5' 8"-5' 9"

"How do I look?" Noah adjusted the lapels, then he stepped closer to the camera and gave a little spin.

"Fabulous! Absolutely fabulous!" Mom clapped her hands happily. "You'll be the most handsome one there!" She always said that, firmly believing that Noah was utterly unparalleled and that anyone in his presence had no choice but to swoon. She also thought so now, completely ignoring the acne flare-up from the night before; she also had thought the same in the past when Noah's classmates used to say he looked like a piglet.

"Isn't it a bit much? This is a serious event, and here you are with your hair dyed and a ridiculous tie," Dad remarked melancholically. He had this unfortunate habit of mildly criticizing everything and everyone—though it never lasted long before Mom shut him down. Like right now.

"Arthur!" Mom snapped immediately.

"Agnes?" Dad raised an eyebrow, acting as if he hadn't understood the reason for his wife's reaction.

"He's nervous enough without your 'helpful' opinion! You're just going to make him feel awkward about himself!"

"He'll feel awkward about himself if he doesn't look according to the dress code," Dad countered. "Son, you know I don't care how you dress or what color you dye your hair. I spent my entire youth having a bright red mohawk, and I would gladly keep rocking it now," he said with a wistful sigh, running a hand over his bald head. "But tonight, you'll be surrounded by people who may not be so understanding. I'm just worried about you."

"I get it," Noah nodded, touching his curls instinctively. He had dyed the tips a vibrant sea green the day before—which was an impulsive decision on his part. The color matched the tie he'd picked out to go with his navy-blue suit and white shirt. It seemed like a cool combo at the store. But now, after his father's comment, he wasn't so sure. There was one thing his dad was definitely right about, though: it was going to be a serious event. And Noah... kind of looked like he was going to a college prom.

"Maybe I should tie my hair back?"

"Absolutely not!" Mom objected. "You look fantastic. Don't listen to your father. You know how much of a grumbler he is!" She tossed her wavy hair that Noah had inherited.

"I'm not a grumbler. I'm just worried about my kid. There's nothing wrong with that!" Dad declared. "By the way, what color is your boyfriend's outfit? Are you two matching?" he asked unexpectedly.

"I... don't know," Noah admitted, stumbling over his words. Why hadn't it occurred to him to ask Ethan what he'd be wearing? He'd been so anxious about the upcoming charity event that he completely forgot to ask such a basic question. Wait a second—Ethan had helped him pick out his suit, so everything should be fine, right? Though helped wasn't the best word to define it. Noah had dragged Thompson to the store, assuming he'd get an objective opinion. But apparently, Noah had underestimated how biased Ethan was. When Morgan stepped out of the fitting room in a black suit, Ethan had said simply, "Damn awesome."

"What about this one?" Noah asked, trying on a white suit.

"Damn awesome."

"How about this?" Noah jokingly pulled on a bright pink suit. Thomson didn't bat an eye.

"Damn awesome."

"According to you, I could wear anything, and it'd be damn awesome," Noah laughed.

"That's because anything looks good on you," Ethan agreed.

"And what exactly is your grading scale here? The white one doesn't even fit me properly!"

"My scale defines whether I'd want to take the suit off you or not."

"Oh, for God's sake. You're no help at all! Why'd you even agree to come with me?"

"To have a chance to look at you," Ethan replied without a shred of shame.

"Are you satisfied now?"

"Not even close."

Noah rolled his eyes and ducked back behind the curtain.

"I'll buy the pink suit just to embarrass you!" he threatened.

"You couldn't embarrass me, even if you showed up in a trash bag," Ethan shot back effortlessly. Arguing with Ethan was pointless, and Noah had sworn to even stop trying. Besides, he had one last suit to try on—the navy one he eventually bought. He'd liked it right away, but he thought he had to try other options.

"This one's probably the best," Noah muttered to himself, inspecting his reflection in the mirror.

"Yes, it looks damn awesome," Ethan said instantly, peeking behind the curtain.

"Ethan!"

"What?"

"You're peeking!"

"Yeah."

"Step away from the dressing room!"

"Why? Sooner or later, I'm going to see everything anyway."

"Later, not now!"

