Chapter One: Beaumont the IV

“Call me!”

Mum emphasises as she plants a big kiss on my cheek, the kind that ruins caked foundation.

“Mum, I told you, you can't kiss him like that, not unless you want to look like you’re from doing coke.”

Bailey, my sister, comments casually without looking up from her phone and on cue, a long sigh leaves Mum’s lips as soon as she catches a glimpse of herself in the bathroom mirror through the open door.

“Why do I look like this? I have to see Mr Mendoza today.”

“I thought he was just a friend?”

I ask as I move away from her. When she gets shy, she gets…physical.

“I like to dress up for my friends.”

“Wow, spoken like a liar.”

The catty words leave my lips before I can stop them, and as soon as they are out, pain spreads across my back as she slaps the flesh repeatedly, causing me to wince.

“Ah! I'm sorry! God!”

But no matter how hard I shout in apology, the slaps keep coming. My only option is… nostalgia

“But seriously, Mum, will you be okay with me joining the dorms this year?”

At this, her expression softens, and her blows on my soft-life backstop.

“Will you be okay here?”

She turns the question over to me.

“Yeah, I’m in the fashion department; there are other cute gay boys like me.”

I lie. As much as my main major is fashion, it’s fashion in a school that reeks of the top one per cent, so most ‘cute gay boys’ are already in arranged marriages.

“Okay, but is your roommate gay, or okay with you being gay? Are they okay with you being brown-skinned and gay, is basically what Mum is asking?”

Bailey translates as if I could have missed the meaning behind Mum’s words, but as if that were a serious question, she lifts her brown eyes from her phone to look at my expression as I answer.

“That is the least of my worries, and the school is progressive enough for my race not to be an issue.”

I emphasise.

“Plus, the room is huge; even if they have a problem, I’m sure we’ll be able to compromise. But they won’t; I mean, they shouldn’t because their sexuality is none of my business, too.”

I add the last part silently and smile.

Saint Alderic University is a rich people's school. Its motto should be ‘Do you know who my father is?’ Because the number of times I've heard that is enough to serve as my alarm clock.

I am not the only mixed black kid on scholarship here, but… I am the loudest and perhaps gayest, which gets me nowhere in a place that expects me to live like a dead rat because I have no ‘daddy’ to call when things fall apart.

“I guess so, but please call me if you need help.”

Mum says.

“I will be fine, Mum, I swear. It's my last year anyway; I won't pick any fights.”

Her eyebrow springs up at my promise before she sighs.

She doesn’t believe me, but after everything that happened last year, I just want to finish this damn school.

My phone buzzes, breaking the atmosphere.

[Drink with me, room 702]

It's a text from Reign, my ex.

Yes, his name resembles a candle. It took me a while to get used to it, too.

Speaking of the key reason I had a nasty year last year.

{That’s messy.}

I respond.

I understand that responding to an ex is not the best choice, but Reign has the entire department wrapped around his finger. I have experienced firsthand how crossing him might mean missing a grade, so I'm stuck half-rejecting him because his pride can't handle my boundaries.

[I’m not alone; half the department is here. It’s not personal, I swear. Scouts honour]

The response comes annoyingly quick.

“We're going to leave now.”

Mum says, fixing her hair and removing the last smudges of my foundation from her face.

She is definitely going to Mr Mendoza.

My gaze moves to the other side of the large room; it’s empty.

[Noel.]

I frown at the follow-up text that’s just my name and let out a loud groan.

{Fine, I’m on my way.}

**

Hands on my thighs, a negroni in my hand and the sound of moaning from the eleven-something orgies happening in the rooms that are now locked.

There is nothing quite like getting drunk with nepo-babies.

"Hey... smoke break?"

Reign asks, leaning into my space; his grip on my thigh tightens.

Where the hell does he get his confidence from?

Broken up or not, his hands are still on my body as if he never lost his privileges.

If I leave with him, I’ll sleep with him because despite his ‘ew’ factor, he is actually good in bed.

"I'm tired."

I say as my teeth bite into my glass to suppress any sound from leaving my lips as his hand travels up my inner thigh.

So… I'm weak to carnal pleasure, that doesn’t mean my self-image is low.

"Really?"

He asks.

"Really."

"Noel."

"You cheated on me. You did that, Reign. So, I'm tired, and I would like to leave."

"It was one time."

"And that was enough."

I answer and slam my glass against the table, effectively causing a hush to fall in the room.

I groan inwardly at the attention I did not want, push his hand away and clear my throat.

“See you in class; we are at least still friends, and I don’t want to lose that.”

I say before zipping up my jacket and heading outside.

 I half expect footsteps to follow me and proceed with apologising until the day I decide to forgive his transgression, but let's face it, that’s not Reign.

That’s not the nepo baby I fell for. To him, I’m probably the same as any other twink, but… my waistline will always be a few inches thinner because stress is a full-course meal.

Urgh… fuck me.

**

Soft music welcomes me from the door; it seems like my roommate is finally here.

 At Saint Alderic, the dorms are so huge and rarely used that a floor can hold as little as two students, yet even with that, the extra room is used as a hobby room, and both beds are in one room.

Based on the classical music playing, they are probably studying. I’m drunk enough to fall asleep with the noise so I can introduce myself and pass out.

"No."

A deep voice says the word like a command, forcing me to turn my gaze from the shoes I was removing to the towering presence hunched over the arch of the door of the bedroom.

Beaumont Sterling IV.

Yes, his name has a number. Unfortunately, I can’t say the same for his wealth; from what I hear, even if he lived a life of hedonism, his great-grandchildren would still be rich.

He is a large man, large enough to have to contort his frame just to fit in the doorway, but my eyes are instead drawn to his chiselled and exposed abdomen with small beads of sweat collecting between each indent.

I never knew he had a tattoo on his chest.

Wait?

Who the hell works out to classical music?

“Fuck, stop ogling me, you f*ggot, and get the hell out of my room.”

A curse leaves his lips before he wraps a towel over his body, effectively returning my brain cells to the correct station.

Right, dark-haired, green-eyed, and sinfully sculpted body, Beaumont Sterling the fourth, is famously homophobic.