Chapter 58: The birthday Gala: Glided Asylum
Kayden
"Welcome to this asylum," Rhys said cheerfully, like he hadn’t just been in pain and like he hadn’t refused to let me help him.
What the hell was his problem? I wanted to ask why he had suddenly groaned in pain, but the door on my side opened before I could say anything, forcing me to step out.
I moved to Rhys’s side, determined to ask him properly. "Rhys, what just happened just now? Why were you—"
Rhys shook his head, stopping me immediately. He was hiding something. I could feel it. There was no other reason for the way he avoided my eyes or the way he’d pushed my hand away earlier.
"Rhys..." I tried again, but he leaned closer and whispered into my ear.
"Drop it, Kayden. Not now. Especially when there are a lot of eyes on us." He tilted his head toward the front of the white mansion.
I followed his gaze. People stood at the entrance, watching us. Some pointed. Some whispered to each other. Others just smiled like they knew something I didn’t.
Before I could figure out what was going on, men and women rushed toward us. Cameras flashed in my face and microphones were shoved forward as voices started overlapping.
"Welcome, Rhys Calder! How does it feel to be back at the Calder mansion?"
"Today is your grandfather’s birthday and there are lots of hockey players around—will there be news too?"
"Rhys, you came in with Kayden Vale? Is the shipping between you two real?"
"Are you in a relationship?"
The more the questions came, the harder it felt to even reply. This was supposed to be a family gathering, yet there were reporters around flashing their blinding camera lights in our faces and giving us no room to breathe.
One of them even pushed forward, and I stumbled, falling into Rhys’s arms. He caught me before I hit the ground, and then he let go of me immediately.
I would have understood that he didn’t want to create rumors about us in front of the reporters, but I had almost fallen. He should have made sure that I was fine before letting go.
I heaved a deep sigh and straightened my suit, then forced a smile on my face as I looked at the cameras.
Just as I was about to answer some of their questions, men in black—at least twenty or more—stepped out of the building, rushing towards us. They got in between the reporters, serving as a barricade for us, and with their help, we finally made it into the building, leaving behind the stares of the guests outside and the annoying reporters.
We made our way into a long, high-ceilinged hallway that felt more like a museum than a home.
The walls were covered in gold-framed pictures and glass cases. It was a timeline of Calder excellence—hockey achievements, championship photos, and medals that caught the dim light.
I slowed down, my eyes widening as I took in the history of the country’s top hockey family, and my eyes caught an image of Rhys with the writing "Ice Prince" on it.
I looked over at Rhys, expecting him to show some pride, but he didn’t spare a single glance at the walls. He kept his eyes fixed straight, frowning as if he didn’t want to be there.
Maybe he was just tired of seeing his own face everywhere, or maybe he was just tired of everything this house represented.
One of the guards spoke up, his voice echoing off the marble. "Young master," he lowered his head at Rhys. "The celebration is taking place in the Aurelian Hall. This way, please."
He gestured toward a set of massive, silver-trimmed doors at the end of the corridor.
I felt Rhys’s huge frame stiffen beside me as we approached, and I remembered the warnings he had spent all night telling me. I desperately wanted to speak to him, especially about the panic attack he had in the car earlier, but the words died in my throat.
The silence between us was deafening as we walked towards the hall. My heart started racing a little bit fast, as if something bad was about to happen, but I did a little breath control and then let out a sigh.
We got to the end of the hall and the massive doors of the Aurelian Hall were thrown open by two stone-faced attendants who lowered their heads when they saw us.
"Young master, please make your way in," one of the bodyguards said.
Rhys said nothing and just walked through the doors while I followed behind him.
As soon as we stepped in, I forgot to breathe for a moment.
The hall was a cathedral of gold and glass, a blinding display of the kind of wealth that didn’t just talk—it screamed.
The air was thick with the scent of expensive cigars, aged bourbon, and the heavy scents of floral perfumes from the women.
Above us, three massive chandeliers made of Borealis crystal hung like frozen explosions, casting a sharp, blue-tinted light over the crowd.
It wasn’t a party; it felt like a summit of power.
Everywhere I looked, I saw faces from the news. Famous retired hockey managers in tailored suits huddled in corners like sharks discussing their next meal, and legendary hockey players—men I had grown up watching—stood around gold-trimmed tables, their laughter sounding forced as they spoke amongst themselves.
The mood was electric but suffocating because everyone looked like they were enjoying themselves, but it looked like they were seeking connections.
The music was a low, orchestral hum that vibrated through the marble floor, barely audible over the clink of crystal glasses and the low murmur of a hundred elite conversations.
But then I noticed another thing as I scanned the room again. There were only Alphas and Betas. There were no Omegas in sight, not even among the servers passing out champagne.
Never did I imagine that there would be such huge discrimination against Omegas, even in a gathering like this.