Ethan sighed and let go of the curtain, mumbling something that sounded suspiciously like "meany." For someone so serious most of the time, Ethan could be ridiculously childish.

At the register, Thomson tried to pay for the suit, but Noah refused. He'd already gotten the money from his parents. What worried him was the possibility of Ethan commenting that the suit was "too cheap." But Ethan didn't say a word, didn't insist on going to a fancier store, and only shrugged when Noah refused his offer to pay for him. Noah bought the tie later. He dyed his hair the day before, so that part would be a surprise for Ethan.

"How's Nicole doing?" Mom suddenly asked. She'd heard about what happened a few weeks ago and was just as worried about her as Noah was. Nicole and her brother Nicholas had occasionally stayed over at the Morgans' during high school. Sometimes, Nicole would also join their sleepovers. Noah's mom would make her special cake, or a chicken pie, while his dad would help them set up their campsite in the backyard. That was why his parents treated Nicole and Nicolas like family.

"She seems to be back to normal," Noah said, though his words sounded unconvincing even to himself. Nicole really was acting normal—like nothing had changed. But that day, when Ethan had brought up her brother, she had cried in the hallway. It wasn't a full-blown breakdown with tears streaming down her cheeks—just quiet, restrained sobs as she tried to hide her red face behind her hair. Like she hadn't made it to a private spot before her emotions spilled over. Noah decided not to say anything. Instead, he simply stood beside her and placed a hand on her shoulder. She flinched, slowly turned to him, and then pulled him into a tight hug. They stayed like that for a while, Nicole quietly sniffling into his chest as he stroked her hair and murmured words of comfort. The next day, she was back to her usual, slightly distant self. Noah worried she'd avoid Ethan—or worse, the whole group—but nothing changed. She dove back into her studies, occasionally zoning out during conversations and then jumping back in like she hadn't missed a beat, even though she clearly had no idea what was going on. Nothing changed. But still, something felt different. Artificial. Forced. Noah couldn't stop thinking about that. Was it something new about her, or had it always been like this?

The doorbell snapped Noah out of his thoughts. A quick glance at the clock confirmed it: Ethan had arrived exactly on time.

"It's Ethan," Noah whispered for some reason.

"Oh, do you have to go already?" Mom asked wistfully.

"And when are you going to introduce us to him?" Dad chimed in.

"Arthur!" Mom scolded, indignant as always.

"Agnes?" Dad shrugged, unbothered.

"They've only been dating for a few weeks!"

"They've already been dating for a few weeks. Let me know if he acts like a jerk. I still have a shotgun, you know."

"Dad, please, no shotguns," Noah groaned, panicking. "Okay, gotta go. Love you guys! Wish me luck!"

"Good luck!" Mom and Dad said in unison, as Noah snapped his laptop shut and rushed to the door.

Dad had a point—he really should've asked Ethan about his outfit in advance. Because standing next to Ethan in his navy suit, silly tie, and sea-green hair tips, Noah felt like a clown. Ethan, on the other hand, decided to wear an all-black outfit. He was wearing a black shirt and a black tie, a black three-piece suit, and black leather shoes. He was wearing a black mask too. Even his gloves—simple black ones, not fingerless, because those wouldn't have been suitable for the occasion, made out of leather, of course. Ethan looked like a reaper. A devastatingly handsome, sexy reaper, wearing golden cufflinks and a tie clip.

"Hi," Noah stammered, struggling not to stare. So this is what "I can't take my eyes off you" meant. When a person in front of you is so strikingly gorgeous that it is physically impossible to look away.

"Hi," Ethan replied, openly staring at Noah without a shred of shame.

"You look... cool," Noah mumbled. Cool didn't even begin to cover it. He was burning up just by looking at Ethan with a loving glance. Thomson's mask didn't bother; it only added to the allure.

"Not cooler than you," Ethan said, spinning his car keys around his finger and completing the look of an effortlessly rich heartthrob. Noah couldn't help but feel like the heroine from a Pretty Woman movie.

