wasn't stupid. He'd known most of the people at these events his whole life. He’d seen Courtney slip away with the Hawthorne heir at almost every event they'd been to since they were kids. And he'd seen the look in her eyes, that undeniable sparkle, every time they did it. 

Beck slammed a tray into the table with little grace, taking the seat next to Callum. It was filled with little trays of hors d’oeuvres, each plate carefully decorated to look like a work of art. It made sense, given they were at the opening for the new museum that the Hawthorne family was donating some of their private collection to. Something about an up-and-coming modern artist's exhibit. It made sense, given their heir, Theodorick Hawthorne, was an artist himself. 

“This event kind of blows,” Beck complained as he sat down, some of the other heirs looking at him with distaste. His whole tray was filled with plates of food, stacked like a pyramid on top of each other. “It's all just prissy music and chatter about nothing.” 

Callum couldn't help but let out a soft, huffing laugh as he sat back in his chair. “Aren't they all like this?” 

“Yeah, I guess you’re not wrong about that. But there’s something about this one that seems unbearably dull. Duller than usual.” Beck started to sort the trays of food from the tray onto the table, and Callum thought absently that Beck must have taken the tray from one of the many caterers. 

Callum hummed absently in neither confirmation nor denial and crossed his arms over his chest. He was… distracted. And the object of his distraction had a name—and fluffy brown hair. Adrian Wild. 

A light dusting of sweat was gathered on his brow as he flitted around the room with a tray in hand, wearing a tightly fitted tux with no blazer, and a red bowtie. He sometimes catered these events, having gone to school with the children of some of the most elite families in the area and therefore being connected with all of them. Callum was no stranger to seeing him in passing. 

But it was different. There was more between them than before. Before, it was just a prickly feeling that inched up Callum’s spine whenever they were in the same room. It was just that nagging, pulling feeling that he had to desperately ignore, because Adrian was not in any feasible future Callum might imagine for himself. 

Now? There was Alph-O, and there was Mister.A, and there were all the complicated feelings Callum really tried not to feel. It really felt like the universe was conspiring against Callum to make sure he was reminded of what he couldn’t have at every corner. 

“You’re staring at that beta a lot,” Beck observed, and annoyingly so. The other heirs were busy trying to distance themselves from Beck’s poor manners, so Callum was sure they weren’t being overheard. Still, he had to be careful. His father had eyes and ears everywhere—even at events that weren’t his. 

“Why is he here? Shouldn’t he be working at his little cafe?” Callum didn’t mean to sound trite or bitter, but his voice was raw from the pressure of trying to hide. And the temptation to pull out his phone to message the one person he knew couldn’t answer. 

Beck shrugged. “I don’t know, word on the street is that Nebula Cafe might be having some money problems. Maybe Adrian is trying to pick up some extra cash to make up for it.” 

Callum frowned deeply and lifted his head from where it was seated in his hand. “Money problems?” That was the first he was hearing of it. “What money problems?” 

Beck shrugged. “Beats me, man. I’m not friends with him. Ask him yourself.” 

Callum rolled his eyes. “You know as well as I do that he hates me. He’d never tell me, and I know you only want to know for the gossip.” 

Beck grinned widely in a way that suggested Callum was exactly right about that, and Callum gave his best friend a hearty shrug. “We need to pay attention anyway, it’s almost time.” Callum looked at his watch, the second hand ticking along. 

“Time? For what?” 

A few alpha women in brilliant sunset colored gowns walked past the table, giggling and whispering as they looked at Callum. It was the worst-kept secret that Callum was promised to Courtney, but that didn’t stop the other heirs—especially from the lower families—from window shopping. Callum paid them no mind because he didn’t feel like entertaining them. It wasn’t like he could pursue anyone, anyway. 

Any encounter he had was stiff, fake, and usually didn’t get very far. How could it? There were too many variables that could expose him. 

“Callum? Time for what?” Beck repeated, which signaled to Callum that he had been silent for too long. 

Callum lowered his arm with the watch, crossed his arms over his chest, and looked over at Beck absently. “For the main event. Don’t you think it’s strange that Theodorick hasn’t shown his face yet? This party is literally for him.” Callum hated parties. And there was a good reason for it. There was one thing that parties such as those were never short of: drama. 

While the ins and outs of elite society seemed to be all gold and promenade on the surface, underneath it was just scandal and gossip. Callum hated that everyone was always watching. And that no matter what happened, if there was going to be a party, there was usually someone willing to put on a show to go with it. 

That person was usually Theodorick Hawthorne. Provided his parents didn’t keep him hidden away for the duration of an event. The worst part? The Hawthorne heir hated Callum’s guts. Which meant that any event Callum dared to show his face at was sure to come with “entertainment.” 

Beck looked around. “Oh. Now that you mention it, I guess I don’t see ol’ Dirkie. Aren’t some of his paintings part of the collection his parents are donating?” 

“Which is why it’s strange that he’s not here,” Callum agreed, already creating the rumor mill in his head. If Theodorick did show his face, it would surely be the town's talk for weeks after. 

As if on cue, the doors to the museum burst open. The event was located in the lobby, which was a large ballroom-like area where the collection was brought out and displayed for the guests to view at their own leisure. The main entrance was supposed to be closed off, but it seemed Theodorick had found himself outside. His tux was in shambles, his shoes scuffed from stumbling, his tie undone, and his blazer falling off one shoulder. His auburn hair was sticking up at all wild angles, and his eyes were partially glazed over. One glance at his parents told a story too—that he was absolutely not supposed to be there. 

Mrs. Hawthorne hastily stood up from her place at the head table, but she was pulled back by her husband, the alpha of the relationship, where she was simply a beta. It had been a huge scandal when they had gotten together, and an even bigger one when only their youngest child manifested. The ribbon cutting hadn’t even started, and already, the party was in chaos. 

Theodorick stumbled into the room, pointing the empty glass bottle in his hand directly at Callum. “Bruin.” He hissed through gritted teeth. “This is all your fault.”