REWRITE THE STARS

I never solicited this existence. The opulent suits, the sprawling estates, the extravagant soirées-none of it was originally mine. However, here I find myself, ensnared in the midst of it all. My name is Elliot Hawke and I'm the sole offspring of the illustrious Hawke lineage. You know the one: a multi-billion dollar empire, luxury automobiles, private jets-the full package. Everyone anticipates that I will assume control one day. Everyone assumes I desire it. But the reality is, I do not. Not in the least.

As I sit in the rear of my father's sleek black SUV, observing the cityscape unfold as we journey to yet another charity gala-another dazzling occasion intended to bolster the family's standing-the sun begins its descent, casting an orange glow across the horizon. Although I recognize the beauty of the view, I feel indifferent. I have no interest in the wealth. I care not for any of it. "Are you prepared, son?" My father's voice jolts me from my reverie. His deep baritone is smooth, yet there is an undercurrent in his tone that I recognize all too well-expectation. "Of course, Dad." I manage a grin, although it is as disingenuous as the individuals we are about to encounter.

My father does not wait for a reply; he is acutely aware that I am not truly "prepared." I have never been prepared for this: the speeches, the small talk, the seemingly endless handshakes with individuals I will likely forget. This is not my realm, however, it is the one into which I have been born and I am expected to navigate it. The car decelerates as we approach the venue-an exclusive five-star hotel hosting the gala. A dozen photographers are snapping pictures as we exit, the flashbulbs momentarily blinding me. I detest the cameras. I loathe the attention. Yet, my father-ever the politician-strides ahead, all smiles, waving to the cameras as if he were destined for this life. As we enter, the weight of their gazes is palpable. They are all anticipating something; they desire me to embody the heir, the flawless son who will uphold the Hawke legacy. They expect me to conform to their expectations. But I do not. I cannot. "Elliot," my mother calls out from across the room. She stands beside a group of women in designer gowns, engaging in animated conversation, but her gaze locks onto me the instant she spots me. She is beautiful and poised, the epitome of high society; this, however, can also be utterly exhausting.

"Approach, my dear," she states with that contrived smile that invariably seems to conceal something deeper. She articulates it as if she genuinely means it; however, I recognize that she is merely gauging my adherence to the expected script. I stride toward her, donning my most convincing "I'm the ideal son" expression. "Hello, Mother." She plants a kiss on my cheek before redirecting her attention back to her conversation, as if I'm nothing more than an accessory in this gathering. I have grown accustomed to this dynamic over time. After all, I do not possess the authority; I am merely the child they anticipate will inherit the mantle when the moment arises. I seize a glass of champagne from a passing waiter, attempting to assimilate into the atmosphere, but I cannot dispel the sensation that I am suffocating within these confines. The opulent decor and the individuals exchanging insincere pleasantries-it all feels so... vacuous. "Elliot." I catch Xander's voice before I actually spot him, his tone reminiscent of a serpent slithering through the throng. I pivot and discover my cousin standing there, embodying every aspect of a future corporate mogul. He is clad in a sharp, tailored suit that could likely fund a modest island. He offers me a subtle, knowing smile. "What's it like to be the heir to the throne?"

I suppress a groan. Xander has never been particularly discreet; he constantly nudges at the fact that I'm the one designated to inherit the family business. However, the issue lies in my disinterest. "I'm just here for the drinks, Xander," I respond, forcing a tight smile. He chuckles, his gaze wandering around the room before settling back on me. "I understand that sentiment. But you won't be able to evade this reality for long. You'll come to realize, eventually, it's your destiny." I roll my eyes and take a sip from my glass. "Destiny?" I mutter, almost inaudibly. That word feels like a burdensome weight pressing against my chest. I don't subscribe to the notion of destiny. Not for me, not for anyone else. He leans in slightly closer, lowering his voice just enough for me to catch his words. "You ought to contemplate what's at stake. This isn't merely about money, Elliot. This is about power and influence. You'll never encounter a more opportune moment than this. The company, the empire... it's all ripe for the taking. Yet, you must cease pretending that you're not intrigued."