"Thanks," Noah mumbled, finally understanding what it felt like to have someone pick you up as a couple for prom. Back in the day, he had shown up to his own high school prom solo. Back when Noah was in high-school, he would be surprised to see the couples that had formed at the beginning of the school year or even earlier, walking to the prom and looking dead-anxious and overwhelmed. What was there to be nervous about? They practically had been together every single day before that. Now, Noah had the chance to experience those emotions. He was ridiculously nervous, even though he and Ethan had been seeing each other every day. No matter how busy Thomson was, he would always give Noah a ride home from university. Morgan insisted it wasn't necessary, but Ethan explained that it was pretty much his only opportunity to talk to Noah in person and make sure everything was okay. And things were not okay. The last post about Noah had stirred up a hornet's nest. On top of mockery and taunts, certain groups of students had turned out to be deeply offended by the anonymous chat message and didn't hesitate to let Morgan know about it. It escalated to the point where, one fine morning, Noah arrived at the university only to find a picket outside the building he needed to enter. It was a picket aimed at him. Several guys and girls were standing there with handmade signs that displayed unpleasant slogans Noah deliberately didn't read too carefully. They were shouting things about criminal sexualization, inappropriate behavior, how Noah should be expelled from the university, and how he basically deserved nothing less than death. Morgan had flown past them at lightning speed, locked himself in the nearest bathroom stall, and burst into tears. Only God knows why Ethan had decided to call him at that exact moment. Thomson was furious. When Noah hesitantly stepped outside after his first class, the protesters were gone. All that was left were some torn-up signs shoved into trash cans and a few drops of blood on the pavement, which, of course, didn't escape the 'Devil's Eye.'

Noah Morgan: "I told you not to do anything!" — Noah had furiously typed.

Ethan Thomson: "I didn't do anything."

Noah Morgan: "Ethan!"

Ethan Thomson: "Okay, fine. I did."

Ethan Thomson: "But I swear, I've only hit the guys."

Noah Morgan: "..."

Noah Morgan: "Why?"

Ethan Thomson: "You think I should've done the same to the girls, too? I thought about it but then figured you'd be upset."

Noah Morgan: "That's not what I meant! You shouldn't have hit anyone... seriously."

Ethan Thomson: "I had to. You were crying."

Noah Morgan: "I'm fine!"

Ethan Thomson: "If someone's crying, they're not fine."

Noah Morgan: "I'm just not going to tell you anything ever again," Noah wrote in frustration.

Ethan Thomson: "DON'T YOU DARE!"

It was the first time Ethan had ever typed anything all caps, and Noah couldn't help but smile.

But today, Morgan needed to push thoughts of university drama out of his head and focus on the event—and more importantly, on not embarrassing Ethan.

"Should I... maybe tie my hair back?" Morgan asked timidly after realizing they'd been standing there staring at each other in silence for way too long. He repeated the same question he'd asked his parents earlier.

"Why? Your hair looks great. You even touched up the color," Ethan replied, reaching out to touch one of the green curls brushing against Noah's neck gently. "It really suits you."

"Thanks," Noah mumbled, staring intently at the floor. "You look great, too!"

"Bet you a hundred bucks my dad's gonna be pissed," Ethan said with a noticeable smirk.

"Why would he be?"

"He's always pissed," Ethan replied matter-of-factly, though Michael Thomson didn't strike Noah as the grumpy parent type at all.

"Somehow, I doubt that," Noah said, voicing his skepticism.

"That's why I'm betting," Ethan winked. "If you're ready, let's go," he added, bending his right arm at the elbow and offering it to Noah. The gesture left Morgan momentarily stunned and then shyly unsure. Ethan, on the other hand, was calm as a graveyard—his gaze, however, was sharper than usual. Throwing a quick "Don't wait up for dinner!" to his cats, Noah locked the door behind him and clutched Ethan's arm, following him down the hallway. He hoped they wouldn't bump into any of the neighbors. Not because he was worried about people finding out about his orientation; what embarrassed him was that he made himself look larger than life. Another thing he couldn't stop thinking about was that he looked like a disheveled parrot next to tough-looking Ethan. Noah had nothing else left but hope that Thomson wouldn't regret inviting him to the charity event.

5' 3"

How! Fucking! Amazing! He! Is!

