Then he clutches his stomach dramatically, easing the weight in the room.
“But I’m starving. And the birthday boy needs to cut that cake. Because I swear, it’s calling my name from across the room.”
He reaches out, grabs my hand without hesitation, and tugs me toward the balcony table.
Dinner passes in a blur of warmth, clinking cutlery, and soft city lights that bleed gold through the windows. I sit across from Tyler, watching him chew excitedly between exaggerated reactions to the chef’s dishes. His joy is infectious — it alwayshas been. Even when I’m spiraling, even when my insides feel hollow and cold, he finds a way to fill the room with light.
After dinner, I led him into the home cinema room, already glowing with warm light. We had planned to rewatch Red, White & Royal Blue. Once we settle into one of the massive cushions spread across the floor, so big it’s practically a bed, I slip away briefly and return with his gifts, placing the stack on the sofa between us.
Tyler’s eyes go wide. “Wait—all of this is for me?”
I nod, trying to play it cool even though I can feel the smile tugging at my lips. I take a seat beside him, pretending to adjust the pillows, like I’m not watching him vibrate with excitement.
“I’m way too impatient to wait ‘til later,” he announces, grinning as he dives for the first box. He tears the paper with no mercy, and the moment the Jordan sneakers come into view, he nearly throws the box in the air.
“No way. Oh my god!” he gasps, holding them up like they’re made of diamonds. “I’ve been obsessing over these for months!”
“I know,” I sign, raising an eyebrow. “You hum about them in your sleep.”
He laughs, nudging me playfully before ripping into the next gift— a Coach crossbody bag made with soft nude leather and silver buckles. Then comes a sleek black Lululemon jacket with gold zippers, followed by a candle that smells bright and citrus, his favorite scent, and then a thin gold necklace.
I watch him slowly melt with each unwrapped gift, the awe never leaving his face.
Then I hand him the bigger box—wrapped in white with a gold ribbon tied tight.
His hands slow down this time, more careful. He unwraps it, blinking as the branding becomes visible.
His breath catches.
“No way… Davis Skin?” he whispers, stunned.
He lifts the lid gently like he’s opening a treasure. Inside, nestled in white satin lining, are rows of pristine skincare products—all from Davika’s luxury brand. Everything—cleanser, toner, vitamin C serum, moisturizer, sunscreen, even an overnight treatment—lined up with precision. The packaging is elegant: matte white bottles with gold accents, each one labeled in Davika’s signature font. A small card lies on top, handwritten and signed with a flourish:Glow from the inside out, happy birthday, Tyler.
Tyler stares down at it all, then slowly looks up at me, his expression frozen in disbelief. It’s the same look I had when I opened the skincare package she had sent to me just a few days ago.
“This is from Alexander’s mother?” he breathes. “Davika herself?”
I nod, smiling. Then sign “She saw the pictures I posted of us on my Instagram story today.”
If someone had told me a few months ago that I’d be exchanging messages with one of the richest, influential women in the country, I would’ve laughed. But somehow, here we are. Davika and I have been following each other ever since we spent that afternoon at the botanical garden. I barely even use Instagram—just to swap memes with Tyler, really. But lately, Davika and I have been sharing memes as well. It still surprises me how warm and carefree she is.
She replied to my story earlier, the one where I wished Tyler a happy birthday, and asked if he was into skincare—if he’d like the same package she had sent me. I told her he’d love it. And just like that, it arrived this afternoon, right on time. True to her word.
Tyler clutches the box like it’s from heaven.
“I’m going to cry. Tell her she’s the Thai goddess of my skin now.”
Finally, I give him the last gift — He raises a brow but opens it slowly, cautiously.
Inside, stacked in six perfect rows, are crisp hundred-dollar bills in bundles. The moment he sees them, he gasps and drops the box with the kind of over-the-top flair only Tyler could pull off. I can’t help but let out a small laugh. It’s the exact same reaction I had when Alex handed me the money and told me to arrange it this way.
With slightly trembling hands, Tyler picks up the folded white note resting on top of the stack and reads:
And reads:
Happy Birthday.
I didn’t want to guess at what you’d like, so I’m giving you this instead.
