Chapter Seventeen

Baran

Baran stood alongside Silas in the bustling ballroom of the hotel, the morning light filtering through the large windows, casting a warm glow on the polished floors. The room smelled faintly of fresh flowers and polished wood, and the soft murmur of voices filled the air as staff members and volunteers hurried to prepare for the art gala. It was a big event—a fundraiser for Rainbow Haven shelter—and Baran could feel the excitement thrumming in his chest.

Beside him, Silas was working quickly, arranging the white tablecloths on the long rectangular tables that were already placed around the perimeter of the room. The tables would be covered in vibrant artwork, ready for the high-profile donors who would arrive soon.

“This is gonna be huge, man,” Silas said with a grin, lifting a corner of the tablecloth to smooth it out. “I mean, it’s for a good cause, right? And there’s gonna be so many people here, some big names too.”

Baran smiled, a little breathless with anticipation. “Yeah, I’m pumped. And it’s nice to see so many people giving back. Rainbow Haven really needs the support, and this is such a cool way to help.”

Silas nodded in agreement. “Exactly. Art and charity. Perfect combo.” He straightened up and surveyed their work. “So, how’s it feel to be a part of something this big?”

Baran thought for a moment. “Kind of surreal, actually. I never imagined I’d be here helping set up for something this important.”

A soft laugh broke through the conversation as Daddy Darien appeared at Baran’s side, his presence a comforting warmth amid the sea of activity. He kissed Baran lightly on the cheek, a quick but tender gesture, before pulling back with a smirk.

“Looking good, love,” Daddy Darien said, brushing a lock of Baran’s hair away from his face. “How’s the setup going?”

“It’s coming along,” Baran replied, his heart doing a little skip whenever Daddy Darien was near. “Silas is keeping things moving.”

Daddy Darien’s eyes sparkled with amusement as he glanced at Silas. “I can tell. You look like you’re gonna have the room perfect in no time.”

Baran chuckled, brushing Daddy Darien’s hand briefly before they got back to work. “We’ve still got a lot to do,” he said, but the thrill in his voice was unmistakable.

Now and then, Daddy Darien would drift back over, offering Baran a kiss on the cheek or the lips, the soft connection grounding Baran in the chaos around them. It made him feel light and focused, as if, together, they could make this event go off without a hitch.

As the morning passed, the room slowly took shape. The tables were covered in crisp white cloths, each one arranged neatly, with vases of flowers at their centers. Baran, Silas, and a few other volunteers worked quickly to place pieces of art—framed paintings, sculptures, and photographs—on the tables, ensuring they were spaced just right to catch the light and draw attention. The artwork varied in style and theme, but the goal was clear: to raise money for the shelter.

Baran marveled at the way the art seemed to come alive under the gentle touch of the staff. Bright colors, abstract forms, and portraits that tugged at the heart filled the room, creating an atmosphere of creative energy that was palpable.

“Think they’ll like it?” Baran asked Silas, looking around at their work.

“Oh, they’ll love it,” Silas said confidently. “It’s all about the presentation. And with everything in place, this gala’s gonna be a hit.”

Baran nodded, feeling a wave of pride wash over him. This was just the beginning. Tonight, when the donors and artists arrived, the room would transform into a space of generosity and hope. And he would be a part of it.

As they put the final touches on the room, Daddy Darien leaned in once more to kiss Baran, this time a little longer, his lips warm against Baran’s. “I’m proud of you,” Daddy Darien murmured.

Baran smiled, a soft, satisfied grin spreading across his face. “We’re in this together,” he said, looking around the room, already imagining the evening ahead.

“I want you to take over Miss Archer’s position.”

“What happened to Miss Archer?”

“I fired her. It’s not just what she did to you. She has been overstepping her bounds into my private life. I think it was a crush, but I’ve had enough. Would you accept the job until school starts, then you can work part-time? The pay is good.”

“Yes, I’d love to.”

Hawk walked up to them.

“Baran, I want to apologize to you in person. Sorry, bro.”

“Thanks. All forgotten.”

“Thanks. And, Darien, thank you for giving me a second chance.”

“Follow the rules or there will be no third chance.”

“Yes, sir.”

For a moment, it felt like everything was right in the world.

“Are you ready to leave?” Daddy Darien asked.

“Yes.”

Baran stood near the entrance of the grand ballroom, his gaze scanning the room as he spoke calmly to a couple who had approached him for directions. His voice was steady, practiced—a smooth blend of professionalism and ease. The night was alive with energy, the glow of chandeliers reflecting off the polished marble floors, while the sound of laughter and soft chatter mixed with the notes of a string quartet playing in the background.

Paintings, sculptures, and exquisite glasswork were displayed in gleaming cases, their colors vibrant under the soft lighting. A sea of people in formal attire filled the room, all dressed to impress, mingling and admiring the art. Baran felt an odd sense of detachment from the scene—a spectator, not a participant. He was here to help, not to enjoy. But the weight of the gala, the expectations, were still there, heavy and present.

His black tuxedo fit him well, the fabric sleek against his skin, though his thoughts were miles away from the luxury of the event. He’d never imagined he’d be here, at this gala, not in this way, not with the life he’d carved out for himself.

Baran’s thoughts drifted back to earlier in the day when Daddy Darien had taken him shopping. The trip had felt strangely surreal—Daddy Darien, with his sharp, careful sense of style, had insisted Baran pick out a tux that wasn’t just acceptable, but outstanding. Afterward, they’d stopped by another store to get casual clothes for school and work, ensuring that Baran had a more rounded wardrobe. The entire experience had felt like stepping into a different world, one where appearances mattered in ways Baran wasn’t entirely comfortable with.

When they’d returned home to get dressed for the gala, Daddy Darien had helped him tie his tie with a practiced hand, as if it were nothing. The act felt intimate, as if their bond had deepened without either of them saying anything about it.

But now, here, Baran’s thoughts shifted back to the task at hand. The couple nodded, thanking him for his help, and Baran offered a polite smile, then turned away to continue his walk through the ballroom, past the clusters of people, avoiding their eyes.

He was alone when he saw him.

Baran froze. His heart skipped a beat.