Ethan barely managed to keep himself from blurting that out the second he saw Noah. Morgan was blushing, as usual. Fidgeting with his hair, wondering if he looked okay, and constantly avoiding Ethan's gaze like a child. He always did that. A hundred times a day. Ethan couldn't help but wonder if Noah was naturally like this or if it was just his reaction to him. But he decided not to ask—knowing it would likely turn Morgan's blush into a full-blown tidal wave. Instead, Ethan just watched him, secretly wishing that blood rushing to Noah's face would, every once in a while, head in a slightly different part of his body.

The phone in Ethan's pants vibrated constantly, proving that the price he had paid for his actions was too high. However, so far he ignored the incoming messages stoically, one after another, preferring to admire Noah. Morgan was doing a terrible job of pretending that today was no different from any other day, and his look was as typical as ever. Meanwhile, Ethan's mind was preoccupied with thoughts about the charity evening. Was it a good idea to bring Morgan there in the first place? Especially this version of him, so utterly charming? The closer the event was, the more Ethan was convinced that he was leading a lamb to a pack of wolves.

No. Everything will be fine. Just don't leave his side for even a second!

But would that even be possible? Ethan was obliged to help his father. This assistance primarily involved socializing with the guests—offering a fake smile that rang through his voice but was thankfully hidden behind a mask. It required exaggerated politeness and a jaw-clenching loftiness that suited no one at such events, where elegance and beauty merely served to hide everyone's skeletons, some of which smelled rotten.

"Oh my God! You're driving this beauty tonight?" Morgan couldn't contain his excitement as he spotted the familiar matte-black Bugatti parked by the house—the very car he had once pressed his face up against. Ethan hoped that such close contact between Morgan and the car wouldn't be the last and even fantasized about Noah pressing other parts of his body against it. With some help from Thomson, of course.

"Showing off for me?" Noah teased.

"What do you think? Of course," Ethan nodded, opening the passenger door and gesturing for Noah to get in. Morgan smiled for a few seconds before realizing that Thomson wasn't joking, unlike him. Another wave of nervousness surged over him.

"I... I could've done it myself," he stammered, immediately shrinking into himself.

"But I want to take care of you."

Morgan responded with a murmur. Ethan had a long road ahead of him in teaching Noah that relationships weren't just about giving but receiving, too.

"Are you sure that I..." Morgan began, for the third time since their short journey from the apartment to the car, to ask if his appearance was appropriate.

"Morgan," Ethan interrupted him, sitting in the driver's seat and gripping the steering wheel. "Relax. You look damn hot," he said clearly, his gaze piercing into Noah. The confusion on Morgan's face was instantly replaced by another wave of bashfulness. He covered his face with his hands.

"I... I feel awful!" came his muffled reply.

"Do you want to stay home?"

"Of course not!" Noah sharply removed his hands from his face. "I mean... I'm just terribly nervous."

"I noticed."

"How can you stay so calm?!"

Ethan flinched slightly. Calm was probably the last word that could describe his emotional state. He despised charity events. He disliked large crowds even more. And he absolutely hated having to communicate with these crowds. The only silver lining to the upcoming nightmare was the charming Morgan. But precisely because he was too charming, Ethan found himself even more on edge.

"I'm absolutely not calm," Ethan gritted through his teeth, pulling onto the road and pressing the gas pedal a little harder than necessary. At least they reached their destination quickly. The phone continued buzzing with messages. The price he had paid was indeed too high. Thomson had forgotten to mention to Morgan the other deal he'd made—not with the entire fan club, but specifically with the girl he had punched. She assured him there would be no hard feelings as long as... Ethan sent her a few photos of himself. Not erotic ones, of course—that would have been too much for Ethan. Just a few pictures in different "looks." The first photo was something along the lines of "grumpy, sleepy Ethan who hasn't had a chance to brush his hair yet." Thomson hoped this would dampen the girl's enthusiasm, but... she was thrilled and called Ethan "cozy." Ethan, looking at the photo, saw nothing cozy about it—just an irritated face and maximum annoyance. Her string of flattering comments made him slightly nauseous, but a promise was a promise. The second photo featured the black suit he was wearing that evening. Foolishly, Ethan had taken the picture in front of the mirror in his room, so that several coils of rope hanging on the hooks became visible in the background. A normal person wouldn't have paid attention to them. But the admirer not only noticed them but also seemed to get excessively excited. If the first hundred comments had been about Ethan's appearance, the next hundred were about the ropes. Ethan stoically ignored the messages, but the flow didn't seem to stop. He'd have to mute the chat at the first opportunity and never open it again!

