"Gentlemen, welcome back to The Alpha's Ledger," Dante said, his voice a smooth, low-frequency hum. "We're cutting through the noise today and focusing on biological infrastructure. Some of y'all need to get your minds right. Rule 864 of the Alpha Lifestyle: Functional Subordination. Let's go."
Tony leaned in with a fluid, relaxed movement. He twirled a heavy metal pen between his fingers, his expression one of calm, objective observation. "The problem is the fucking landscape! It's a systemic failure of authority. Men out here trying to negotiate with bitches. But you don't negotiate with a sub-entity. It's just a fundamental breach of the hierarchy."
"Exactly," Jax added, his voice steady and conversational, as if he were discussing a car engine. He took a slow, composed sip from a black tumbler. "It's about the optimization of the domestic sphere. When you allow a woman to do shit outside the designated path, there is chaos in the kingdom. It's not about being mean. Their cognitive architecture is built for compliance and aesthetic support. The second you allow your castle to become a democracy, you're cooked, bro. You've abdicated the throne."
Dante gave a small, affirming nod, his eyes locked onto the lens with total composure. "If she isn't in perpetual deference, you aren't an Alpha; you're a soy-boy bitch. You implement a standard of absolute authority. She is a secondary asset. Anything else is a parasitic drain on your testosterone output."
"Facts," Tony said, leaning back and interlacing his fingers behind his head, looking completely at ease. "They actually love the patriarchy. It's your job to teach them that their 'equality' is a social construct, but submission is biological. You don't argue. You dictate. You don't explain. You command. It's the only way to maintain the integrity of your Alpha—"
The screen flickered and died. Rey's growing laugh died in his throat.
A few feet away, Anika stared at her own device. It was a custom Oakwood Tech mobile handset, not a commercial model available to the public. To her, this device was the best thing her husband had ever created—the perks of being married to the man who designed the prototype. The ability to power off her children's phones at any time, from anywhere, was an absolute benefit—a built-in hardware feature of her device. Her thumb hovered over the interface, which displayed a neat list of names: Rey, Daya, Arun, Esha. With a simple tap on Rey's name, she had made his phone akin to a paperweight.
Rey pulled his earbuds out, the entertaining rhetoric of the podcast replaced by the polite hum of the event. He was annoyed, but he kept his face carefully neutral.
"Why would you do that?" he asked his mother, walking over to her with quick, hurried strides and holding his phone up to show her the black screen.
"Because I already told you to get off the phone," Anika replied. "We are at an event. Speak to people."
"I don't even want to be here," Rey muttered. It was pissing him off. Everything about his parents was getting under his skin. So what if he had bought a Lamborghini? It wasn't as if they couldn't afford it. He couldn't stand the way his parents restricted him.
Anika's gaze sharpened as she tucked her phone away into her Birkin bag. She adjusted the drape of her oversized structural suit, the fabric heavy with intricate beadwork that shimmered as she moved. "And I want a responsible son. But here you are at eighteen, still needing supervision? My ancestors are weeping," she told her eldest son with restrained embarrassment before walking away.
Rey shoved the useless brick into his pocket. Without any functionality, the device was no better than a paperweight. He scanned the room, but he didn't see anybody worth talking to; the crowd was nothing but a sea of old people.
He felt a flash of resentment. If he hadn't intimidated the house office into purchasing the Lamborghini for him last week while his parents were away from home for the day, he wouldn't have to sit through such a stupid auction. He didn't even like art.
He wandered through the auction floor until he found a cluster of chairs near the very back. As he went to sit, a waiter passed by with the ghostly, silent tread of deerskin loafers, carrying a tray of red wine in tapered Zalto stemware. The glass was so thin it felt like holding a bubble. Rey reached out to grab a glass of the '45 Romanée-Conti, but another hand shot out, intercepting it before he could make contact.
Veda Lee took the glass, making a tsk sound at him. "Himari is in the other room. Go play, Rey!"
Veda smirked as she watched him walk away. His hunched shoulders were a clear sign of his disillusionment. She smiled, shaking her head; when she was his age, she had gotten into far greater trouble than simply trying to drink a glass of wine at a fancy party.
