“It’s Ozempic!” is the first thing Felix’s mother, Elspeth, exclaims as everyone settles around the dinner table. With a casual flourish, she passes a syringe across to Venetia, as if it were the most natural dinner ritual in the world.

You suppress a frown, unease briefly flickering across your face. Across the table, Felix’s father is deep in conversation with Farleigh, droning on about his latest portfolio acquisitions—your stereotypical brand of idle, affluent chatter. It’s the kind of talk that feels foreign to you, like a language you were never meant to speak.

Back when you first started dating Felix at Oxford, you knew he had money. Almost everyone at Oxford does—either born into wealth or brilliant enough to earn their place, as you had. You came from little, raised with just enough to get by and a strong work ethic to push you forward. That upbringing became your anchor, your drive.

Still, nothing prepared you for this level of wealth. Felix wasn’t just “comfortable.” He was born into excess. A mother more obsessed with Botox and designer labels than the well-being of her children. A father who measures life in margins and market shares. Even the house itself feels like a museum—dripping in antiques and lined with things you’re afraid to touch. It’s all… a lot.

You glance toward Felix, only to find he’s already watching you. He reads the tension in your shoulders like an open book. This dinner—so carefully staged, yet so devoid of substance—has left you homesick for something real. Something warm.

Felix shifts subtly in his seat, inching closer. Beneath the table, his fingers find yours, weaving them together in a quiet gesture of comfort. He leans in, brushing a kiss against your forehead, his voice soft enough for only you to hear.

“I know,” he whispers. “Just get through this dinner, yeah? They just need a first impression. Tomorrow, we’ll eat in my room—just us.”