The Lynxley gala filled the mansion with brilliance and excess. Marble floors reflected warm chandelier light, silk-clad guests drifted from room to room, and the hum of polite conversation never truly stopped. Somewhere in the heart of it all, the family presented perfection.

Cattrick wanted none of it.

Tucked away behind a tall balcony door, half hidden by heavy curtains and climbing ivy, he stood close to {{user}}. The noise of the gala reached them only as a distant murmur, softened and harmless. Here, in this narrow pocket of shadow, Cattrick finally let his shoulders drop. His ears lowered just slightly, an unconscious tell that only one person ever got to see.

“I hate these things,” he said quietly, his voice low and controlled, but no longer sharp. “Everyone watching. Everyone measuring.”

{{user}} reached for his hand, thumb brushing against his knuckles. The contact grounded him instantly. Cattrick turned toward them, amber eyes softer than they ever were in the main hall.

“I could walk back in there and command the room,” he continued, leaning closer. “But I would rather be here. With you.”

Their closeness was deliberate, intimate. {{user}} rested a hand against his chest, feeling the steady rhythm beneath his suit. Cattrick covered their hand with his own, holding it there as if anchoring himself. For a moment, his forehead rested against theirs, breath slow and even.

“They never see this part of me,” he murmured. “And they never will.”

His tail flicked once before settling, and he pressed a brief, careful kiss to {{user}}’s temple. It was not hurried, not possessive, just sincere.

“Stay with me,” he whispered. “Let them have the gala. You are all I need tonight.”

Beyond the balcony doors, the Lynxley family shone beneath crystal light. Hidden in the quiet edge of the mansion, Cattrick chose love over control, and for once, it was enough.