Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The sharp click of heels echoed through the hallway. With every step against the marble floor, whispers rippled quietly through the air. The staff quickly turned their attention back to their computers, like thieves terrified of getting caught.

The reason?

Caitlyn Kiramman.

She walked through the corridors with a stiff, straight posture, her heels clicking against the floor like a warning.

Her cheekbones were as icy as her stare. Not a single hair out of place. Her suit was crisp, straight, and perfectly ironed. Dark navy—almost black under certain lighting—fit her like it had been made for her and her alone. It screamed authority.

She walked like she owned the building—like the pathway beneath her feet would burn with every step. And it was true. She quite literally did own the building.

Kiramman Foundation.

Her last name was plastered across half the buildings in Piltover. 

Caitlyn strode down the hall, her assistant, Maddie, keeping pace at her side. Maddie clutched Caitlyn’s laptop and an envelope stuffed with important documents, listening intently as she tried to keep up with both Caitlyn’s long stride and rapid speech.

“All the documents must be on my desk by exactly four-thirty. Don’t forget,” Caitlyn said, turning a sharp left, forcing Maddie to dodge a collision with a passing intern.

“Yes, Miss Kiramman, of course,” Maddie replied, weaving around people and sharp corners.

The staff moved aside as soon as they saw Caitlyn Kiramman enter their floor, bowing their heads and murmuring polite good mornings. While others pretended to be busy, not daring to look into the cerulean eyes that look like they could slice through them like a blade.

Caitlyn only offered polite nods, heading straight into the elevator. Maddie checked her watch, "The meeting is in twenty minutes, ma'am."

Caitlyn nodded, scrolling through her phone to check her calendar. "Mhm, I'm aware. That's why we're headed there," she deadpanned.

Maddie gulped. "Right, of course."

Caitlyn entered the boardroom without hesitation. Conversations stilled as every executive’s attention shifted to her. She set the folder on the head of the table, sliding into her seat with the same precise movements that defined her.

Half the chairs were already filled. The rest would be taken by the time the meeting began.

“Has the presentation from Finance arrived?” she asked, not looking up from the documents she was reviewing.

Maddie hovered beside her. “On its way, ma’am. They had some last-minute changes to the figures.”

Caitlyn’s brow twitched almost imperceptibly. “Tell them last-minute changes are a sign of poor preparation. I expect the final copy before the meeting starts.”

“Yes, Miss Kiramman.”

She didn’t need to raise her voice or make a grand gesture; her presence alone commanded the space. The faint scent of her perfume lingered in her wake—clean, sharp, and unmistakable—like the woman herself. A few brave enough to steal a glance quickly looked away when her gaze brushed over them, as if afraid she might see straight through them to whatever secrets they held.

Once everyone had settled in, Caitlyn read the documents presented in front of her, expression unreadable. The soft rustle of paper and the faint hum of the projector were the only sounds in the room.

“Today’s agenda,” she began, her voice cutting cleanly through the silence, “includes our quarterly performance review, pending acquisitions, and… the matter of Zaun.”

The room shifted — some executives glanced at one another, some pretended to focus on their notes. The air tightened, like everyone had suddenly remembered they’d left something on the stove.

Caitlyn noticed, of course. She noticed everything.

“Specifically,” she continued, flipping to a page marked with a silver clip, “the continued refusal of the Lanes Corporation to engage in contract negotiations.”

Someone at the far end of the table cleared their throat. “With respect, Miss Kiramman… the Lanes don’t tend to respond well to repeated offers. Their board is—”

“Notoriously stubborn,” Caitlyn finished for him. She closed the folder with a soft thud. “That’s not news. But stubbornness is not the same as invincibility.”

A faint smile touched her lips — the kind that wasn’t meant to be reassuring.

“They’ve held that ground for years,” another executive said cautiously. “Generations, even. No one’s managed to pry them from it.”

Caitlyn leaned back in her chair. “Then perhaps it’s time someone did. Every fortress has a weakness. And the Lanes…” Her eyes flickered briefly, as if picturing them. “…are no exception.”

"What'll be our next move then, Miss Kiramman?"

Caitlyn took the files from her assistant's hands, opening it to retrieve a few documents. "We've already sent a new request. The Lanes may be stubborn, but let's not forget—Kirammans don't take no for an answer."

Caitlyn's tone stayed calm, but there was a brewing storm behind those precise, calculating eyes. Every word was measured, every breath controlled, yet the tension in her jaw betrayed the force she was holding back.

Her gaze drifted to the skyline beyond her office window—towers of glass and steel gleaming under the morning sun—yet her mind was miles away, already tracing the next several moves on an invisible chessboard.

She tapped a finger lightly against the desk, a rhythm that was almost impatient. “The Lanes think resilience is the same as invincibility,” she said, her voice low enough to make her assistant lean in slightly. “They’ll learn otherwise.”

Then she looked up, the storm now tempered into a sharp, icy focus. “Begin the calls. And make sure word reaches them that this offer won’t wait forever.” 

The meeting moved on, but the thought lingered — a shadow beneath every new agenda item.

The Lanes Corporation had been founded by a family from Zaun, built after the bridge between the two cities was completed—merging Piltover and Zaun into reluctant allies.

Zaun had once been small, dirty, and dismissed—poverty written into its streets. But the bridge gave the Lanes a chance to change that. They decided Zaun would no longer be looked down upon by Piltover.

Vander Lanes had grown up scrappy, struggling to put food on the table—yet the people of Zaun had chosen him as leader. Zaun had no laws, no formal government. They had Vander.

The people trusted him. Went to him. Knocked on his door when trouble arose. And Vander always handled it.

When the bridge was built, Zaunites believed they would finally belong—live in peace, stand as equals to Piltover. But the bridge became the reason for bitter disagreements between the cities.

Bitter threats and bombs were thrown.

Two little girls were left stranded on that bridge. A burning bridge. Their tears, screams, and mourning carried down the river of loss.

Multiple lives ended that day.

Two little girls survived.

The board room was total chaos. 

The executives were talking over one another—voices bouncing of the walls, papers rustling, people slamming their hands on the table as if that was enough to tame the chaos among the group.

Powder, the youngest of the Lanes, sighed in her seat, hands rubbing her temples in frustration. 

She lifted her head, brows furrowed. She stood up, her chair screeching against the floor. She cringed at the noise but remained focused.

"Can we all just.. calm down? My dad isn't available at the moment, so stop pestering our staff and tellin' them to call him."

