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Tonight, they would tread familiar ground among their peers—wealthy alphas accustomed to power plays and social maneuvering.
The crisp night air clung to Jaxon's skin as he stepped out of the car, Colton following close behind. The grandeur of the gallery loomed before them, its façade bathed in a cascade of white light that set the stage for the evening's opulence. They joined the throng of guests outside the gallery, all adorned in their finery, their laughter and chatter forming a symphony of high society.
Jaxon felt the weight of eyes on him as he and Colton ascended the steps, their impeccable suits a testament to their status. Whispers threaded through the air like silk, and gazes glinted with unspoken invitations.
Once inside, they were immediately greeted with smiles and not-so-subtle overtures. Jaxon accepted a flute of champagne from a server, nodding politely as wealthy businessmen and politicians came to pay their respects. Beside him, Colton's mood darkened perceptibly amidst the fawning and flattery.
Their status as the heirs of Sterling Enterprises elevated them to the apex of high society. For many here tonight, securing their interest, be it personal or professional, would be a major coup.
Jaxon couldn't help but note the calculated beauty of it all, the choreographed grace with which each person moved through the space, their smiles practiced and predatory. They were all players in a game of wealth and desire, where everyone had something to gain and something to lose.
He also noted the coy glances and not-so-subtle attempts to catch his eye, invitations etched into the curves of red lips and plunging necklines. These were the club's treasures, groomed and polished for the pleasure of those who could afford such luxuries. Or the elite patrons who sponsored them, draped in diamonds that caught the light like stilettos on marble floors.
Jaxon had seen it all before. As a dominant alpha from an influential family, he was accustomed to being fawned over. Once it had stroked his ego, but now it only stoked the restless boredom coiling within.
Beside him, Colton looked equally unimpressed, sipping champagne with an air of detachment.
A portly man, the head organizer of the Alpha Gold Club, bustled toward them with a gait that balanced eagerness and deference.
“Mr. Sterling, Mr. Sterling! We're honored to have you with us this evening.” He shook their hands vigorously, beaming with self-importance at hosting such prestigious guests. “We hope you find everything to your satisfaction.”
As he prattled on about the club's offerings, Jaxon's thoughts drifted.
The Alpha Gold Club catered to the proclivities of wealthy alphas through exclusive auctions. Beautiful omegas and betas—known as treasures—were presented to vie for the attentions of elite patrons.
It was an open secret, spoken of in hushed tones to preserve a veneer of propriety. In truth, it was a playground for the rich and powerful, another arena where influence could be leveraged and social alliances forged.
Jaxon nodded absently as the organizer described the third floor's luxury amenities. Up there, alpha elites mingled and schemed, selecting submissive beauties to enjoy for the night, or more.
They ascended to the third floor where luxury unfurled like a red carpet. A large room awaited them, teeming with wealthy alphas engaged in conversation over glasses of aged scotch and plates of gourmet food. The atmosphere was thick with power and wealth, a den where lions came to roar softly into each other's ears.
While Colton withdrew to a corner, embracing solitude over sycophancy, Jaxon found himself surrounded by eager faces. Business cards fluttered into his hands like doves seeking shelter, promises of partnerships and profits dancing from their lips.
After sufficient mingling, Jaxon joined Colton, accepting a tumbler of whiskey as he sank into an armchair.
“Well, this is...” Jaxon trailed off, at a loss for words.
“Repugnant,” Colton supplied crisply.
Jaxon huffed a laugh. “I was trying to be diplomatic, but yes.”
They sat in pensive silence until the lights dimmed, signaling the main event's commencement.
The hum of conversation lulled to a hush as the head organizer cleared his throat, stepping up to the dais with an air of importance. Jaxon, whiskey in hand, observed him with a detached curiosity. The man's practiced smile stretched across his jowly face, and he gestured grandly to the gathering.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” he began, his voice booming with false bonhomie, “I am Marcus Trenton, your host for this splendid evening. On behalf of the Alpha Gold Club, I extend a warm welcome to our esteemed members and our honored guests.”
Jaxon noted the emphasis on honored guests, a not-so-subtle nod to the newcomers whose wallets they hoped to charm open. The club was known for its opulence and exclusivity, and the fact that they were courting new blood suggested whispers of financial strain might not be just idle gossip.
“We trust that you will find our club's offerings most... intriguing,” Trenton continued. “And perhaps you will choose to join us more permanently in the near future.”
From the periphery of Jaxon's vision, he caught snippets of hushed conversation between two men standing nearby.
“They're desperate for fresh funds,” one murmured to the other. “Why else invite potential members like this?”
Jaxon suppressed a smirk. So the rumors were true. The club was seeking new patrons to maintain its lavish lifestyle.
Trenton raised his arms as if embracing the entire room. “Now, without further ado, let us introduce our treasures—the evening's pièce de résistance!”
