Chapter 26 Theo
THEO
The champagne glass feels cool against my fingertips as I watch the crowd from my DJ booth.
Eclipse pulses with energy—not the usual frantic weekend energy, but something more intimate, more real.
Sloane’s outdone herself, transforming the VIP section into a celebration space with simple elegance rather than the ostentatious displays I’ve become accustomed to in Ravenwood’s elite circles.
“Happy birthday, superstar!” Sloane appears beside me, her electric blue hair catching the lights. “Thirty-three looks good on you.”
I smile, though it doesn’t quite reach my eyes. “Thanks for this. It’s exactly right.”
And it is. My closest friends, key industry contacts, artists I’ve worked with—all gathered to celebrate me. The playlist shifts to a track I produced last year, and several people raise their glasses in my direction.
My phone stays dark in my pocket. No messages from Victor.
Because he doesn’t know.
“He’s not coming, is he?” Sloane follows my gaze across the room, reading me as she always does.
“I didn’t invite him.”
“Did you even tell him it was your birthday?”
I take another sip of champagne. “What’s the point? He wouldn’t come anyway. Can’t risk being seen at the birthday party of a man he fucks in secret.”
The bitterness in my voice surprises even me. Seven months since the Hunt. Two months since our confrontation in that supply closet. We’ve seen each other since then—always in private, always on his terms. Nothing’s changed.
“You deserve better than being someone’s secret, Theo.”
I scan the room—Jasmine from the gallery, laughing with Devon from the label. Julian standing with his arm casually draped over Elliot’s shoulder, completely at ease in their public display of affection. My chest tightens.
“I know,” I say quietly. “I just thought...”
I don’t finish the sentence. What did I think? That Victor would suddenly overcome decades of identity denial—for me? That he’d walk through that door tonight, take my hand in front of everyone, and acknowledge what we are to each other?
I check my phone again. Nothing.
Because he doesn’t even know it’s my birthday.
Julian presses another glass of champagne into my hand. “To the man who’s transformed Ravenwood’s music scene.” He clinks his glass against mine, his eyes warm with genuine affection. “Happy birthday, Theo.”
I down half the glass in one go, my head already swimming pleasantly from the three—or is it four?—drinks I’ve had. The DJ booth has been taken over by Devon, one of my producers, who’s spinning a set of remixes he made from my tracks.
“Come on, birthday boy!” Sloane grabs my wrist, pulling me toward the dance floor. “Stop brooding and dance with me.”
I let myself be led, the bass vibrating through my bones as we join the crowd. The lights pulse in time with the music, and for a few minutes, I lose myself in it all. My body moves instinctively to the rhythm, and a laugh bubbles up from somewhere deep inside me.
This is good. This is what I needed.
My hand slides into my pocket, fingers wrapping around my phone. I pull it out, screen dark. No notifications.
Jasmine appears with a sleek black box tied with a silver ribbon. “For the man who has everything,” she says with a smile.
Inside is a rare vinyl pressing of an album I’ve been hunting for years. “How did you even find this?” I ask, genuinely touched.
“I have my ways,” she winks.
Gifts pile up on the table behind the DJ booth—exclusive whiskey from Elliot, studio time with a legendary producer from Julian, and handcrafted headphones from Sloane.
Between dances and drinks and conversations that blur together, I check my phone. Again. Again. Nothing.
“Speech!” someone calls out, and suddenly everyone’s looking at me, raising their glasses.
I step up to the mic, my smile wide but my eyes still darting to my silent phone on the table beside me.
“Thanks for coming tonight,” I say, swallowing the lump in my throat.
“Music has always been my salvation—my voice when I had no words. But what makes it meaningful is sharing it with people who get it. Who get me.” The room blurs slightly as I raise my glass.
“To found family. You’re the best birthday gift I could ask for. ”
Cheers erupt and the music swells again.
The celebration continues, ebbing and flowing like the tracks I mix, until eventually, the crowd thins.
Julian and Elliot leave with warm embraces.
Jasmine kisses my cheek. Sloane insists on helping the staff clear up before I practically shove her out the door.
“Go home,” I tell her. “I just want to sit here a bit longer.”
By 1:30, even the staff have gone, leaving me alone in the dimmed lights of Eclipse. I pour myself one last drink and slide back behind the decks, queuing up a melancholic playlist. Thirty-three. Another year of building something that matters. Another year of searching for someone who sees me.
At precisely 2 AM, the side door opens. Victor stands there, his frame silhouetted against the street light.