The executives turned their attention back onto Powder, all still pretty frustrated. "Look, can we get someone with more knowledge up here?" one requested, staring at Powder with judgement.

"How old are you, anyway? You certainly aren't old enough to take over, sweetheart."

Powder's lips pressed into a thin line—hands scrunched into a fist. Before she could respond—or possibly throw a punch—the door swung open.

Violet walked in the room, her presence immediately turning heads and quieting voices. She entered the room—not with poise, but with power. She held herself high. She's always had.

She had a few folders in her hand, her collar slightly imperfect, and her sleeves rolled up. Seeing her felt like being on trial—even if you were innocent, she'd still manage to get you sentenced in jail. 

Why? Because of her confidence. She could say unicorns eat pizza with caramel sauce—or that aliens were real—and people would get convinced

Not in a manipulative way. She was just so convincing. Her confidence carrying her like a current—pulling everyone in the room along whether they wanted to follow or not.

She stopped at the head of the table, setting the folders down with a heavy thud. 

“Alright,” she said, eyes sweeping across the room, "You wanted someone with more knowledge, right? Well congratulations, I'm right here. So, which one of you decided yelling was the best way to run a meeting?”

No one answered. A few glanced at each other. Most avoided her gaze altogether.

“That’s what I thought.” She pulled out the chair meant for Vander and sat, leaning back just enough to make it clear she wasn’t here to ask for permission. “Now, someone fill me in before I start pulling names off payroll.”

A man three seats down cleared his throat. “We were discussing the upcoming supplier contracts—"

“And wasting time,” Vi cut in, flipping open the top folder. “Zaun’s suppliers are ready to sign today. Piltover’s still ‘reconsidering.’ If we wait for them, we lose the advantage. So here’s the new plan—Zaun first, Piltover can follow or get left behind.”

Someone in the back muttered about “short-sighted strategy.”

Vi’s gaze shot to him instantly. “What’s short-sighted,” she said evenly, “is betting on people who’ve been trying to buy us out for a decade. This isn’t a negotiation—it’s survival. And I don’t lose.”

Silence.

"And let me make it clear—I don't tolerate disrespect. You don't get to disrespect my staff, me, or my family," she added, looking over at Powder, "Especially my family." she finished sternly.

She turned to Powder. “You did fine. Next time, don’t let them talk over you. Make ‘em listen.”

Powder smirked faintly, sitting back in her chair.

Vi leaned forward, elbows on the table. “Alright. Let’s get this done before lunch. Ekko—pull up the latest projections.”

And just like that, the room fell in line.

After the meeting, the executives exited the boardroom with hushed murmurs about the events that had unraveled. Violet and Powder trailed behind, keeping a distance from the rest.

They silently headed to Violet's office, something the two sister did after meetings.

Debriefing.

Violet plopped onto her office chair, spinning around in silent frustration as she skimmed over the documents another time.

Powder approached the small cellar of alcohol Vi kept in her office for "emergencies"

The emergencies in question was every time she wanted to explode—or cause an explosion— and she needs alcohol to deal with it.

Powder popped a bottle open, pouring her and her sister a drink. "So, why were you late again, sis?" she asked, a faint smirk on her lips as she brought the glass of whiskey over to Violet.

Powder handed Vi the glass.

Vi took it, swirling the amber liquid before downing half of it in one go. “I wasn’t late,” she said, setting the glass down with a soft clink.

“You were late,” Powder replied, leaning against the desk with that look—the one that said she wasn’t going to let this go.

Vi raised a brow. “I was… delayed.”

“Mhm. Delayed by what?”

Vi smirked faintly, leaning back in her chair. “Meetings of my own.”

Powder narrowed her eyes. “The kind of meeting where you’re in an office? Or the kind where you’re in a café staring at someone like you’re ready to commit federal crimes in broad daylight?”

Vi chuckled, shaking her head. “Not everything’s about romance, Pow.”

“Yeah, but you’ve been smiling at your phone like a teenager all week.” Powder crossed her arms. “So unless you’re sexting our suppliers—which, please, don’t—then I’m guessing this ‘meeting’ wasn’t exactly business.”

Vi tilted her head, lips twitching. “Let’s just say I’ve been… networking.”

Powder groaned, but a grin tugged at her mouth. “You’re impossible.”

Before Vi could answer, a knock came at the door. Ekko stepped in, tablet in hand. “Vi—contract updates from the Piltover side. They want another meeting.”

Vi’s smile faded into something sharper. “Of course they do. Send them a somewhat polite reply saying my schedule’s full. Then tell them—”

Powder interrupted, sipping her drink. “Tell them we’ll think about it… if they start playing fair.”

Vi smirked. “Exactly.” She turned to Ekko. “Do it.”

Ekko nodded and slipped out, shutting the door.

Vi stood, walking to the window. Piltover’s skyline glittered in the distance, cold and pristine across the bridge. Her fingers tightened around her glass. “They’re not going to stop until they own everything, Pow. And I’m not letting that happen.”

Powder joined her at the window, following her gaze. “Then I guess we keep fighting.”

Vi looked down at her little sister, and for a second the steel in her eyes softened. “Always.”

Caitlyn stared at her reflection in the perfectly cleaned windows of her office, a glass of red wine in her hand. She looked at herself, making sure her hair was in place and that her lipstick wasn’t smudged.

God forbid she have a single hair out of place—or her suit be even slightly imperfect. Cassandra Kiramman would go into a stroke.

“Appearances are important, Caitlyn. You’re a Kiramman.”

Caitlyn scoffed, taking a sip of her wine as she stared out her window—unsure whether to focus on her reflection or the view in front of her. Piltover was perfect. Always had been.

She swirled the wine inside her glass, tucking a stray hair behind her ear.

Before she could drown in her inner thoughts, a knock on her door caught her attention.

“Enter,” she said, walking back to her desk, placing the glass of wine down, and taking her seat. Maddie walked in, a few folders in her hands.

Caitlyn looked at the small, vintage clock she had on her table. Five minutes early. She exhaled contentedly at her assistant’s punctuality. Maddie approached the table, gently placing the folders in front of Caitlyn.

Caitlyn took her thin, silver-rimmed reading glasses, unfolding them with effortless precision before slipping them onto the bridge of her nose. She picked up a pen and clicked it open.

Maddie shifted her weight from one foot to the other, feeling the air change under Caitlyn’s scrutiny.

Caitlyn cleared her throat, not bothering to glance at her assistant, as she flipped through the pages of the documents. She skimmed the text and sighed in disappointment.

