The Gala

The charity gala was a glittering nightmare of crystal chandeliers, string quartets, and people whose watches cost more than Toby would earn in a lifetime.

Toby was strapped into a bespoke tuxedo that fit him like a second skin. He looked like he belonged, but inside, he was screaming. Every time Arthur touched the small of his back, every time Arthur introduced him to a senator or a CEO with a proud smile, Toby felt sick to his stomach. *It's a performance,* he reminded himself, downing his third glass of champagne. *Enjoy the show. It's the series finale.*

Arthur was distracted, pulled into a corner by a group of investors. Toby found himself lingering near the extravagant ice sculpture at the center of the room, feeling small, useless, and entirely disposable.

He grabbed a fourth glass of champagne from a passing waiter. The alcohol was doing nothing to numb the pain; it was only stripping away his inhibitions.

When the master of ceremonies called for a quiet moment to toast the major donors, the room hushed. Arthur stepped up to the microphone, delivering a brief, eloquent speech about philanthropy. As he raised his glass, he locked eyes with Toby across the room, offering a soft, private smile.

It was too much. The hypocrisy of it snapped the last thread of Toby's self-control.

"To philanthropy!" Toby suddenly yelled out, his voice echoing loudly in the silent ballroom.

Heads turned. Hundreds of wealthy eyes locked onto him. Arthur stiffened at the microphone.

Toby raised his glass high, swaying slightly on his feet, a bitter, blinding smile plastered across his face. "And let's not forget to toast the finest investments in the room! The beautiful, depreciating assets on your arms!" Toby laughed, the sound sharp and grating. "Here’s to business transactions! May our contracts be lucrative, and our termination clauses be swift!"

He downed the champagne in one gulp. The silence in the ballroom was absolute, thick with shock and second-hand embarrassment.

Arthur dropped the microphone. It hit the podium with a loud, ringing thud. He started moving through the crowd, his face an mask of thunderous, terrifying panic. "Tobias!"

Toby didn't wait. He dropped the crystal flute onto a passing tray, turned on his heel, and bolted. He shoved past the heavy mahogany doors, ignored the coat check, and ran out into the freezing, rain-slicked city streets.

He ran until his lungs burned, the expensive dress shoes blistering his heels. He ran until he was far, far away from the glittering wealth of Arthur's world, plunging back into the gritty, unforgiving reality of his own.