He stared at it one more second.
Then turned away before he stole the fucking steamer.
FIFTEEN
The Cupcake Song
Chad
The man in the architectural shoulders and fever-dream gold chain slipped through the caterer's entrance like he'd been invited.
One of the waiters, young and holding a tray of champagne flutes that probably cost more than his car, looked up. And froze.
"Should we... stop him?"
The other waiter, older and clearly operating on a very specific definition ofnot my problem, didn't even glance up from arranging canapés.
"I'm not getting between a man dressed like that and wherever he's going."
Chad grinned and kept moving.
The ballroom was magnificent. Chandeliers like frozen fireworks. Marble that echoed wealth with every footstep. People who looked like they'd been born in tuxedos and gowns and probably had opinions about which kind of caviar paired best with existential dread.
Chad had only eaten kale today.
He remedied that by stuffing his face with whatever was on the nearest tray. Truffle & gold leaf. Something that tasted like it had been blessed by a chef with three Michelin stars and a superiority complex.
Heaven.
He drifted through the crowd, smiling, nodding, trying to catch someone's eye with agreat party, right?energy that was universally ignored.
But that was fine. Totally fine.
He was here.
He’d made it.
He belonged.
He was going to see whatever happened next before anyone else.
And then the room went quiet. Chad's head snapped toward the stage.
Jiro.
Chad's heart did something embarrassing.
Jiro stood at the microphone in a white shirt rolled to his elbows, platinum-blue hair catching every spotlight like it had a personal vendetta against subtlety. The kind of presence that made a room go still.
"I met someone tonight," Jiro said, his voice designed to make people lean in.
"Wrote something about it. Thought I'd share."
Chad's grin split wider.
A new song. A new Jiro song.
And he was here.