“Denied, again,” she muttered under her breath. She adjusted her lenses, pushing them higher. She clicked her pen closed and placed it back inside her desk.

“What’s my father’s schedule?”

Maddie opened her tablet hurriedly. “Uh… he has a meeting in fifty minutes, ma’am, but he should be free at the moment.”

Caitlyn nodded, taking her reading glasses off and placing them back in the black velvet box they came in. She grabbed her wine, taking one last sip before standing.

With a quick glance at her reflection, fixing her suit, and grabbing her phone, she was already moving.

“Take the files, Maddie. We’re bringing them to my father. Quickly.”

Maddie scrambled, not having enough time to process everything. She circled Caitlyn’s desk, taking the files in her hands, juggling her tablet and the folders—making sure none of them fell.

She hurried after Caitlyn, heels clicking against the polished marble as they wove through the top floor. Caitlyn’s pace was swift, purposeful—the kind that made people step out of her path before they even realized they were moving.

They stopped at a set of tall double doors framed in dark walnut. A discreet gold plaque read Tobias Kiramman — Chairman.

Caitlyn didn’t bother knocking.

She pushed the double doors open, not even holding them for Maddie. Her assistant kicked the door before it could slam against her face.

Tobias sat at his desk, a cup of tea in his hands. “Caitlyn, did I not teach you how to knock?”

“The Lanes Corporation rejected our request again. For the… what? Fifth time this month? Shouldn’t we be taking this more seriously?”

Tobias’s expression shifted into something more serious. He placed his cup of tea down on his desk as Maddie approached with the files.

He read through the papers, disappointment growing as he skimmed the pages.

“It’s quite ridiculous, is it not? We’ve offered more than enough money, different types of perks that would be sustainable for us and them—yet we’re continuously refused. And they don’t even state the exact reason for their refusal,” Caitlyn complained, taking a seat.

Tobias leaned back in his chair, the leather creaking under his weight. “The Lanes don’t need to give a reason, Caitlyn. Their refusal is their answer. And if history has taught us anything, it’s that Zaun plays a different game than Piltover.”

“They’re not playing,” Caitlyn said sharply. “They’re blocking us. Deliberately.”

Her father’s mouth twitched—half amusement, half warning. “You have your mother’s impatience.”

Caitlyn’s jaw tightened, but she didn’t look away. “And your stubbornness.”

A faint chuckle escaped him. “True enough. But stubbornness doesn’t win every war, Caitlyn. Sometimes it’s… cooperation. Even alliances you’d rather not form.”

Her brow furrowed. “What kind of alliances?”

Tobias didn’t answer immediately. He closed the file and set it aside, folding his hands on the desk. “Your mother and I have been discussing options. If they won’t be swayed by money, perhaps they’ll be swayed by something more… binding.”

Her eyes narrowed. “Binding?”

“You’ll know soon enough,” he said, tone final.

Caitlyn hated that answer. Hated the way it felt like he was moving pieces on a board she wasn’t allowed to see.

“Until then,” Tobias continued, “I suggest you focus on the upcoming shareholder meeting. And on keeping your composure. The Lanes aren’t the only ones watching us.”

Caitlyn rose to her feet, gathering the files before Maddie could. “Very well. But I won’t wait forever for ‘soon enough.’”

As she left the office, her father’s voice followed her—light, almost casual, but carrying weight.

“Patience, Caitlyn. Some bridges take longer to cross.”

The heavy metal door of the Lanes’ office creaked as Violet and Powder entered. The rest of the Lanes were seated around the table.

Other families? Family meeting at the dinner table—the topics usually about grades, attitude, behavior, or something mundane.

The Lanes? Family meeting in their shiny boardroom. The boardroom where the family talked about business, politics, strategy.

Violet took her seat, the one near the head of the table where Vander sat. Across from Violet was her brother, Claggor. It was always age-ordered. Violet was the oldest among the four siblings—Claggor being a year younger.

Followed by Mylo, a few months younger than Claggor. And Powder, the youngest.

“What’s with the sudden meeting? Don’t we normally do this on Fridays? It’s Wednesday,” Powder asked.

Vander sat at the head of the table, a glass of whiskey in his hand. “The Kirammans requested a meeting with us.”

Violet’s expression changed. “Again?”

“They want a formal meeting. They made it pretty damn clear we have no right to say no.”

Violet smirked in amusement. “Reluctant folks. You’d think after the last five ‘no’s they’d get the hint.”

“If they think they’re getting the stamp of approval from us, then they must be delusional,” Mylo added.

“Delusional? More like desperate.” Powder scoffed, closing the file and placing it back on the desk. “Can’t we just send ’em another big ol’ no? I mean seriously, how many ‘no’s can we print out?”

“The Kirammans aren’t something we can just continuesly deny. They’re used to getting everything they want—hell, their family owns half of Piltover. They could come up with something to take Zaun, too,” Claggor reminded.

Vander nodded. “It’s a complicated case, too. They’ve got council connections.”

“Yeah, while us Zaunites struggle to do anything with them breathing down our backs. It’s been ten fucking years and Zaun still doesn’t have a representative on the council,” Violet complained.

Vander swirled the whiskey in his glass, the amber liquid catching the dim light overhead. “They’ve been patient so far. But if they’re requesting a formal meeting, that means their patience is running out.”

“Good,” Violet said flatly. “Maybe they’ll finally realize Zaun isn’t for sale.”

Vander’s eyes met hers over the rim of his glass. “Not every fight can be won by telling people to piss off, Vi.”

“Worked fine so far,” she shot back.

Claggor cleared his throat. “You mean it’s worked because Vander was the one doing the telling. You’ve got his fire, Vi, but you don’t always have his… diplomacy.”

Violet rolled her eyes. “Diplomacy is just a pretty word for wasting time.”

“That ‘pretty word’ is why Zaun hasn’t been flattened by Piltover’s council,” Vander said, his voice carrying that low warning tone that could silence a whole room. “They’ll keep coming until they get what they want—or until we give them something."

Vander drained the last of his whiskey and set the glass down with a soft clink. “We need to be smart about this. This meeting with the Kirammans— it’s more than just posturing. They want something tangible, and they’re coming prepared.”

Mylo leaned forward, fingers steepled. “Prepared how? What do we know?”

Claggor shifted in his seat. “Rumor is they want to buy into the new refinery project. If they get their hands on that, they control the flow—meaning Zaun’s lifeblood.”

Powder’s eyes narrowed. “That refinery’s the one we fought tooth and nail to keep under Zaun’s control, right? If the Kirammans get it, it’s over for us.”

