Chapter 1:

Preston Vale’s birthday party looked like something out of a luxury magazine. Crystal glasses, champagne towers, and enough perfume in the air to make anyone forget oxygen existed filled the spacious foyer. Everything gleamed, and the guests sparkled. Live music floated from a grand piano, echoing through the room as if it had nowhere else to be.

Joseph Hale entered through the side entrance, a habit more than anything else. It meant fewer eyes on him. He passed two servers sneaking bites from a cheese platter, nodding as if he belonged, which he sort of did; at least enough. 

Inside, he spotted Leo first—tall and laughing, the kind of guy who made awkward silences feel like inside jokes. Joseph slipped beside him and took the cup Leo held out without hesitation.

"You didn’t dress up," Leo said, giving Joseph a once-over.

"I ironed this shirt," Joseph replied.

"Barely," Leo shot back.

Joseph smirked. "It’s part of the look."

Leo shook his head, smiling. "You’re lucky you pull off ‘underwhelming’ so well."

"Preston’s the star," Joseph said, gesturing toward the crowd. "I’m just here for the snacks."

That made Leo laugh again, and they bumped their cups together.

"To snacks and surviving another year."

Joseph raised his drink. "Cheers."

The toast came not long after. Preston stood on a dining chair like it was a throne, arms wide and a champagne glass in hand.

"To me," he said. "To youth, legacy, and all of you for showing up—even if you didn’t bring good gifts."

Laughter echoed in response. Preston glanced around with a smirk that never left his face. "Seriously, though, thanks for coming. I couldn’t ask for a better way to spend twenty-two."

Joseph lifted his drink with the others. No one looked his way, but that didn't matter; he smiled anyway. He’d been doing this long enough to know how it worked.

After dinner, Jude brought out the velvet box. It had been a tradition since their boarding school days, when they wore uniforms and found creative ways to break the rules without getting caught.

"God, not this again," Sasha groaned, already laughing.

Joseph sat cross-legged on the rug next to Celeste, who passed him a folded slip with a wink. 

Joseph unfolded his slip of paper. 

"Say your favorite movie quote like your life depends on it."

He cleared his throat, stood up halfway for effect, and stumbled dramatically into Leo’s shoulder. 

"Mr. Stark… I don’t feel so good…"

Groans erupted in response.

"Oh my god, that’s so dark," Sasha laughed, tossing a grape at him.

"Too soon!" Max shouted.

Joseph sat down with a satisfied grin, brushing the grape off his shirt. "Art imitates trauma."

"You are the trauma," Leo said, trying not to laugh.

Later, an absurdly tall birthday cake rolled in, decorated with gold flakes and sugar flowers. The room broke into a messy chorus of "Happy Birthday," phones out, and candles flickering.

Joseph stood in the crowd shoulder to shoulder with people he’d known since childhood. Someone shouted for a group photo, and they instinctively crowded near the cake. Joseph ended up on the edge, half-hidden behind Leo and partially blocked by Sasha’s hair.

Celeste held out her phone, arms stretched as far back as possible. "Everyone in?"

"Just take it!" Preston called.

The flash went off, followed by another. Max yelled something about doing one more, showcasing his "good side." Joseph adjusted his position slightly, but no one noticed.

Later, when they reviewed the photo, Joseph was barely in it, cut almost in half at the edge of the frame—just a blur of glasses and one shoulder.

"God, my jaw looks insane here," Preston said, zooming in on himself. "Send me that."

No one mentioned the rest.

Later, Leo leaned on the balcony railing while Joseph drank the last of his soda.

"You know," Leo said, "I think I’m the only one who remembers that it’s your birthday too."

Joseph looked over at him. "You think?"

Leo nudged him playfully. "Okay, I know."

Joseph smiled faintly. "It’s fine."

"No, it’s not. It’s just… Preston."

"I know."

Leo pulled something small from his jacket pocket—a tiny wrapped box. "I didn’t wrap it great, but I figured you’d like it."

Joseph took it. "Thanks."

"You still doing that thing with the cameras?"

"Always."

"Bring it to the island. I want nice blackmail material this year."

Joseph laughed. "Deal."

The city buzzed faintly in the distance, its lights blinking as if trying to communicate through the noise. 

Joseph tilted his head back and breathed in the night air. This was the calm before—the part where everything still felt golden. 

They’d leave for the island tomorrow, just like they did every year. And if no one remembered it was his birthday by then? 

Well, he would.