Chapter 300

Damien

I walk in, already exhausted.

I delayed as much as I could meetings, phone calls, a sudden "crisis" at the office—because I hate these gatherings. The golf course, the country club elites, the endless performative camaraderie. My father thrives here. I merely survive.

The moment we arrive, I let go of Vivienne’s hand. The excuse is professionalism—mayor must network, can’t be tied to his fiancée’s side all evening. But the truth is simpler. Her hand feels wrong in mine.

I walk the course, shaking hands, smiling nods, playing the role. The afternoon sun is warm, the grass impossibly green, the conversation insufferably dull.

Then—

A flash of blonde hair.

My heart stops.

Elliot.

He’s working. Catering staff, by the look of his uniform. Carrying a tray, moving through the crowd with that quiet grace that first caught my attention years ago.

He’s oblivious to the lecherous gazes of the old Alphas around him—men old enough to be his grandfather, watching him like meat.

Rage flares hot in my chest. I want to break their jaws. I want to drag him away from their hungry eyes.

But I can’t. I’m the mayor. I’m married—almost married. I have a fiancée somewhere on this course, a family name to protect, a reputation to maintain.

So I watch from a distance. Helpless. Angry. Wanting.

He’s so beautiful in the afternoon sun. The light catches his hair, turns it to gold. His movements are efficient, graceful, even in the bland catering uniform. He smiles at a guest and something twists in my chest.

Mine, a primitive part of me growls.

He’s mine.

But he’s not. Not really. He never has been.

---

I lose sight of him for a while. The crowd swallows him, and I’m trapped in conversation with a senator who won’t stop talking about water rights.

Then I notice he’s been gone too long.

I excuse myself, moving through the crowd with practiced ease. The staff areas are behind the main clubhouse, hidden from the elites by design. I slip through a service door, down a narrow hallway, following instinct.

I find him in a small break room. Sitting on a plastic chair, head bowed, a paper cup of coffee forgotten in his hands. He looks tired. Worn. Beautiful. 𝐟𝕣𝗲𝕖𝕨𝗲𝐛𝗻𝗼𝐯𝗲𝚕.𝗰𝚘𝐦

I check the hallway,empty. The coast is clear.

I move behind him, silent as a shadow, and wrap my arms around his shoulders from behind.

He jumps. "Damien!"

"Shh." I press my cheek against his hair, inhaling deeply. That familiar scent;sweet, warm, home. "Miss me?"

"Damien, someone could see—"

But even as he protests, he leans back into me. His body remembers what his words deny.

"No one’s coming." I nuzzle into his hair, breathing him in.

He relaxes into my hold, tension leaving his shoulders in a long exhale.

"What are you doing here?" he asks, voice soft. "I thought you don’t take jobs like this anymore?"

"I’m covering for a friend," he says.

Elliot. Ever the saint. Always helping someone, always putting others first. It’s one of the things that drew me to him—that quiet, unassuming goodness that exists despite everything the world has thrown at him.

"I’m glad to see you." I hold him closer, pressing my cheek against his hair. "It’s such a pleasant surprise."

"We can’t," he says, but there’s no conviction in it. "My break is over."

"I’m not asking for anything."

He snorts. "Your lower half says otherwise."

I can hear him rolling his eyes, and I grin against his hair. He knows me too well.

"There’s a bathroom nearby," I whisper, lips brushing his ear. "Won’t you help me, Elliot? Think about the scandal if the mayor walked out like this."

He freezes. I feel him considering it, weighing the risk against the want.

Then: "Lead the way."

I smile.

*

Later, when I’m back in the gathering, my mood isn’t so sour.

I mingle, I chat, I play the perfect mayor. But my mind keeps drifting to the bathroom, to the memory of Elliot on his knees, to the satisfaction of having him exactly where I want him.

When I look across the crowd and find him working, tray in hand, I feel a strange sense of satisfaction despite the lecherous gazes of the old Alphas around him.

Let them look.

I had him on his knees. I had my dick in his mouth. I had my cum on his face.

He’s mine.

They can look all they want.

***

Daphne

Gross.

You didn’t have to show me such things.

I mentally snap at the System that just ruined my afternoon by broadcasting exactly what my twin brother and the main character did in the bathroom.

[You requested real-time updates on all male leads and their interactions with the MC.]

I requested updates, not a live feed of my brother’s dick disappearing down someone’s throat.

[Details are important for mission assessment.]

I am going to uninstall you.

[That is not possible.]

I take a long sip of my champagne, trying to scrub the images from my brain. The golf course stretches before me, peaceful and green, full of wealthy people pretending to enjoy each other’s company.

Seriously.

The lack of decorum.

Acting like that with a face that looks like mine?

Anyway.

All thoughts of those two fade away when I see her.

Vivienne.

She’s walking across the lawn, and—

That skirt.

It’s so tiny. A floral thing that barely reaches mid-thigh, swishing around her legs with every step. If she bent over, she’d moon the entire function.

Every lecherous old Alpha here would get an eyeful.

The thought makes my vision go red.

But also—

Easy access.

I smirk, an evil little curl of my lips that would make my employees run for cover. I set down my champagne glass and follow.

She doesn’t notice me at first. She’s heading toward the ladies’ lounge, probably to fix her makeup or escape the heat. The path takes her past a row of hedges, a slightly secluded area away from the main crowd.

Perfect.