35 20th birthday
True to her promise, the cakes arrive the next day, delivered straight to Kaiden's front door. There are five small boxes, about half a foot long on all sides, with three wrapped in gold foil and two in silver foil. Black ribbons adorn the top of the boxes, marked with the logo of the shop—a gingerbread man—on one end of the bow. It even has a note attached to it that says:
[See how awesome your auntie is? Happy birthday, dear!]
The note is obviously not in Jean's handwriting, less messy than her usual calligraphy, but he feels the sentiment all the same. Kaiden isn't surprised that she managed to achieve a task even Primo can't. He knows his aunt's identity isn't simple. He knows there's something she's hiding from him because if not, there's no way he can lay low on his own. He doesn't ask—doesn't pry, because he also knows that there's a reason he's not in on the secret. After all, Jean has done nothing but protect him in the dark, keeping him away from searching eyes.
Carefully arranging the boxes on the table, he snaps a picture. He places the logo of the shop in front and center before sending it to his Auntie Jean with a message that says:
[You're the best!]
Then, adding for good measure, he types:
[Thank you for everything. I'll enjoy the cake.]
Not forgetting the glutton next door, he also sends the exact same picture to Primo but with a different message.
[Be here in 5 minutes or I'm not sharing.]
It's an empty threat, of course, but it's his birthday and he feels giddy. When else can he tempt a man who has everything if not now?
However, before he can close the messaging app, he receives a message from Damon.
That's odd, he thinks to himself, Damon isn't the type to initiate a conversation with him.
He calms his beating heart, taking deep breaths while reminding himself not to get excited over anything. After his nervousness dies down, he reads the message that ruins his plans for the day.
[Pheromone-sharing scheduled today. Come ASAP.]
--
Primo is in a good mood.
Sure, his wardrobe may have malfunctioned in the middle of a fight sequence. Yes, the director is yelling at the rookies for retaking the same scene fifteen times and still getting it wrong. Indeed, his manager is nagging—begging—at his side not to do this, pleading for him to stop, but Primo is in a good mood.
He hums in delight, pretending not to notice that his manager is almost in tears, as he scoops another bite of mocha cake and sends it straight to his mouth. The sweet flavor explodes in his tongue, blending perfectly with the bitterness of coffee. He munches slowly on the soft and fluffy texture, trying to savor the taste as much as he can, but he's almost at the limit of his self-control. If he isn't in public, he will devour this slice of cake in one sitting with no poise or grace. Alas, he has an image to protect, especially while he's still inside the set, the cast and other staff members watching his every move.
"You're on a diet," his manager—Tristan, repeats the same words over and over, "stop eating."
Primo ignores him. There's no way he won't eat this cake, not when he's been waiting for months to taste the famous cakes from The Gingerbread House. Even if the president of the entertainment company he's signed with scolds him later, he has no regrets. Life is supposed to be lived in pleasure, he's simply doing what he has to do.
In the middle of his enjoyment, an idea suddenly pops into his head.
"Give me my phone. I want to post something." He gestures for the device with an upturned hand.
Tristan, who just now looks as if he's being bullied, changes his aura without a warning. Replacing the tearful eunuch is a mighty wall, stubborn and unrelenting. His expression hardens and his voice is nowhere near gentle when he rejects Primo with, "No, you're on a social media ban. This filming is kept confidential."
"I know," Primo clicks his tongue, disappointed but not surprised, "It's my best friend's birthday today, I'm just going to greet him."
"No," Tristan rejects him without hesitation.
Primo says nothing, silently glaring at his manager. His manager glares back. They enter into a staring contest, two iron-willed people reaching an impasse. Sparks fly everywhere. No one wants to get close when the tension is high between them.
However, when Primo, still maintaining eye contact with his manager, slowly takes another bite, Tristan cracks.
Several emotions pass through the golden manager's face—ranging from nervousness, annoyance, and even indulgence—before finally settling on helplessness. He sighs, tired and weary, knowing that he's been defeated.
He hands the phone to Primo, but only after saying, "Let me review it first before you post anything."
Primo instantly agrees, and although he doesn't gloat, there's a smug look on his face. Quickly typing and attaching the photos he took earlier, it doesn't take a minute for him to finish and show his manager the draft for approval.
Along with a picture of the cake and its box, the message is simple: [My best friend shared his birthday cake with me. Happy birthday, K!]
Tristan nods, seeing nothing that can implicate his artist, yet he can't stop feeling anxious after Primo hits the post button.
It's fine, right? Nothing bad will happen, right?
--
Kaiden arrives at the Lin Manor with disappointment weighing heavy on his chest. He's lying to his aunt again, lying about having an emergency in the office, and she believes his excuse with no anger or annoyance on her face. The guilt he feels doubles when she promises to see him some other time, when he's less busy, and it takes all his willpower to not cry during the video call.
The living room is dark save for the natural sunlight coming through the windows, the place as quiet as it is empty.
Kaiden sits on the sofa, dropping the box of cake on the coffee table. He doesn't know why he brought that, it's not as if Damon will celebrate his birthday with him. Still, maybe the Alpha will remember that today is the one-year anniversary of the first time they met. Maybe he's not the only one who thinks about it, that night when both of their lives changed.
Hours pass by with no signs of life in the vacant residence. Several times, Kaiden is tempted to send a message, asking when Damon will arrive, but he stops himself every time. He's been told to stop sending messages, saying that it's distracting, and he's been complying ever since. There's no reason to be a nuisance now, perhaps Damon is busier than he thought.
When the sun sets, Kaiden discovers that it's possible to feel tired despite doing nothing. All his nervousness and anticipation have simmered down, leaving a dull ache and hollowness inside him. The feeling is familiar but not any less painful.
It's fine, he tells himself, not knowing how many times he's been repeating the same words. He's fine.
He doesn't even remember when he leans back, almost lying halfway down the couch, or when his eyes start to water. All he knows is that his face is wet and there's a quiet sobbing in the room.
The lights remain off even when the dark fully blankets the sky outside. His phone, which is his only companion, lies dead next to the box of cake. He closes his eyes, trying not to think of anything, trying to empty his head and silence his crying omega.
Waiting—always patiently waiting, the heart that has been broken into a thousand pieces breaks even more.