Noah was so lost in his own worries that he seemed not to notice how fast the streets flew by outside the window. Ethan slowed down about several feet away from the building where the event was taking place, knowing that the moment the car stopped at the main entrance, a valet would approach them, leaving no chance to talk with Noah.

"Ready?" Ethan turned to Morgan and noticed him nervously rubbing his right hand over his left wrist.

"I don't know."

"What are you so afraid of?"

"That I don't belong there," Morgan exhaled quietly.

"Then where do you belong?"

"I don't know. The trash heap?" Noah suggested, but seeing Ethan's expression change, quickly corrected himself. "I'm kidding, I'm kidding! I... Honestly, it's such a difficult question. I have no idea where I belong."

"I think the answer's obvious—right next to me. Isn't that right?"

"Of course it is!" Morgan agreed immediately. "But I probably won't fit in with my cheap suit and this ridiculous hair color."

"What worries me a lot more is that the second I look away, someone's going to try and steal your attention," Ethan admitted with some difficulty, catching one of Noah's curls between his fingers again. This time, though, Thomson allowed himself to barely touch Morgan's neck. The reaction was immediate: goosebumps flared up along Noah's skin, and he instinctively pulled back.

"D-don't do that," Morgan exhaled; his voice sounded unsteady.

"Why not?"

Noah shot Ethan an unexpectedly scorching look.

"You know why."

"Not a single clue," Thomson lied.

"Fine, let me spell it out. Don't do that when we're not alone."

"We are alone right now."

"No, I meant—" Noah sighed. It was the kind of deep, exasperated sigh someone might let out when trying to explain quantum physics to a five-year-old. "You know exactly what I meant! Are you doing this on purpose?!"

"You got me here. But hey, at least I got your mind off your nerves."

"Just don't distract me like that in front of everyone, or I'll die of embarrassment on the spot," Noah grumbled.

"Relax, I'm not a fan of public performances."

"Well, that's a relief."

"Though... if that's the only way to make things easier for you—"

"Just being by my side is enough!"

"I won't be able to stay by your side the whole time," Ethan warned. "But...look here for a sec," he said, shifting slightly to face Noah. Morgan turned, and Thomson hooked a finger around the knot of his tie, slowly undoing it in one smooth motion.

"I knew it didn't look right with the outfit," Noah muttered under his breath.

"It looks just fine," Ethan assured him, retying the knot. This time he created a far more intricate style of the knot than before. When he finished, Noah glanced at his reflection and broke into a wide smile.

"It looks amazing! Thanks!"

"You're welcome," Ethan replied with an innocent tone. "This knot is actually often used when tying up a partner's hands with a tie."

"Oh my God!" Noah went bright red. "How the hell am I supposed to walk around with this now?!"

"Very easily, Morgan," Ethan murmured with a hint of melancholy, lifting Noah's chin slightly. "With your head held high."

5' 8"-5' 9"

Contrary to Ethan's expectations, instead of being held high with pride, Noah's chin kept dipping downward. A little voice in his head kept assuring him that not a single soul here knew the meaning behind the tie knot. Surely, this style was used for aesthetic purposes too. Ethan had only mentioned its special significance to make sure Morgan still felt Thomson's presence even when he wasn't around. He wanted to create a protective aura around Noah to give him more confidence. Well. Thomson had managed to achieve the exact opposite!

"Oh, I was starting to think you'd never show up!" Michael Thomson greeted his son and Noah in front of the elevator in the lobby of the rented event hall. When Morgan heard they were supposed to go up to the thirty-first floor, he felt a mix of excitement and fear—he'd never been that high up in a skyscraper before.

Michael beamed at Noah.

