7MoH 2.5

The reason he hadn’t thought of Jeong-in that way was because he was an unquestionably heterosexual man who had been born and raised in a very conservative family that had supported the Republican Party for generations.

Of course, he had received advances from men before, but those were crude and vulgar, limited to sexual aspects. So he couldn’t dare associate Jeong-in with that.

But if he were to date Jeong-in. If Jeong-in became his lover.

The moment he had that thought, his heart raced as if he were about to jump from a high place. He even wondered if this was what he had wanted all along.

The more he thought about it, the more it seemed like the right conclusion. Same-sex marriage had been legal for a long time, and there were several openly gay students at Wincrest High.

He had never been in a relationship defined by “dating” someone, but if Jeong-in were to be his first, that wouldn’t be bad. No, it would be quite good, actually.

Moreover, dating means an exclusive relationship. It gives him some right to keep Jeong-in by his side. Chase felt a strange satisfaction in that fact and held an unfamiliar confidence in the conclusion he had reached. But that confidence shattered in an unexpected way.

“Prescott, you…”

Jeong-in’s voice trembled, and then he picked up a cushion from his desk chair and threw it unhesitatingly at Chase. The cushion hit the unsuspecting Chase squarely in the face before falling onto his lap.

“Get out now.”

“…Huh?”

Chase just blinked with a bewildered expression.

“You’re beyond help. Chase Prescott.”

Jeong-in speaking through gritted teeth was utterly incomprehensible to Chase. He had only suggested dating because Jeong-in had said he liked him. Where in that was there any reason to be called “beyond help”? Shouldn’t he be happy instead?

For someone who had always had the upper hand in relationships without trying, this situation was very strange. Chase was confused.

“Don’t ever talk to me again!”

Jeong-in’s voice was ice-cold and resolute. Chase asked once more with an incredulous face.

“…Are you serious?”

“Yes! Get out now!”

Chase stood up with a still-dazed expression. Looking down at the stuffed animal in his hand, he hesitated and awkwardly spoke.

“What about Snowball…”

“Do whatever you want with it—keep it or throw it away!”

Chase was kicked out of Jeong-in’s room in a miserable state, holding the white stuffed animal in his arms.

Saying he had urgent business to attend to, he bid Suzy goodbye and left the warm comfort of the small two-story house.

Sitting in the driver’s seat feeling as if he’d been struck by lightning, Chase stared at the stuffed animal he was still holding.

“Damn it.”

He nervously threw the stuffed animal onto the passenger seat. Then he quickly left the neighborhood as if there was nothing more for him there.

With each curve the car took, Snowball rolled back and forth on the passenger seat. Chase stopped the car at a stop sign at an intersection and looked down at the stuffed animal. His gaze held an undisguisable resentment, as if it were Jeong-in who had coldly rejected him.

But that resentment didn’t last long. With a deep sigh of resignation, he carefully sat the small stuffed animal upright on the passenger seat. Then he pulled the seatbelt and carefully fastened it around the toy.

He recalled the moment when he first truly noticed the black-eyed young man who looked quite similar to the stuffed animal. It was the night of the annual charity party.

* * *

The week before the annual charity event, 1 Crestview Drive was bustling with activity.

Chase wore a black tuxedo and tied a bow tie. After casually styling his hair in front of the mirror, just as he was about to leave his quarters, he encountered an unexpected face.

This place, separated from the main house, wasn’t somewhere one would pass by chance. Her presence here meant a deliberately planned approach.

“It’s been a while, Chase.”

Evangeline Clark. She approached him with a gentle smile.

“Still handsome as ever.”

Evangeline was once a promising actress, but now in her late thirties, she was focused on running her handbag and wallet brand that bore her name. Though distant from the screen, her well-maintained beauty showed no signs of fading.

“Your tie is crooked.”

Evangeline fiddled with Chase’s bow tie and subtly moved her hand to his chest. It was a smooth and natural movement, but the intention behind it was obvious.

Chase’s gaze as he looked down at the hand caressing his chest remained calm.

He was the heir apparent to a massive financial empire boasting $900 billion in total assets, encompassing investment banking, asset management, real estate, and ESG investments.

Having received countless temptations throughout his life, this level of attention couldn’t even make him raise an eyebrow.

“There’s no tie there.”

Though he hadn’t lived with exceptional discernment, Chase did have lines he wouldn’t cross. He wasn’t depraved enough to mess with his father’s mistress.