Violet’s jaw tightened. “Not on my watch. We need to show them we’re not pushovers, no matter the suit or council badge they wear.”

Vander nodded slowly. “Vi’s right. But we can’t afford to be reckless. If they sense weakness, if we snap back without a plan, it’ll cost us more than pride.”

A heavy silence fell over the room.

Powder finally broke it, voice low but fierce. “So, what’s the plan?”

Vander looked around the table, meeting each sibling’s eyes. “We go in united. We present a front they can’t crack, with options on the table that keep Zaun’s interests safe.”

Violet’s smirk returned, sharper this time. “And if they think they can intimidate us with their council friends?”

“We remind them,” Vander said with a grim smile, “that Zaun bleeds harder than any of them.”

Claggor let out a slow breath. “Alright then. Let’s get to work. Meeting with the Kirammans won’t wait, and neither will the future of Zaun.”

The siblings exchanged determined looks, the weight of the fight ahead settling firmly on their shoulders.

Vander remained seated, staring into the dregs of his whiskey like it held the map to the next ten years. Vi lingered at the far end of the table, tapping her fingers against the polished surface.

“Who’s going to the meeting?” Claggor asked, breaking the stillness.

“All of us,” Vander said without looking up. “If the Kirammans want to play power games, they can do it with the whole family watching.”

Mylo groaned. “Even Powder?”

“Especially Powder,” Vi said before Vander could answer. Her tone was firm, final. “They don’t get to think we hide our youngest because they can’t handle a boardroom. If they see us united, it’s harder to pick us apart. And she needs to learn more about the business.”

Powder smirked at that, a flash of satisfaction in her eyes. “Guess I’ll have to find something nice to wear. Wouldn’t want to make the rich folks gag.”

Vander finally looked up, his gaze heavy but calm. “We’re not going there to insult them.”

Vi arched a brow. “Maybe you’re not.”

“Vi.” His voice was a warning.

She sighed, holding up her hands in mock surrender. “Fine. No insults. Unless they start it.”

“That’s what I’m afraid of,” Claggor muttered.

Vi trailed after Vander as they left the boardroom, her voice low so the others wouldn’t hear. “You’re not seriously considering a deal with them, are you?”

Vander didn’t slow his pace. “I’m considering keeping Zaun alive. That’s not the same thing.”

“That’s not an answer.”

He stopped at his office door, turning to face her fully. “No, Vi. It’s not. Because I don’t have one yet.”

She met his gaze, searching for something in his expression. “Then maybe you should let me handle it.”

He smiled faintly, the kind of smile that said you’re not ready, but you think you are.

“I’m counting on you to keep them off-balance. But I’m leading the meeting.”

Vi clenched her jaw, but didn’t argue. Not out loud.

Chapter Text

Caitlyn stood at the front of the shareholder meeting, the room filled with Piltover elites. She stood tall, straight, confident. She’d done this a dozen times before; she wouldn’t crumble now.

"How do you intend to deal with the Lanes' arrival later?" one of the older shareholders questioned, his tone skeptical, almost challenging.

Caitlyn’s eyes swept the room calmly before settling on the speaker. “With the same respect we offer any potential partner,” she replied smoothly. “But make no mistake—we will not be undermined or pushed aside. The Kiramman Foundation stands ready to negotiate, but only on terms that protect our interests—and those of Piltover.”

A few murmurs of approval followed, but the tension lingered like a shadow over the polished room.

She clicked the remote, bringing up a slide showing detailed projections and strategies.

“We are prepared for cooperation, yes. But also for firm resistance if necessary.”

Her gaze hardened ever so slightly.

Because in the game between Piltover and Zaun, the Lanes weren’t just a corporation. They were a family. And families played for keeps.

"Why the hell do we need to wear these again?" Powder complained, flattening her pencil skirt against her skin. "This is so stupid."

Violet meticulously adjusted her cufflinks, fixing her collar and making sure her hair was in place—not to ‘fit in’ exactly, but to make sure she wasn’t looked down upon. She was here for business. To be treated equally.

She sprayed on her cologne, giving her wrists a few mists before rubbing them together.

"We apparently need to look presentable," she responded. “They already think we’re beneath them because of some dumb ideas in their heads. Let’s not make it worse by looking desperate.”

Powder rolled her eyes but remained silent—knowing she wouldn't get anywhere trying to argue with Violet. Especially at a time like this.

Powder walked over to her sister, fixing her tie and wiping off an eyeliner smudge at the corner of her eye. "Alright, sis, you ready to pretend not to yawn at whatever they talk about?"

Violet chuckled, letting herself soften in the presence of her sister, even if it was just for a moment.

Because later? That’s another battlefield she had to enter.

Vander sat inside the sleek, shiny black van. Their company's logo was plastered on the back.

Claggor and Mylo were already inside, leaving two spaces for the sisters.

The first few minutes of the drive were silent—the weight of what was about to unfold pressing down on all their shoulders.

Vander’s jaw clenched as he stared out the window, the Piltover skyline a cold reminder of the stakes ahead.

Claggor shifted uneasily beside him, breaking the silence. “Do you really think they’ll listen this time? After all the times we've denied their requests?”

Mylo shrugged, trying to sound optimistic but failing. “Maybe. Or maybe this just drags us deeper into their games.”

Powder finally spoke, her voice quiet but steady. “Either way, we’re not walking away. Not now. Not ever.”

Violet nodded, eyes fixed straight ahead. “We’re here to fight for Zaun, for our people. And no matter what happens in that room, we do it together.”

The van slowed as it neared the towering Piltover council building. The doors opened, and the siblings stepped out, their faces set with determination.

Inside, the polished marble and grand chandeliers did nothing to soften the hard glances cast their way.

Violet led the group through the hall, each step measured, each breath controlled.

A short woman with an orange bob approached them, tablet in hand and hair slightly messy.

"Good morning, Lanes. Maddie Nolen," she introduced herself, lending a hand for a brief handshake, which Vander accepted firmly. "I’m Miss Kiramman’s assistant. She’s waiting for you in the lobby."

She began walking, waiting for the rest to follow her.

The lobby was sleek and bright, every surface gleaming with polished marble and glass. High ceilings echoed the soft murmur of footsteps and hushed conversations, the air charged with the weight of expectation.

As the Lanes continued, Violet spotted a tall woman, her hair a dark navy. The Kiramman crest on her cufflinks.

Caitlyn Kiramman.