"That's an interesting knot you've got there! And the color—absolutely stunning! Very elegant!"

Just kill me right here.

"You should've taken after him," Michael added, turning to Ethan. "Year after year, it's the same thing with you. You always look like you're in mourning!"

"Maybe that's because I am in mourning," Ethan scoffed, crossing his arms to emphasize just how thrilled he was to be at this charity event.

"Oh? And what tragic loss are we grieving this year?"

"The brutal murder of my time."

Michael rolled his eyes.

"I hope one day you'll finally get through to him," he said, shifting his gaze back to Noah.

"Y-yes, sir! I'll do my best, sir!" Morgan blurted out, unsure how to act around Ethan's father. Michael paused for a second before bursting into laughter.

"I knew we'd get along just fine!" he declared, patting Noah's shoulder.

"Don't even think about it," Ethan smirked, dramatically brushing invisible dust off Noah's shoulder. Michael didn't bat an eye.

"For the record, you two are late and missed my brilliant speech!"

"Perfect. That was the plan," Ethan nodded. "You say the same thing every year."

"But in different words!" Michael protested theatrically. "I was magnificent, and my own children missed it. The tragedy of every parent, I suppose!" He let out a dramatic sigh. Noah caught the way he said "children," which meant Audrey had also been invited but didn't show up.

"I prefer watching you shine in the courtroom," Ethan muttered darkly.

"Michael, darling!" A sudden exclamation cut off the father-son exchange. Michael's face lit up with a broad smile, while Thomson Jr.'s expression soured instantly. He even took an involuntary step back.

"Let's get out of here before we get dragged into a social nightmare," Ethan murmured to Noah, grabbing his hand. "I need to mentally prepare for this kind of torture."

"Ethan! I was beginning to worry you wouldn't grace us with your presence tonight!"

"Too late," Ethan muttered under his breath, squeezing Noah's hand a little tighter.

"Good evening, Mr. Gellerstein," Thomson's voice shifted in an instant—suddenly warm, polite, and almost too pleasant. The drastic change sent a wave of dissonance through Noah.

"Oh, still hiding behind that mask, I see! Same thing every time! Don't you think this cold of yours has gone on long enough?" the old man grumbled, appearing in front of Noah and Ethan, accompanied by a stunning young woman—so young, in fact, that she could've been his great-granddaughter, not just a granddaughter. But judging by the massive diamond ring on her finger, she was here as his wife. She cast a slow, appraising look at Noah, and the corner of her mouth curled into a condescending smirk. She had the air of someone who could recognize a designer brand at a single glance—and who didn't acknowledge the existence of anything cheaper than that.

"Weak immune system," Ethan replied smoothly, his voice still dripping with honey. "It's a different cold every time."

"But always right before an event!" the old man huffed.

"Probably stress-related," Noah blurted out before he could stop himself, instantly drawing unwanted attention. "The preparations must take a toll. Ethan always worries about making sure everything runs smoothly!"

"Stress?" Gellerstein wrinkled his nose. "Such a delicate generation we've raised," he lamented. Then he added, "And you, young man..."

"Noah Morgan," Noah introduced himself, extending a hand. "I've heard a lot about you from Ethan!"

"Have you?" The old man raised an eyebrow as he shook Noah's hand.

"You're the one who built your company from scratch, survived two bankruptcies, and this year you were also recognized as one of the most successful entrepreneurs in our state, weren't you?" Noah blurted out in one breath. Ethan stared at him in surprise. He had no idea that Noah had found the charity gala's website, browsed through photo albums from past years, gathered information on most of the guests, memorized their faces, and studied their backgrounds. An incredibly difficult task, which Noah had completed with a solid B. Morgan hadn't planned on showing off his knowledge, afraid he'd mix something up, but this time he'd walked right into the conversation and decided to take the risk.

"That's right, that's me!" the old man confirmed, pleased to be recognized. "And you must be Ethan's friend? It's the first time he's brought company."

"He's not a friend," came Thomson's voice from the side. "He's my boyfriend."

The old man barely concealed a grimace.

"The youth just won't grow up, will they?" he declared. "By the way, the buffet is excellent, young men! Be sure to try the oysters!" he added. "Now, we'll go say hello to a few familiar faces."