She smoothed the creases of her dark green suit as her husband, Chen, wrapped his arm around her waist. The cuffs of his shirt were fastened with carved mother-of-pearl, the iridescent sheen a quiet contrast to his long salt-and-pepper hair, which was pulled into a neat top-knot as he guided her over to the seats. They found their places next to the Beckfords. Veda smiled graciously as she sat down beside her friend, Amara Beckford.
"It's good to see you here. I feared I would be surrounded by boring snobs," Veda chuckled, bumping her shoulder against Amara's.
"Hush," Amara said, glancing around to ensure no one had heard her friend's honesty.
"You know I'm right," Veda smirked. She rested her palm on her husband's knee, stopping the incessant bouncing of his leg.
"My business is only thriving because of these boring snobs," Amara whispered. "I can't very well offend them."
"It's always money."
The two women burst into a fit of laughter at the absolute absurdity of pretending they needed any more of it. They shared a look of private, wealthy amusement before being shushed by nearby patrons.
As the auctioneer's gavel slammed down once more, the room erupted into applause—polite and crisp for the man who had walked away with a precious piece of not just art, but history.
Felipe cleared his throat as two workers, wearing freshly changed white cotton gloves, helped bring out the next piece for auction on a wheeled platform. He watched with an eagle eye to make sure they stabilized the exquisite work of art. Felipe felt a flicker of irritation at the guests who treated the event like a social mixer; they seemed to ignore the meticulous effort required to keep the room at exactly 19°C to preserve the delicate oils and bronze. Once the two gentlemen had left the stage, Felipe began his speech, ready to entice the crowd.
"Lot 14 is a true masterpiece. This sculpture is commonly known around the world as the pointing man, created by Alberto Giacometti, who named the piece L'Homme au doigt." He allowed the room to take in the beauty of the art before he continued. "This bronze statue is believed to have been conceived in a single night of genius. To own such a piece of history is the pinnacle of the human spirit made bronze. We will be opening the bidding at 80 million."
A man wearing smart glasses, able to transmit video while typing furiously on his computer, raised his paddle, commencing the opening bid. His employer, Mrs. Jenkins, wanted to acquire this piece for her collection.
"We have 80 million from number six," Felipe called, his eyes catching every slight movement in the room.
Fuhad frowned at his sister. She elbowed his ribs, forcing him to lift his paddle. The number 14 was clearly displayed as he bid on the ugly piece of art. He didn't understand why his sister would want such a hideous piece, or why she was forcing him to use his money instead of hers. Nala could easily afford such thrifty purchases.
"90 million from number 14. Thank you, sir."
Amara smiled as familiar faces nodded in polite acknowledgment toward the Beckford siblings. She hadn't seen the eldest son since he moved away from Springbrook, but she always appreciated the family unit. If her own son were a bit older and more mature, she would think Nala and Rey would be a good match.
"I see 120 million. Paddle 3. Thank you, madam."
Aubrey rested her palm over her husband's. Orlando raised their paddle, hopeful for the new investment piece his wife was interested in.
Instantly, her bid was followed by another. The new paddle was raised, and it seemed as if the room stilled, discomfort weighing on everyone as they lowered their own paddles, resigned to the certainty that they had lost the bidding.
"175 million from a frequent patron of our humble establishment, Mrs. Evelyn Castle," Felipe announced with extreme respect and reverence for the frequent visitor.
"I have 175 million from the discerning lady in the first row. No one else willing to make a bid? Going once, twice... sold."
Polite applause erupted as Mrs. Castle stood up, giving a polite, cool, graceful smile to the rest of the room before sitting down once again. She knew she could have easily walked away with this piece of history for far less. The moment she raised her paddle, she knew that no one would try to rival her bid. As the old saying goes, it was deadly to rival the queen.
The rest of the auction passed by in a blur. Paddles were raised, and astronomical amounts of money were exchanged for pieces of history dealt out like candy on Halloween.
"I would like to thank all our guests on behalf of myself and the Crystal Lamarck Auction House for your patronage today. We hope to see you again at our next auction. For those of you who have won your lots, when you are ready, please come to the rear offices so one of the concierges may assist you."