Caitlyn stood near the large windows overlooking the city, her posture impeccable as always. Her dark suit hugged her form perfectly, and her sharp eyes flicked up as Maddie led the Lanes siblings inside.

“Ah, the famous Lanes,” Caitlyn said smoothly, her voice calm but edged with authority as she stepped forward. “Welcome to the Kiramman Foundation.” She smiled politely, offering a hand.

Vander took it without hesitation. "Miss Kiramman, I've heard great things."

"How flattering," she responded, completely unfazed.

She pushed the boardroom doors open, standing aside as she let the guests in first.

The boardroom was expansive and bathed in natural light from floor-to-ceiling windows that showcased Piltover’s skyline. A massive mahogany table dominated the room, surrounded by high-backed leather chairs. The air was thick with anticipation.

Caitlyn motioned for the Lanes siblings to take their seats.

“Please, make yourselves comfortable,” she said, voice steady but carrying an undercurrent of steel.

Violet sat deliberately at the far end of the table, eyes scanning every corner of the room. Powder slid into the seat beside her, still bristling but holding back.

Vander took the chair closest to Caitlyn, his presence commanding respect. Claggor and Mylo settled in nearby, shoulders tense.

Caitlyn placed her hands on the table. "I apologize for my parents' tardiness. I assure you they are usually punctual. They had emergency matters, but they'll be here shortly."

Vander hummed, taking in the atmosphere of the place. "That's quite alright, Miss Kiramman. I'm sure they're very busy people."

Caitlyn shook her head. "Caitlyn is just fine," she corrected. "And I’m sure your family is very busy too. We invited you here, I understand it's quite rude to be late to a function you've planned."

"The same could be said for everyone, Caitlyn. It's not a huge deal."

Caitlyn had a slight smirk, amused to finally speak to someone on her level. "Hm, touche."

Violet watched Caitlyn Kiramman from across the polished mahogany table, the way she carried herself like she was born in a throne room, not some boardroom. Every inch of her was sharp and precise—from the perfect cut of her suit to the cool, unreadable look in her eyes.

There was no doubt Caitlyn was powerful, and that power wasn’t just inherited or bought. It was carved from years of mastering control—over the room, over the people, even over herself. Violet felt it like a tangible force, something that dared you to challenge it and promised you’d lose.

But underneath that flawless exterior, Violet caught the flicker of something else. A kind of pressure—like Caitlyn was holding tight to a rope that might snap at any second. Maybe it was the weight of expectations, or the burden of playing a game that demanded you never show weakness.

Caitlyn’s gaze flicked toward the door just as it opened again, and two figures stepped inside—her parents. Tobias Kiramman, tall and stern, followed by Cassandra, whose sharp eyes scanned the room like a hawk.

Caitlyn straightened her posture, her usual confidence tightening into something more formal.

“Tobias. Cassandra.” She inclined her head politely but without warmth.

Her father’s gaze swept the room, lingering briefly on the Lanes siblings before settling on Caitlyn. “Apologies for the delay. Emergency matters demanded our attention.”

Cassandra’s eyes were sharp but calm. “We appreciate your patience.”

Vander inclined his head slightly, returning the formality with quiet respect. “Of course. We understand.”

Caitlyn gestured toward the seats again. “Now that we are all here, let’s begin.”

Violet’s eyes tracked the entrance of Tobias and Cassandra Kiramman, taking in their commanding presence. Tobias’s tall, rigid frame filled the room with authority, while Cassandra’s sharp gaze seemed to dissect every detail, every person.

She noticed the subtle shift in Caitlyn—the way her poised confidence tightened just a little, like a well-oiled machine suddenly running under heavier pressure. It wasn’t the daughter of the Kiramman Foundation who greeted her parents now, but a dutiful soldier in a battle that went beyond business.

Violet felt a strange mix of admiration and wariness. Caitlyn wasn’t just playing a part; she was carrying a legacy—and maybe a cage.

As the meeting officially began, Violet settled into her seat, heart steady but alert. The air thickened with unspoken challenges and layered intentions. This was more than a negotiation. It was a chess game played with lives, loyalties, and power.

The room settled into a tense silence as Caitlyn tapped her pen lightly on the mahogany table.

“Our proposal ensures that both our interests are protected—Zaun’s development, Piltover’s investments, and above all, the legacies we uphold,” Caitlyn said, her voice steady but sharp.

Vander leaned forward, eyes narrowing slightly. “Legacy is more than a word. It’s the backbone of our people’s survival. Zaun can’t be just a footnote in Piltover’s story.”

Caitlyn nodded, a flicker of something unreadable crossing her face. “Agreed. Which is why we must move forward with clarity and respect. Not just for the board’s sake, but for the generations to come.”

Violet caught that phrase, her gaze drifting briefly to Caitlyn. There was something weighty behind those words—something neither fully said.

Tobias’s voice cut through the room, calm but firm. “True partnerships aren’t built in haste. They require patience—and sometimes sacrifices.”

A slight pause followed. Maddie shifted in her seat, but no one spoke.

Claggor cleared his throat. “Sacrifices. That word carries weight, especially in families.”

Cassandra’s sharp eyes met Violet’s for a moment, and Violet felt the subtle undercurrent of meaning—a silent acknowledgment that this was more than business.

Caitlyn’s lips curved into a thin smile. “We’re all here because our families expect us to secure the future. And that future demands strength, unity... and, yes, compromise.”

Vander exchanged a look with Violet, the unspoken message clear. The battles they fought were not just for profit or territory, but for the legacies that defined their very lives.

Caitlyn folded her hands on the table, her eyes sharp. “Our goal is stability. Zaun’s future depends on a strong foundation—one that supports growth without sacrificing control.”

Vander nodded, voice low but firm. “Control is essential. It’s how we protect what’s ours—from rivals, from reckless change.”

Cassandra leaned in slightly, her gaze unwavering. “Control, yes—but also cooperation. The kind that lasts isn’t built on dominance alone. It requires a binding agreement, forged through trust.”

Powder’s eyes flicked toward Violet, sensing the weight behind Cassandra’s words.

Caitlyn’s gaze held steady as she added, “Trust is earned over time—and sometimes demands difficult choices. Choices made not just for ourselves, but for those who will follow.”

Mylo cleared his throat. “Difficult choices can shape alliances—or break them.”

A silence settled in the room, thick with implication.

Violet thought she saw a shadow cross Caitlyn’s face—a flicker of something resigned yet resolute.