My heart stumbles in my chest. “What are you doing here?”
He steps inside, closing the distance between us. “Heard it was your birthday.”
“Who told you?” My voice sounds small, even to my own ears.
“Julian mentioned it.” Victor shifts uncomfortably, then reaches into his jacket. He pulls out a small box wrapped in simple black paper. “Here.”
I take it, fingers trembling slightly as I unwrap it. Inside sits a vintage vinyl—an original pressing of Blue Lines by Massive Attack.
The breath goes out of me.
“Victor,” I breathe.
“You told me about it.” His voice is quieter than I’ve heard it. “About your dad putting it on Saturday mornings. About losing it in the placements. I had a guy in London track down an original pressing—I told him it had to be original.”
I stare at the record in my hands. The sleeve is faded at the edges, the kind of soft wear that comes from a decade of someone playing it carefully. Someone’s father, somewhere, played this record on Saturday mornings, too. Now it’s mine.
“Happy birthday,” Victor says quietly.
I can’t speak. The record is heavy in my hands in a way records aren’t supposed to be heavy. He’s standing in front of me with his hands in his pockets like a man who isn’t sure if what he’s done is enough.
“You remembered,” I manage.
“Of course I did.” Victor shifts his weight, looking almost vulnerable despite his imposing size. “I remember everything you tell me, Theo.”
That line undoes me. I told him once, in his arms, in the morning light. He heard it the first time, and he carried it with him, and now this.
It’s these small moments of genuine connection that make our situation so painful. I place the record carefully on the bar.
“Why can’t you just admit what this is?” The words tumble out before I can stop them. “What we have is special, Victor. I know you feel it too.”
His jaw tightens. “It’s complicated.”
“No, it’s really not. It’s only complicated because you’re making it that way.”
He steps closer, his hand reaching up to cup my face. “I’m here now.”
“In an empty club, after everyone’s gone.” My voice breaks. “When there’s no one to see.”
Instead of pulling away, Victor surprises me by leaning in, pressing his forehead against mine. “I know. I’m trying, Theo. I just need time.”
I lead him to my private room behind the DJ booth, a space even most of my staff don’t know exists. Once inside, Victor’s hands find my hips, but there’s a gentleness to his touch I haven’t felt before.
“Happy birthday, wildfire,” he murmurs against my neck.
Our clothes fall away in the dim light. When he presses me down onto the leather couch, there’s none of his usual roughness. Victor’s hands map my body like he’s committing it to memory.
“Look at you,” he says, reverence in his voice as he strokes me. “So pretty for Daddy. The most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.”
When he enters me, it’s slow, deliberate—each thrust accompanied by praise that makes my chest tight with emotion.
“That’s it, baby. Take all of Daddy. Nobody takes me the way you do.”
I wrap my legs around him, pulling him deeper. “Victor...”
He kisses me, open-mouthed and tender. “I have another present for you.”
“What’s that?” I gasp as he hits that spot inside me.
His eyes lock with mine, vulnerability and desire mingling in their depths. “Tonight, I want you to have all of me. I’m ready to give you my ass. I want to feel you inside me.”
I nearly come right then, my cock pulsing between us at the mere suggestion. Victor—my hyper-masculine fight club owner who’s spent months refusing to even consider bottoming—wants me inside him. For my birthday.
“Fuck, Victor,” I gasp, gripping his shoulders as he continues to thrust into me. “Are you serious?”
His eyes darken with desire, but there’s vulnerability there too. “Dead serious, baby. Been thinking about it for weeks.”
My mind races with possibilities. This is a monumental step for him—an admission of trust that goes beyond words.
“I want to take you to the mirrored room,” I say, my voice husky with arousal. “I want you to see yourself when I’m inside you.”
Victor’s rhythm falters for a moment, and I watch his pupils dilate. “You want me to watch you fuck me?”
“I want you to see how beautiful you look taking my cock.” My words are bold, confident—matching the hunger in his eyes. “I want you to see what I see when you surrender to me.”
Victor groans, driving deeper into me. “Fuck, Theo. Yes.”
He leans down to kiss me, his tongue claiming my mouth with the same intensity as his cock claims my body. I moan into the kiss, my hips rising to meet his thrusts. The thought of what’s to come has me teetering on the edge already.
After several more delicious thrusts, Victor pulls back slightly. His fingers stroke my face with surprising tenderness.
“Come on then, baby,” he says, his voice a gravelly whisper that sends shivers down my spine. “Take me to your mirrors, wildfire. I’m ready.”