Chapter Thirty-Three

Levan adjusted his collar in the mirror, admiring the way the tailored outfit hugged his figure. The silk shirt shimmered under the light, and the perfectly-fitted pants completed the look. It was one of the many gifts Davan had given him—lavish clothes, expensive watches, and trips to exclusive resorts. Levan smiled to himself, knowing the outfit would turn heads tonight at the art gallery.

The gallery, of course, was just another excuse for Eden's elite to gather, drink, and show off their wealth under the guise of culture. Levan had been to dozens of such events, but this one felt different. Davan was attending, and Levan had to be on his best behavior. People were starting to talk, whispering about the nature of their relationship. Was it love? Or was it just convenience?

As he finished preparing, Levan's phone buzzed with a message. It was from Davan, reminding him to be punctual. Levan frowned slightly, feeling a familiar twinge of irritation. Davan liked control. He wasn't overbearing, not exactly, but there were always subtle reminders of the power dynamic between them.

Levan's friends, of course, were quick to point it out. They liked to joke that Davan was more of a sugar daddy than a boyfriend, and sometimes, Levan wondered if they were right. He loved the lifestyle Davan provided—the luxurious dinners, the lavish gifts, the private trips—but he wasn't sure if he loved him. Not in the way people were supposed to. Davan was older, well-established in the administration, and while Levan appreciated the security, there was a nagging emptiness in their relationship.

Still, he couldn't let that show. Levan knew how to hide things. His Soma and alcohol use, for example, was a carefully guarded secret. He only indulged when he was out of the public eye, or when he was surrounded by the shallow crowd of spoiled elites who wouldn't think twice about it. In Eden, Soma was a way to escape, to keep the darkness at bay. It helped people cope with the emotional toll of living in a city that demanded perfection. For Levan, it was his way of quieting the constant questions about his life, about Davan, about whether he was truly happy.

Levan stepped out of his apartment, the cool night air hitting his skin as he slid into the waiting limousine. The driver, one of Davan's, took him straight to the gallery. The city lights of Eden blurred past the window, a dazzling display of modernity and perfection. It was moments like this that Levan loved—being whisked away to some glamorous event, feeling like he was on top of the world. But it was also in these moments that he felt the most hollow.

When he arrived at the gallery, the scene was exactly as he expected. People in extravagant outfits milled around, pretending to admire the abstract sculptures and avant-garde paintings. The gallery itself was massive, a towering structure of glass and steel, filled with exhibits that were more about appearances than actual art. Levan knew most of the people here didn't care about the art; they cared about being seen, about networking, about flaunting their wealth.

He quickly spotted his friends—a group of shallow, vain rich kids who were born into privilege. Their parents were either high-ranking members of Eden's administration, wealthy merchants, or famous influencers. They lived their lives with an effortless grace, never worrying about the things that plagued normal people. Levan fit right in with them. Or at least, that's what he told himself.

"Levan! Over here!" one of them called, a girl named Talia who was draped in designer clothes and dripping in diamonds. She was the daughter of a powerful merchant and had never worked a day in her life. Her world revolved around parties, luxury, and gossip.

Levan smiled and made his way over to them. As he approached, Talia and the others enveloped him in air-kisses and meaningless compliments about his outfit.

"You look fabulous," Talia said, her eyes gleaming with the intoxicated glow of someone who had started drinking hours ago. "Where's Davan?"

"He'll be here soon," Levan replied smoothly, slipping into the role he played so well. Charming, carefree, and aloof. No one here needed to know about the uncertainty gnawing at him, about the pills he'd popped earlier to get through the night.

As they chatted and laughed, Levan caught sight of his sister, Kyra, across the room. She stood out from the crowd, not because of her beauty—though she was striking—but because of her poise and confidence. Kyra was representing Lantrun Tech at the gallery, her presence a testament to the power and prestige she had earned on her own.

Levan felt a pang of jealousy, sharp and undeniable. Kyra didn't need anyone's help to climb the ladder of success. She had her own money, her own career, her own life. Meanwhile, Levan was dependent on Davan. No matter how much he enjoyed the perks of their relationship, he couldn't shake the feeling that he was living in Kyra's shadow.

"Isn't that your sister?" Talia asked, following his gaze. "She's so serious, always working."

"Yeah," Levan replied, forcing a smile. "She loves her job."

But inside, he was fuming. Kyra didn't just love her job—she defined herself by it. She didn't have to rely on someone else for validation or security. She had earned her place in Eden's elite through her intellect and hard work, while Levan... Levan felt like he was just coasting, riding on Davan's coattails.

"Don't worry about her," Talia said, sensing his mood shift. "She's probably just here to represent the company. We're here to have fun."

Levan nodded, but the jealousy lingered. As the night went on, the drinks flowed freely, and the conversations grew more frivolous. His friends gossiped about the latest scandals, bragged about their parents' wealth, and threw around names of people they'd met at exclusive parties. It was all so superficial, but Levan played along, laughing and smiling as though nothing was wrong.

By the time Davan finally arrived, the gallery was in full swing. He made his entrance like he always did—calm, composed, and commanding attention without even trying. Levan felt the eyes of the room shift toward Davan, the respect and admiration that came with his status in the administration. Davan approached Levan with a smile, wrapping an arm around his waist in a possessive gesture that made Levan's skin prickle.

"Having a good time?" Davan asked, his voice smooth and deep.

"Of course," Levan replied, leaning into the embrace, even as the doubt gnawed at him.

The rest of the night passed in a blur of drinking, mingling, and pretending. By the time they left the gallery, Levan's mind was clouded with alcohol and Soma, but he kept his charming facade intact. Davan held him close as they got into the car, and Levan wondered, not for the first time, if this was all he was destined for. A life of luxury, but one that left him feeling empty.

As the limousine drove them home, Levan stared out the window at the perfect, gleaming city of Eden, his beloved home. But no matter how beautiful the world outside looked, he couldn't shake the feeling that something was missing inside him.