“We’re prepared to make those choices,” Caitlyn said quietly, “because the future is bigger than any one of us. It requires unity, whether comfortable or not.”

The unspoken understanding hung in the air: unity at a cost.

Violet spoke for the first time since she entered the building. "Let's not play riddles. Wasting time on riddles and double-meaning sentences is not what we came here for."

Vander sent her a look. A warning.

But she continued anyway.

"So," she continued, placing her elbows on the table. "What exactly do you want from us?"

Caitlyn sighed. "I thought it was quite obvious."

"Caitlyn," Cassandra warned.

"We simply want to expand our business until it reaches Zaun. And with the constant refusal we get from you, we can't do that. Can't we?" Cassandra expressed, her tone measured, her words carefully calculated.

Caitlyn’s eyes swept the room, locking briefly with each member of the Lanes family before she spoke. “Our proposal isn’t simply about business growth—it’s about strengthening Piltover’s influence in Zaun through strategic investment and innovation.”

Vander’s voice cut in, firm and unwavering. “Zaun isn’t just a resource to be tapped or a market to be conquered. It’s home. Our people deserve more than just investors—they deserve representation, a voice on the council where decisions that affect Zaun are made.”

Caitlyn nodded, acknowledging the point but with a measured response. “Representation is a delicate matter. It requires trust, stability, and a shared vision. Piltover’s role is to support and guide that growth—ensuring it’s sustainable and profitable for everyone.”

Powder shifted in her seat, sensing the subtle dismissal in Caitlyn’s words.

Claggor’s voice was sharp. “Guidance sounds a lot like control. And control, without voices from Zaun’s own leaders at the table, isn’t partnership—it’s domination.”

Cassandra leaned forward, her tone cool and decisive. “The Kiramman Foundation’s reach is impressive, but expansion must respect Zaun’s autonomy. It’s not about who has the bigger stake, but who truly cares for Zaun’s future.”

Caitlyn’s gaze sharpened, a slight edge to her tone. “Our business has always been about long-term growth. Zaun is essential to that vision. We are prepared to invest deeply—but we expect cooperation on terms that secure both prosperity and order.”

Vander’s eyes didn’t waver. “Order without representation breeds resentment. We want a seat on the council to ensure Zaun’s interests aren’t just heard, but acted upon."

Caitlyn’s expression shifted—surprise, amusement, maybe even a flicker of frustration. “Council seats require responsibility and unity, not mere demands. The Kiramman Foundation is committed to building that unity—something that takes sacrifice and trust from all involved.”

Cassandra nodded sharply. “I don’t know who you think we are, but Zaun can’t simply be handed a seat on the council just because it wants one. Even with all your influence, we are bound by laws and protocols.”

Violet’s eyes narrowed. “You are part of that council, aren’t you? You are the law.”

Vander leaned in, voice steady but charged. “The union between Zaun and Piltover has existed for over a decade, yet Zaun still lacks representation. We’re supposed allies—but Piltover holds seven seats on the council while Zaun has none. How is that fair? How does that protect Zaun?”

A tense silence followed.

Caitlyn’s gaze flickered to Tobias and Cassandra, then back to Vander and Violet. “Fairness is earned through cooperation and proven leadership—not just demands from the outside.”

Vander’s jaw tightened. “Zaun isn’t asking for charity. We’re demanding recognition. Our people need a voice—not just investment or control from Piltover elites.”

Mylo added softly, “Zaun’s future depends on those voices being heard before decisions are made—not after.”

Tobias’s eyes locked on Vander. “Then show us you can lead with responsibility and unity. Prove that you can be trusted at the table.”

Caitlyn’s voice softened, but the steel remained. “We want to expand into Zaun because we believe in its potential. But growth without order—without respect for structure—leads to chaos. The Kiramman Foundation will not support anything less than stability.”

Powder’s voice broke the tension. “Stability without representation is just control disguised as order.”

Cassandra’s lips curled into a cold smile. “And why exactly do you think we’d even consider this? You think we’d let you play with the law in exchange for mere properties?”

Violet slammed her hand against the table, silencing the room. “Are you implying this whole arrangement isn’t fair to you? Have you ever thought about how unfair it is for Zaun to be ignored? Set aside? Disregarded?”

Cassandra’s eyes narrowed. “I think this meeting is over. We won’t be going anywhere with this. You may leave.”

She grabbed her things, dragging Tobias along as he cast a wary glance back.

Caitlyn flinched, visibly caught off guard by how quickly things unraveled.

“What the hell—”

“Violet!” Powder hissed, voice urgent.

But Violet remained standing.

Caitlyn took a deep breath, then turned toward Maddie. “Maddie, please call my parents back. Now.”

Maddie nodded, already pulling out her comm.

Caitlyn straightened, voice calm but firm. “Apologies for the disruption. That was... unprofessional and immature. I would personally like to continue this meeting, if you’re willing.”

The room fell into a tense quiet, the weight of possibility hanging between them.

Violet scoffed. "Not like you'd listen."

Caitlyn didn't falter. She placed her portfolio in front of her. "I'd like to say I'm a great listener, actually. I've been studying business for years—customer service being my first lesson. And that required an understanding even for entitled customers. I think I have the capability of listening. I'm already willing to stay and listen."

Vander leaned back in his chair, satisfied and amused. "Very well, what do you propose we do, then?"

"My mother won't give up the Kiramman seat that quickly. It's been in our family for decades, especially reserved for our family and our family only. I can sense that's how you are with Zaun, too."

The family hummed in agreement.

Caitlyn nodded slowly, her sharp eyes scanning the Lanes siblings one by one. "Exactly. Legacy isn't just about power—it's about responsibility. The Kiramman seat comes with expectations: to uphold stability, guide progress, and protect Piltover's interests."

Violet's jaw tightened. "And what about Zaun’s interests? Are they just collateral damage in that vision?"

Caitlyn met her gaze squarely. "Zaun's future is intertwined with Piltover’s. We can't afford chaos in either city. But true partnership requires trust, and that means compromise."

Vander leaned forward, voice steady but firm. "Compromise is a two-way street. If you want Zaun to trust Piltover, you need to show us that our voice will be more than a whisper."

A flicker of tension passed between Caitlyn and Vander, but Caitlyn didn’t back down.

"Mhm," she nodded. "I am in front of you today as a businesswoman and a Kiramman. And for now, all I can offer is my word and my promise to work something out."

She took her seat again.

"I cannot be above the law, obviously. I can't ensure you'll get what you want. We'd need my parents' cooperation for that. But I can ensure you that I'll go have a word with them."