Evangeline took a step back and slightly raised the corner of her mouth. Her smile with its suggestive undertones and her brazen attitude were no longer surprising to Chase.

He knew she frequented his father’s New York apartment, but she was a bold woman to show her face at the house where the legal wife resided. Of course, nominally she was his father’s business partner, but it was obvious that his mother, Lillian, knew about their relationship.

His parents, Dominic and Lillian Prescott, were rumored to have fallen fatefully in love and married at Lillian’s debutante ball. However, in reality, it was a strategic marriage, a relationship formed purely for benefit.

Without any special twist, Chase too would end up the same way. Marrying someone from a prestigious family who had made a splendid debut in society, having children like thoroughbreds, hosting superficial charity events, and living a life where wealth and family honor would be passed down through generations. He would follow this predetermined path that had been set even before his birth.

That’s why he enjoyed snack-like relationships. Brief, light relationships free of guilt.

He had no hobby of betraying others by lying, and though his marriage would likely be loveless, he had promised himself to be faithful to his partner after marriage. That was the last bit of self-respect Chase Prescott held.

Entering the main house, Chase momentarily stopped in front of a large family portrait hanging in the reception room as he walked toward the party venue.

A seemingly perfect extended family, the epitome of old money. Everyone in the photograph was elegantly dressed, and each one was flawlessly beautiful and stylish.

But that perfection paradoxically created a sense of dissonance. Chase knew well the cracks hidden behind the shining frame.

The photo showed only Dominic Prescott and Kyle Prescott, but Chase’s grandfather, Albert Prescott, had another son unknown to the public.

An illegitimate child he had brought in from outside in his later years, exactly one year older than Chase. His grandmother, Eleanor Prescott, had started staying in France from the time his existence was first revealed.

The situation didn’t seem to have improved in the next generation either. They were thoroughly a messed-up family.

His father openly brought his mistress to places where his mother was present, his mother was drunk from early morning, and his sister, who openly expressed her dislike of being a Prescott, hadn’t been seen since last year when that photo was taken.

“Young master. The master is looking for you.”

At the servant’s urging, Chase reluctantly moved.

As he entered the party venue through the corridor, gazes poured down on him. Some eyes evaluated, some calculated. Everyone was like hyenas choosing meat pieces laid on a table. This too was routine for him.

Chase concealed his boredom and put on a fake smile. That polite but hollow expression had been his longtime mask, so now sometimes even he was confused about which was his real face.

Entering the hall where gentle classical music played, Chase exchanged formal greetings with people he neither knew nor cared about.

“Mr. Prescott. Pleased to meet you. I’m Steven Fletcher.”

“Chase Prescott.”

After shaking hands with a middle-aged man, Chase’s father, Dominic, introduced someone to him.

“I hear he attends the same school as you.”

Though going to the same school would seem like a significant connection, Chase had no interest in other children at school. Even without him showing interest, people approached him first. Too many, unnecessarily so.

But showing such indifference wasn’t something Chase Prescott would do, so he smiled politely and even feigned an interested expression.

Chase’s blue eyes moved slowly. At the end of his gaze stood a boy with black hair and white skin, as if receiving a spotlight all to himself.

Dressed neatly in a suit, he looked as refined as a pianist on a music competition stage.

Delicate features difficult to find in Westerners and soft contours as if drawn with a fine brush. He could fully understand those who said East Asian appearances were mysterious.

He also resembled the porcelain dolls his grandmother used to collect and cherish, saying they were fragile. He would have truly looked like one if he hadn’t blinked. His black hair, slightly swept back to reveal half his forehead, gleamed with luster, and his red lips contrasted vividly with his pale face.

It’s often hard to gauge the age of East Asians. He appeared to be in his teens, but in reality, he might be much older.

“If such a cute kid was at our school, I couldn’t possibly not know. Are you a new transfer? Nice to meet you.”

The handshake was rejected, and though he spoke kindly, silence was what he received in return.

By this point, people usually smile shyly or show an expression of honor, but no matter how long he waited, there was no answer from the other party. Like a mermaid who had traded her voice for legs in a deal with a witch, only his large, seemingly story-filled eyes kept blinking.

What kind of voice would come from such a face? Curious, Chase asked questions about things he wasn’t particularly interested in. It was solely to hear the other’s voice.

“You attend Wincrest? But why haven’t I ever seen you at school?”

Again, there was no answer, and it was Dominic standing beside him who informed him they were in the same grade.

The soft-looking chin without even a trace of stubble or visible pores seemed to tremble slightly, and finally, the other opened his mouth.