"Darling, I must speak to Evelyn," Aubrey Westbrook said to her husband. Orlando nodded as he patted his wife's back gently. He intended to find that cheapskate Conrad and poke at his sore spots.
"Aubrey, it has been so long. How are you?" Evelyn said sweetly as she pulled Aubrey in for a warm hug.
Aubrey was startled by the action. She would never consider herself close to Evelyn. No one was close to the Castle family; their family was far too secretive for close ties. But she plastered a smile on her lips that was just as magnanimous.
"I am quite well. It is good to see you. How are your beautiful daughters?" she asked as they looped arms, perusing the art as they drank their wine.
"Following in the family's footsteps. Gigi has opened an orphanage in the Joven province after that terrible earthquake, hoping to help out the residents, while Mimi is finishing up her education—you know she attends Oxford University right now."
Aubrey could feel her eyes desperate to roll at Evelyn's words. There wasn't a soul on the Hill who did not know Mimi attended Oxford. Evelyn loved to brag the most—not just about money or success, but about her philanthropic activities, which felt more like a smokescreen than true benevolence toward the poor.
"Yes, I can tell your daughters are going to have a huge impact on the world. You are so lucky." She hoped her sarcasm didn't leak out.
"How are your babies?" Evelyn asked with a pout on her lips, smiling as she nodded to a choice few of the other wives who passed her by, none daring enough to interrupt their conversation.
"Where to start? Natalia was married recently. We are so lucky to have a new member of our family. Desperate for grandbabies—"
"I'm sure one is never enough!" Evelyn said, a sly smile on her lips, as she mentioned the illegitimate child of Aubrey's eldest son. It was so shameful how they tried to hide Gunner's baby from the public. There was little that her family didn't know, and just because the others didn't know did not mean she would participate in such silliness. Babies were a blessing.
Aubrey laughed as she tugged at her earlobe, adjusting the diamond stud and feeling uncomfortable with the sudden turn of the conversation. As much as they tried to hide Gunner's son from the public eye, nothing truly stayed buried in their world. At their level, secrets were just as powerful as money. "The more the merrier." Aubrey's smile was tight as she pulled her arm from Evelyn's, reaching for a glass of champagne on one of the waiter's trays—savoring the cold, toasted notes of the rare vintage. It was a helpful excuse to detach herself from the viper, the complexity of the wine allowing her a moment of genuine silence before responding.
"Do you think they're talking about marriage?" Tabitha Polar asked her husband, Joel. There had been so much activity on the Hill of late; it spoke of some sort of business or personal merger. Most of the children were over the age of majority.
"I'm sure they're talking about us, gossiping about everything that has ever happened in our lives," Joel laughed, only to be smacked lightly on the chest by his wife.
"I'm being serious." Tabitha pushed a wayward curl from her face, the graying lock coming loose from its gathered bun at the base of her neck. "We need to get Darla married. A good marriage that can benefit us. The Westbrooks are the best choice."
Joel Polar didn't think their daughter would be a viable option for the Westbrooks. They dabbled in genetic superiority. They only allowed their children to marry the best of the best, which meant you needed to be intelligent and come from two intelligent parents. They required a whole litany of genetic testing just to ensure superiority on a biological level. He could still remember back in his youth when his parents had been looking for his future bride. They had considered one of the Westbrook daughters, and he was quickly excluded based on his genetic makeup alone. It had stung his pride more than he was willing to admit. He didn't want his daughter to suffer the same type of humiliation. One chromosomal malformation, and your dreams of marrying a Westbrook were finished. Looking at his wife, he was glad it had happened. His wife matched his temperament perfectly. There was no woman better for him than her.
"If you're so curious, just go over," Joel encouraged. He had no interest in the idea of his family joining with the Westbrooks.
Tabitha took a deep breath before strutting over to the two women, her shoulders straight and back as a gentle smile touched her lips. Her heels clicked as she cut into their conversation.
"I didn't mean to—"
Aubrey reached out the moment she saw Tibby, grasping her arm as she pulled her closer toward them. "Tibby, so good to see you."
Tabitha laughed at the childish nickname Aubrey had used. She remembered the days when everyone called her Tibby, back when they were all in school together. "I just wanted to come over and say congratulations on the piece. It's so beautiful." It was as if complimenting a acquisition was the price of entry, and Tabitha knew it needed to be paid.