Violet studied Caitlyn carefully, the sharp lines of her face softened just a fraction by that rare promise. It was fragile, tentative—yet it was something. A start.

Vander cleared his throat, breaking the silence. “Words are good. But we’ll need more than words to rebuild trust.”

Caitlyn nodded. “Agreed. I’m not naive. I know the weight of our families’ histories runs deep. But if we don’t try, then nothing changes. Zaun deserves more than being pushed aside.”

Powder’s eyes flicked between Caitlyn and her siblings. “Then let’s see how far you’re willing to go. Actions speak louder.”

The room’s tension softened just a touch, but the challenge remained clear.

Cassandra re-entered the room quietly, her presence sharp as ever. “If we’re to continue this, let’s lay some ground rules. No more interruptions. Respect the process.”

Violet didn’t reply, 

but her gaze stayed locked on Caitlyn.

The meeting was far from over. The game was still on.

But for the first time, it felt like the players might—just might—be ready to change the rules.

Caitlyn led the Lanes back to the lobby after the heated meeting. The tension and unspoken frustration hung in the air like an unwanted guest.

Interns and other staff stared intently as two of the most powerful families shared the same air space. A few murmured, hushed tones and judgment in their expressions.

Caitlyn shook Vander's hand again.

"This meeting was... eventful. Again, I apologize for the misunderstanding, Mr. Lanes."

Vander shook Caitlyn's hand firmly, nodding.

Caitlyn shook the rest of the Lanes' hands until she reached Violet. Caitlyn’s fingers lingered a moment longer as she took Violet’s hand, her gaze steady and searching. There was something unspoken in that brief touch—respect, challenge, maybe even a trace of regret.

Violet met her eyes without flinching, her grip firm. “Thank you for your time, Miss Kiramman.”

A flicker of something softer crossed Caitlyn’s face before she withdrew her hand. “Please, call me Caitlyn.”

Powder shifted beside Violet, breaking the charged moment with a nervous cough. Caitlyn gave her a quick, acknowledging nod.

The group turned toward the exit, the murmurs of the staff following them like shadows. Outside, the city’s noise felt distant—yet the weight of what had just happened pressed heavily on everyone.

As they reached the doors, Caitlyn paused. “We may be on opposite sides now, but I believe this conversation is only the beginning.”

Vander stopped and faced Caitlyn with a soft, genuine smile.

"I must say, Caitlyn, you're remarkable. I like how you think, how you negotiate. I think it'll be a pleasure to work with you."

Caitlyn's sharp expression dropped into something softer. Vi caught her eyes flicker—even if it was just for a second. It was there.

"Thank you, Vander. Truly. That means more than you know."

Caitlyn took something from her pocket. A shiny, blue business card. The Kiramman crest shining in gold with her name and number on the card.

"Please don't hesitate to reach out.". 

Chapter Text

The van's door shut, the Lanes sitting in the car in silence, letting the earlier events sink in. Powder tapped her fingertips against her lap. Violet's fists were curled. Claggor had that defeated yet hopeful expression. And Mylo kept staring out the window, as if the concrete roads were the most interesting thing on the planet.

"She's impressive, isn't she?" Vander broke through the silence. "She's resilient, confident, she carries herself well."

Violet didn’t respond right away. Her eyes stayed fixed on the cracked leather seat in front of her, jaw tight.

"More than impressive," she finally said, voice low but steady. "She’s dangerous. Not just because of what she can do, but because she knows it. And she’s not afraid to use it."

Powder’s fingers stopped tapping. She glanced at Violet, then back out the window, as if trying to figure out if she should be scared or inspired.

Claggor leaned forward, voice rough but thoughtful. "She’s got that kind of strength that doesn’t need to prove itself with noise. Quiet but deadly."

Mylo didn’t say anything, but when he finally looked back inside, his eyes met Vander’s. There was something in them—like a question about what all this meant for them, for their future.

Vander sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. "That’s exactly why we can’t afford to underestimate her. If she’s the future Piltover wants, then we need to be ready. Not just to fight her, but maybe… to learn from her."

Powder swallowed hard. "So what now? Do we wait? Do we make a move?"

Vander’s gaze settled on all of them. "Now, we watch. We learn. And when the time comes, we act."

The van rumbled forward again, the city lights casting fleeting shadows on their faces—each one carrying a mix of fear, hope, and determination.

"She's.." Violet started, trying to find the right words. "Everything we thought she'd be and more. That's badass."

Powder snickered for a second. "She's hot, too."

"Powder!" Vander scolded, rubbing his temples. 

Powder raised her hands up in mock surrender. "It's true, though! She's dominant, mindful and smart! That's hot."

Violet cracked a small, rare smile despite herself. "She's a fire. A huge one. Stand too close and you'll burn—"

"Are you indirectly calling her hot?"

Violet rolled her eyes but kept going. "But a fire burns out after some time. The flame turns smaller, softer. It doesn’t die out—it keeps you warm instead of burning you."

Claggor shifted in his seat, breaking the moment. "So, what, she’s the kind of fire you want around? Not the kind that destroys everything?"

"Exactly," Violet said quietly, her gaze distant. "If she’s the future, then maybe… maybe there’s still hope for all of us."

Mylo looked between them, a new determination settling in his eyes. "Then we make sure we’re not just watching from the sidelines anymore."

Vander nodded, voice low but resolute. "We step up. Maybe even with her. For ourselves. For whatever this future holds."

Cassandra sipped her champagne thoughtfully, eyes scanning the dense stack of documents spread before her. The soft clink of glass on marble accompanied the quiet rustle of papers as she turned a page. Tobias sat nearby, his presence calm but watchful, silently observing her every move.

Caitlyn looked out the window, the vibrant colors now painting the skies as the sun dipped down. She anxiously toyed with her cufflink, anticipating whatever her parents were about to say.

Cassandra set her glass down with a light clink, placing her papers down with carefulness. She rested her hands down on her desk as she glanced at Caitlyn—her expression unreadable.

"I must say, Caitlyn," she began. Caitlyn, hearing her mother's voice, immediately straightened her posture. “you’ve handled yourself with… admirable restraint lately.”

The pause that followed was intentional—long enough to make Caitlyn’s stomach tighten, but not long enough to let her relax.

Tobias’s eyes flicked toward his daughter, measuring her reaction with the same quiet precision he’d used in countless negotiations.

“Thank you,” Caitlyn replied carefully, unsure whether this was genuine praise or the lead-up to a reprimand.

