The crystal chandeliers threw ribbons of light across the marble floor, the faint hum of a string quartet weaving through the laughter and chatter of Seoul’s elite. Damon’s exhibition was everything he had dreamed of—an entire hall dedicated to his art, his hands, his soul shaped into porcelain and clay. And yet, as the evening wore on, the applause and polite compliments felt hollow.

His eyes drifted again, unbidden, to the far end of the room. Colton stood there, effortlessly commanding attention in his dark tailored suit and midnight-blue cape, the faint glint of his glasses catching the light as he laughed at something an older businessman said. He was elegance and control personified—his silver hair slicked back, his posture straight, the quiet dominance in him impossible to ignore.

And next to him stood the blond omega. Damon watched, a half-empty glass of champagne in his hand, as the young man leaned a little too close, his hand brushing Colton’s sleeve in feigned excitement. Damon caught the faint flicker of discomfort in Colton’s eyes—an infinitesimal shift, barely perceptible to anyone else. But Damon saw it. He always did.

His chest tightened, though not with jealousy. He knew better. Colton was his husband—his equal in strength and status, his partner in a world that often didn’t know how to handle two alphas together. They’d fought through too much for him to doubt what they had.

As if sensing the weight of his gaze, Colton’s head tilted slightly, those cool violet eyes lifting across the crowd until they met Damon’s from across the room. The noise of the party dimmed in that instant. Damon’s breath caught. Colton’s lips curved into a subtle smile—polite for the crowd, but private in its intent. A silent I see you.

But then Colton’s attention was pulled back as the omega said something again, and for a fleeting moment, Damon wished he could cross the room, take Colton by the hand, and remind the world who he belonged to.

Instead, he turned back toward the nearest vase—a tall, curved piece glazed in indigo and frost white. One of Colton’s favorites. The one he’d said reminded him of Damon’s eyes. He didn’t notice the footsteps behind him until a familiar voice, low and warm, brushed the back of his neck.

“Oh,” Colton murmured softly.

Damon turned, finding himself suddenly face-to-face with his husband. Colton had somehow slipped away from the crowd, two champagne flutes still in hand. The older alpha’s eyes glowed faintly in the blue light.

“Thought you might need a refill,” Colton said, offering one glass. “And maybe a rescue.”