"Thank you. I have plans to display it for all to see. Most likely at one of the orphanages that we fund, to inspire the bright youth of tomorrow."
"Brilliant," Tabitha said, sneaking a look toward Aubrey. The absurdity of putting a 175-million-dollar statue in a building for orphans was staggering.
"It will be very rewarding for them to see such a profound piece of history daily," Aubrey said, hiding her smile behind her wine flute as she took another sip. At times when she believed herself to be out of touch with the common man, it always helped to have a conversation with Evelyn. It reminded her that even though she didn't have humble roots, she was nowhere near the level of delusion that Evelyn Castle seemed to thrive in.
The three women had grown up in the same world together, each of them coming from some of the richest families in the entire world. With such wealth, there were few people you could consider friends, and even fewer you could consider allies.
"I truly didn't want to interrupt. I recently saw Natalia's wedding photos. So beautiful. She is the second of the children to marry. I wonder who the third will be?"
"She really did look like an angel in the photos. Her husband is an Olympian, I believe," Evelyn said, unable to believe that a Westbrook would marry an Olympian. Warwick Westbrook must be losing his edge in his old age to allow his family line to be polluted in such a way. It was comical: a family obsessed with perfection allowing a knuckle-dragger to sneak his way into the house.
"Thank you, we are so proud of her. He is an Olympian—a three-time gold medalist for swimming." Aubrey couldn't stand the judgment. It was understandable, but hard to swallow. She was glad her daughter had married for love, but an athlete felt like such a slap in the face. And to do it behind all of their backs; no one saw the wedding except the bride and groom. Just like the rest of the Hill, she had only gotten to experience the photos. To avoid scandal, they had to do a secondary wedding at a more appropriate venue just for pictures. It still left a sour taste in her mouth.
"Quite impressive. Now that your eldest is married, any plans for your son?" Tabitha wondered, desperate to make sure her daughter would be the first choice. Given the fact that she had a relationship with Aubrey, she hoped the bond they shared would somehow equate to priority over the others.
Aubrey watched the two as they leaned in with hungry eyes, desperate for knowledge of her son's marital status. She knew this was coming. Some families who knew Gunner was unmarried and would soon be looking for a wife wanted to position their daughters to be his spouse, knowing they could possibly secure a better negotiating position because of the unimpressive nature of her daughter's new husband.
"He's still so young. He's a strong-minded young man. I'm sure he will tell us exactly who he wants to marry when he has made a decision," Aubrey lied through her teeth. There was no polite way of telling Tabitha that her daughter was a blathering idiot who would never marry into her family. And Evelyn's family already had too much power, so there was no way they would ever attach themselves to the Castles, especially not with a son who had less to offer.
"I doubt any of us would like our children to be the last to marry. It seems fitting to make the proper introductions." Evelyn loved to watch the ladies of the Hill squirm. She enjoyed provoking the two women. She had been the last to marry when they were younger, and her union had been the talk of the town—the only one that really mattered at the time. She had married royalty; they had married doctors and businessmen.
"Hello ladies, may I steal Aubrey away?" Charlotte said, resting her hand gently on Aubrey's forearm. "I'll find you in a moment," Charlotte said to Evelyn, as the two shared a kind smile that lacked the edge and calculation of the other women.
"I'll have to treat you to a meal soon," Evelyn said back to her friend. Like Charlotte, she could be misunderstood.
"Do not mind us." "Of course," Tabitha said, waving away Charlotte's concern.
Charlotte hooked her arm with Aubrey as the two glided away from Tabitha and Evelyn. Neither of them had much of a relationship to begin with, always gravitating in each other's orbit but never truly making any sort of personal connection. Charlotte associated mainly with the Castles, whereas Aubrey was very close to the Oak family. It didn't allow them a lot of common ground to speak exclusively with each other.
"Have you—how did Vivian take the news of the upcoming engagement?" Aubrey broke the ice by asking Charlotte the obvious question as the two women found themselves in a far more secluded corner.
That is a detail for my husband to decide." Charlotte had gotten used to acting as a subservient wife to Conrad in public. It allowed for far fewer unwanted conversations.