"Why did you tell him I'm your boyfriend?" Noah whispered as soon as they had walked a considerable distance away. "He's clearly old-fashioned!"

"Ninety percent of the people here are old-fashioned. So what? I'm not going to hide you from anyone," Ethan stated calmly. "Why should he be allowed to stroll around with a doll who's only with him for the money, but I can't be here with the person I love? They all can go fuck themselves," Ethan scoffed. "But the buffet table is a good idea. You like things like that, don't you?" Ethan must have remembered the day they met when Noah couldn't tear himself away from the snack table. That was only a month and a half ago, but it felt like years had passed with how much everything changed.

Noah let Ethan lead him through the hall; however, he paid little attention to the luxurious decorations, the live music performed by a renowned orchestra, or the curious glances guests kept casting their way. He was stuck on the moment when Ethan called him "the person I love." He wanted to squeal and jump up and down.

The person he loves! That's me!

Noah was standing by the buffet table, too shy to take anything, so Ethan filled a plate with various appetizers and handed it to him.

"Aren't you going to eat?" Noah asked, noticing Ethan didn't take anything for himself.

"I'm not hungry."

"You don't have to be hungry to..." Noah started, trying one of the appetizers and instantly entering gastronomic paradise. A visual delight followed almost immediately as Ethan led him to the floor-to-ceiling windows that lined the entire wall. One section opened onto a spacious balcony terrace, while another revealed an incredible view of the city at sunset. Noah was lost for words.

A small fountain shimmered in the middle of the terrace—a basin held in the arms of a cupid. People were smoking there at the moment, but Noah hoped to visit it later when the crowd had thinned. Preferably with Ethan. What a stunningly romantic place!

"So what was that whole thing with Mr. Gellerstein? How do you know him?" Ethan asked after Noah had finished half of his plate and finally relaxed.

"I Googled him," Noah mumbled, still chewing. With effortless grace, Ethan plucked a glass of champagne from a passing waiter's tray and handed it to him.

"Did you Google a lot of the guests?"

"Most of them," Noah admitted.

"Why?"

"To understand the kind of crowd I'd be in."

"Smart," Ethan praised. "And did 'Devil's Eye' happen to tell you anything about Gellerstein?"

Noah swallowed the food and stared at Ethan in silence.

"I promise this won't become public knowledge or be used against Gellerstein," Thomson clarified, noticing Noah's tension. "If we wanted to find dirt on him, we'd ask Duncan. I'm just curious," he added with a smile.

"He..." Noah hesitated for a moment, unsure if he should reveal someone else's secret. "He's cheating on his wife."

Ethan was silent for a few seconds, then suddenly burst into laughter. The pure, uninhibited sound threw Noah off balance. It was as if he was seeing a completely new side of Thomson, one he hadn't known before.

"My God, at his age, really? He must be like a hundred years old!"

"He's actually only eighty-nine," Noah corrected him. "And yes, apparently he's still in his prime."

Seeing how much Ethan was entertained by this unexpected information, Noah leaned in and whispered a few more juicy details about other guests into his ear. Ethan laughed at all of them. The gloomy expression was gone. Noah felt like he could go on forever, just to see those dark-gray eyes sparkle with amusement. Unfortunately, about an hour into the event, Michael Thomson stepped into the center of the hall and gestured to Ethan to join him.

"Sorry. I have to go. My father's about to announce the auction, and I have to stand next to him. I have no idea why, but that's how it works," Ethan muttered, his scowl returning.

"Yeah, of course. I'll wait for you here," Noah nodded, deciding it was the perfect time to refresh his plate. Watching Ethan's figure move slowly toward his father, Noah turned back to the table, considering what he hadn't tried yet. The selection was overwhelming. He reached for a salmon bruschetta when a painfully familiar voice sounded behind him:

"I kept wondering if it was you or not. I couldn't believe my eyes when I saw you. What a coincidence!"

Noah spun around sharply and locked eyes with the last person he ever wanted to see. Matthew Coleman—the one responsible for the scar above Morgan's right brow—stood before him, flashing a Hollywood smile.

This was bad.