Page 115 of Under Construction

The gala unfolds exactly as Dennis predicted—a parade of wealth masquerading as a business function. Trophy wives drip diamonds while their husbands compare offshore accounts and vacation properties. Any mention of actual sustainable construction innovation gets lost beneath discussions of golf handicaps and market portfolios.

At least his father seems pleased as he works the room like the master player he is. He shifts between cultural contexts with calculated precision—a slight bow here, a firm handshake there, each interaction calibrated for maximum impact. The shrewd businessman fully in his element.

Chris stays close, playing his part with polite smiles and appropriate small talk when approached by the occasional site visitor. But tension radiates from him, visible only to Dennis who's learned to read every micro-expression.

This isn't his Chris—the natural charm and quick wit replaced by something more controlled, more guarded. He keeps glancing at the exit when he thinks no one's watching, and Dennis’s chest tightens knowing Chris is only here for him.

When it's time for the presentation, Dennis takes the podium. He recites words someone else wrote about innovation and progress, wrapping corporate strategy in buzzwords the Kim Industries board expects. The applause swells as he concludes with "Thank you all. Please enjoy the carefully curated dining experience prepared for this afternoon."

Chris claps at the side of the podium, having chosen to stand by Dennis instead of taking a seat. His smile radiates pride and something warmer that makes Dennis’s stomach flutter as he steps down.

They watch the crowd filter toward the grand ballroom. The gala runs perfectly controlled, perfectly choreographed—exactly how his father planned it.

Well, his dad clearly knows what he’s doing and Dennis has done his part. No one can complain now.

He reaches for Chris's wrist, turning it to pull back his sleeve and check the time. Soon this will all be over and things can go back to normal.

Chris leans close. "You did good, princess." He tips his chin up with a quick eyebrow raise at a site contractor passing by. "Keeping your subjects properly entertained."

Dennis inhales subtly. "You smell incredible."

"Thanks, baby. You smell..." Chris pauses. "Okay, I guess."

Dennis taps his shoe against Chris's because it will not do to kick him in public. "Don't be mean to me! I thought you would like this cologne—I wore it for you."

Chris's laugh rumbles low. "You know I like it when you smell like yourself." His voice drops further. "Even better when you smell like me."

Dennis looks away, color high on his cheeks, while Chris's low laughter warms the air between them. He can't wait to escape this stifling event—to whack Chris for being insufferable, tear off his clothes, and sit on his dick. Not necessarily in that order.

They enter the ballroom last, as hosts should, his parents falling into step beside them.

His mother pounces immediately, wrapping Dennis in a hug and pressing a kiss to his cheek. "Darling, you were magnificent up there! So eloquent, so professional—though I wished you'd talked more about the design."

Her eyes light up when she spots Chris. "And Chris! How wonderful to see you here!" She links her arm through his, squeezing his hand. Chris returns the squeeze, all easy smiles with one hand in his pocket, looking like he walked straight off a magazine cover. "My, don't you clean up beautifully! More handsome than ever!"

His father's approach is characteristically direct. "Good work, son."

Wow, Dennis thinks, hell really has frozen over.

"Now, let's go greet everyone properly." His father gives Chris a cursory nod, the kind of perfunctory acknowledgment you'd offer a random event attendee, with no sign he even recognizes him as their site manager, before turning to the next person demanding his attention.

Mingling scatters them apart. A statuesque blonde monopolizes Dennis’s attention, her diamond bracelet catchinglight as she touches his arm. Her champagne sloshes precariously close to his sleeve while she laughs at his every word.

Dennis matches her energy perfectly—all charm and witty responses, exactly as he's been groomed to do since childhood. Over her shoulder, he spots Chris entertaining a group of construction executives, their laughter booming across the room. His lips curve up watching Chris work the room, and the blonde squeezes his forearm, misreading his smile as encouragement.

After what feels like endless variations of the same shallow conversation, a new figure cuts through the crowd. His manner is impeccable, his suit and shoes worth a small fortune. His handshake lands precise and firm as he beams at Dennis.

"Mr. Kim, what an extraordinary achievement! Your vision and creativity at such a young age are truly remarkable."

Dennis’s eyebrows lift, pleasantly surprised by the genuine interest in this stranger's voice.

"You're very kind. And to whom do I have the pleasure of addressing?" The question nags at him—he knows everyone who matters in this industry, or at least knows of them. This isn't one of their investors or clients.

His eyes find Chris automatically across the room, only to discover Chris already watching them. Dennis offers a warm smile, trying to soften the hard set of Chris's jaw, but Chris's answering smile doesn't reach his eyes.

The stranger—powerfully built, silver-haired, looking like he stepped off a movie set—laughs warmly. "Ah, you're too new to this world to know me. I prefer to stay under the radar, avoid these kinds of functions when possible."

Mr. Lancaster, as he introduces himself, asks the kind of thoughtful questions about the project that make Dennis forget where they are. Finally, someone who actually understands construction! Their conversation draws a small crowd, including Dennis’s parents, though Mr. Lancaster eventually gets pulled away by others.

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