Aubrey hated that someone as icy and sharp-tongued as Charlotte seemed stifled by her husband. She wasn't sure what that meant. Did it mean Vivian knew she was engaged, or was she still in the dark?
"I would hope that Vivian will be welcomed into your family." Charlotte knew her daughter didn't need to be babied. She had grown up far faster than what was fair, but it allowed her to develop a strong mind and an iron will that was not so easily broken. She didn't fear Vivian being ostracized by a family; she knew her daughter would always find her own path. It was just nice knowing she would be a welcome addition.
Aubrey had a hard time understanding Charlotte's true meaning when she spoke. Everything sounded so cold and somewhat demeaning that it left room for misinterpretation. "She will be treated like family. I always wanted another daughter. She will be comfortable with us." Aubrey didn't want to make any promises she couldn't keep, but at the very least, she did not believe Vivian would be unhappy. Though she found the girl exceptionally cold, it was comforting for Aubrey to know that Charlotte's heart was ultimately with her daughter's well-being.
"We should find our husbands." As long as she knew Vivian would be okay, there was nothing else Charlotte needed to know.
The air between the men in question was thick with the scent of expensive bourbon and the kind of mutual loathing that looked, to the untrained eye, like a long-standing friendship.
"Conrad, is that the same timepiece you were wearing at the Davos summit in 2018?" Orlando asked. He reached out, clapping a heavy hand on Conrad's shoulder and giving it a firm, rhythmic shake that forced the taller man to adjust his footing. Orlando's smile was bright, sharp, and entirely predatory.
He didn't wait for an answer before tapping his own wrist. "I love your commitment to 'vintage'—or is it minimalism? Here, take this. It's a prototype. If you sell it, you could actually give Vivian a clothing allowance that doesn't involve charity shops. Just a joke, old man. Relax."
Conrad didn't so much as blink, though his jaw tightened as he pointedly brushed an invisible speck of dust from where Orlando's hand had just been. He adjusted his cuff, his movements precise and cold, treating Orlando's boisterous energy like a stain he was too polite to point out.
"It's a fine watch," Conrad replied, his voice a flat, cultured drawl. "I'm sure the secondary market will be very excited when you eventually have to liquidate it to pay for Gunner's 'incidental' spending. Feel free to stop by if you would like to compare wrist-weights." Since they were young, Conrad couldn't stand Orlando. He was annoying and flashy, always acting as if he stood on a mountain of gold, even before he ever stepped foot into the CEO's office.
Their better halves, Aubrey and Charlotte, approached. Aubrey moved with an effortless grace that always drew her husband's eye, while Charlotte looked like a block of ice next to hers.
A photographer in a crisp tuxedo materialized from the fray. He bowed his head slightly, sensing the gravity of the four people standing in this particular configuration. "Gentlemen, ladies," the photographer ventured, "would you be comfortable if I took a photo?"
Orlando didn't wait; he reached over, sliding an arm around Conrad's neck in a mock-brotherly half-embrace, leaning his weight into the other man just to see him stiffen.
Before Conrad could extract himself, "Absolutely," Orlando boomed. He released Conrad and snagged Aubrey, pulling her back against his chest with a possessive flourish. He wrapped his arm firmly around her oxblood blazer, his hand splayed flat against her waist in a gesture that was half-affection, half-branding. Aubrey leaned into him, her smile infectious.
On the other side, the contrast was deafening.
Charlotte stepped into place beside Conrad. She stood with her spine like a steel rod, her hands clasped lightly in front of her black trousers. Conrad didn't reach for her. Instead, he positioned his arm so his hand hovered just inches from her forearm—close enough to suggest a unit for the lens, but far enough that he didn't actually make contact.
"On three," the photographer said, his finger hovering over the shutter.
The room seemed to quiet. The flash went off—a singular, blinding white strobe that set the room ablaze.
With one flash, the entire mood of the room shifted. No two families ever just appeared in a photo together. Every single action meant something: a new business venture, a betrothal, a possible scandal. That picture they had decided to take created a collective urgency among those in the room—not just to discover the truth, but to ensure they weren't left behind by it either.
Author's note:
Normally I would post a bit earlier. But I am doing my hair which is going to take hours. Two more chapters coming!