Let’s hear an expensive voice, shall we? Chase unconsciously held his breath and waited. As if expecting the first note from an expensive string instrument.

“…Excuse me. Please continue your conversation comfortably.”

Unlike his androgynous face, his voice was distinctly male. Somehow, that evoked an even more strange impression. Chase wanted to say something more, but the other lightly turned his body and quickly disappeared from view.

A fine wrinkle formed on Chase’s forehead. Even the smile he habitually wore became disturbed.

Perhaps because he had only seen people who always approached him? Someone who showed their back first and disappeared was somehow unfamiliar. That unfamiliarity strangely scratched at his nerves.

Chase excused himself briefly and moved. He walked out into the corridor with steps permeated by subtle urgency. However, the back of the person he was looking for was nowhere to be seen. As if they had never existed.

After acting like a voiceless mermaid earlier, now acting like Cinderella after the clock struck twelve?

Chase clenched his fist, grasping at empty air, then released it.

Returning to the party venue, Chase spent a considerable time standing next to Dominic, shaking hands with notable individuals. Something large and heavy, invisible like a sign, weighed down on his shoulders. Heir to the Prescott family. It felt as if only that phrase explained his existence.

“Where’s Mother?”

Chase asked casually after he had greeted most of the important people.

“Your mother, as always, would be where the alcohol is, wouldn’t she?”

Dominic answered dryly, and Chase asked nothing more.

This family had no affection for each other. Whether it was to avoid unnecessary emotional drain or because there was no interest to begin with, Chase couldn’t tell. There was no love between husband and wife, and it was equally difficult to expect paternal or maternal love.

Chase had learned his mother was at the main house today from a servant. She hadn’t even bothered to visit her son in the separate quarters.

As Chase clenched his molars, Dominic asked,

“What about Elena? Isn’t she coming?”

“You know I’m seeing Vivian Sinclair.”

Every time Chase mentioned Vivian, subtle contempt seeped into Dominic’s face. The Sinclair family, with their restaurant chain, was mere nouveau riche compared to the Prescotts—risen only through momentary luck and reckless business sense.

The upper class was thoroughly conservative. They never mixed with people from other classes. The only reason the Prescott family sent Chase to public school was for one purpose: the group’s image.

The Prescotts were thorough strategists.

Chase attending public school rather than private was a useful tool for implanting the positive message that the Prescott family wasn’t “arrogant elitists trapped within privilege” but “leaders who understand reality by communicating with ordinary people.”

Chase never had a choice in his education. All his decisions were for family reputation and group benefit. His wishes had never once been considered.

Dominic viewed Chase’s association with varsity team players as a charitable act, a noble social contribution. As if a privileged person was bestowing humility.

“Mingling with such children, that’s a good thing.”

Whenever he heard words filled with superiority and pride, Chase felt like an empty shell with only a glossy exterior, but he always responded with a silent smile.

In Dominic’s eyes, Vivian would never be acceptable. The match he had in mind for Chase wasn’t Vivian but Elena Montgomery.

The Montgomery family, which built its fortune in the steel industry in the 19th century, was an old and distinguished family in the eastern United States, wielding powerful influence in the elite social circles of New York and Boston. This family still maintained its prestige by leading upper-class culture through art patronage and large-scale investments.

Chase had stood as Elena’s partner at her debutante ball in the Hamptons. Elena was flawlessly perfect. Elegant manners, beauty, and refined speech. So perfect that she seemed almost robotic.

Dominic, holding his chin high and sipping champagne, looked around the party venue with satisfied eyes and said,

“End the fun at that moment, and now it’s time to get serious. Your lukewarm approach might be why they’re hesitant to approach you.”

Chase couldn’t listen anymore. Even the air here felt heavy and suffocating.

“Since I’ve shown my face, I’ll be going now.”

Unable to wait for his father’s response, Chase quickly left the party venue.

As soon as he entered the corridor, he sent a message to Brian Cole. He offered to cover the accommodations and plane tickets if Brian would join him in Cabo.

Brian, whose father was a city council member in Bellacove and whose mother worked at an advertising company, had been struggling due to his parents’ noisy divorce. He wouldn’t refuse an offer to escape, even for a short weekend. The other guys would follow along without complaint for a free trip.

After instructing the secretary who handled the family’s affairs to schedule the trip to Cabo, Chase walked down the corridor, loosening his suffocating bow tie. The sound of his shoes hitting the marble floor resonated low in the space.