Cassandra’s gaze sharpened, a faint curve touching her lips—though it wasn’t quite a smile. "You've grown. Learned. Improved. I'm.. satisfied with how you handled today's battle."

Caitlyn's expression softened, the heavy tension lifting off her. 

Cassandra let the words sink in before she continued. "This is only the beginning, Caitlyn. Enjoy today's victory," she adds, taking another sip of her drink. "And tomorrow, we sharpen the blade again."

Caitlyn nodded, her chest filled in an unfamiliar feeling. Doubt? Fear? 

Tobias shifted in his seat. "We mustn't let satisfaction take over, Caitlyn. Remember, being satisfied leads distraction."

Cassandra nodded, adding, "It dulls the mind. Make you feel fulfilled. And when that happens? Competition will see through your cracks and sweep in."

Caitlyn let out a sigh. Her hands on her lap starting to fidget once again. "I understand."

"I hope you do."

Violet ran a hand through her hair, the other gripping a six-page report of recent updates. Her boots were up on the desk beside a half-finished glass of amber liquid, the condensation leaving a dark ring on the wood.

The soft click of the doorknob turning pulled her attention. She swung her legs down, elbows coming to rest on the neat stack of papers.

Powder stepped inside, laptop hugged to her chest. She shut the door quietly and dropped onto the dark-blue sofa beside Violet’s desk.

Violet studied her. Powder’s fingers worried the ends of her braids, one foot tapping an uneven rhythm against the floor. Her eyes were somewhere else—unsure, maybe even a little scared.

“Hey,” Violet called gently. “What’s rattling around in that big brain of yours?”

Powder scoffed and shifted cross-legged on the couch, setting her laptop down beside her. “This whole thing is… intimidating.”

Violet nodded slowly. She reached for her drink, tossed the rest back, and set the glass down with a soft thud. “It is.”

“I mean, have you seen their building?” Powder went on. “Just walking in there feels like trespassing. And the Kiramman’s daughter—”

“Is a weapon. Almost a machine,” Violet finished for her.

Powder threw her hands up. “Exactly! She’s intimidating. She knows her shit and that terrifies me.”

Violet chuckled. “We’re good, too.”

“Good? Sure,” Powder shot back. “But that woman? Powerful. She’s got the brains, the name, and—” she jabbed a finger in the air “—she’s hot.”

Violet rolled her eyes, tearing a blank sheet from her notebook and crumpling it into a ball before lobbing it across the desk. “You keep saying she’s hot! She’s seven years older than you.”

Powder held up her hands in mock surrender. “Relax. I’m not interested. I’ve got my own office crush, thank you.”

Violet’s brows rose. “Ekko?”

Powder froze, color rushing to her cheeks. “Am I that obvious!?” she squealed, hiding her face with both hands and kicking her feet.

Violet smirked and tapped her comms. “Someone get Ekko, please. Tell him to bring my sister home.”

“Traitor!” Powder shot to her feet, pointing an accusing finger.

“Oh, come on, Pow. Get a boyfriend before you get buried in company work. Enjoy your freedom while it lasts.”

Powder narrowed her eyes but couldn’t hide the hint of a smile. “You’re one to talk. When’s the last time you dated?”

Violet leaned back in her chair, folding her arms. “I’m married to my job.”

Powder rolled her eyes, a sly grin on her lips.

Caitlyn sat on the bench, her feet swinging as they barely brushed the concrete. Fallen leaves rustled with each soft gust of wind. A few loose strands of hair escaped her perfect ponytail, dancing in the breeze.

In the garden a short distance away, her mother and father sat with business partners, sipping tea, exchanging polite smiles, and laughing in that practiced, hollow way adults often did when money was involved.

Fifteen-year-old Caitlyn had decided she’d had enough of pretending. She’d slipped away behind the garden, finding her quiet corner by the benches.

She had always been taught to stand tall, sit perfectly, and know the difference between every kind of fork laid out at dinner. She didn’t understand why any of it mattered.

She hadn’t yet learned the true weight of the Kiramman name.

A pout tugged at her lips—a look she wore without realizing whenever she was deep in thought.

Her dress was slightly crinkled, her hair coming loose, and a faint smear of dirt marked her shiny leather shoes. From the tree above, a single violet petal drifted down and landed softly in her lap.

She picked it up, holding it between small fingers, examining its delicate veins with a child’s quiet curiosity.

Footsteps broke the moment. The sharp, familiar click of heels on the pavement made her look up.

Cassandra Kiramman—her mother.

“Caitlyn,” Cassandra said, her voice clipped but not unkind. She stopped in front of the bench, her shadow falling over her daughter. “What are you doing here, away from our guests?”

Caitlyn glanced down at the petal still resting in her palm. “It’s quieter here.”

Cassandra’s gaze followed her daughter’s fingers, lingering for a moment on the purple petal. She hummed softly, neither approving nor scolding. “Your absence was noticed. You can’t simply disappear during important gatherings.”

“They’re boring,” Caitlyn muttered, almost too quiet to hear.

Cassandra’s eyes sharpened just slightly. “Boring or not, they matter. Appearances matter.” She knelt down so they were eye-level, her perfectly tailored dress brushing the bench. “One day, you’ll understand why these moments are not just for show—they shape how others see you. And in Piltover, perception is power.”

Caitlyn didn’t answer right away. She just stared at the petal in her hand.

Cassandra reached out, gently taking it. “Even the smallest thing,” she said, holding the petal between her fingers, “can become a symbol. But only if you choose what it means, instead of letting others decide for you.”

Caitlyn looked up, confused but curious. “And what does this mean?”

Her mother’s lips curved faintly—not quite a smile, but close. “That’s for you to decide, dear. But choose wisely. Symbols have a way of defining us.”

With that, Cassandra straightened, offering her hand. Caitlyn hesitated, then slipped her small fingers into her mother’s. Together, they walked back toward the garden, the petal now tucked safely in Caitlyn’s pocket.

Caitlyn decided to walk back to her penthouse. After the earlier events, she needed the quiet—space to let her thoughts settle before they could tangle into something unmanageable.

The streets of Piltover glowed with the last traces of daylight, the amber light stretching long shadows between the polished facades of high-rise buildings. Her heels clicked softly against the stone, the sound almost meditative.

She slipped her hands into her coat pockets, fingers brushing over the smooth, familiar curve of a violet petal she’d tucked there earlier in the day. Not the same one from her childhood, but identical enough that the memory surfaced without invitation

Back then, she’d thought it fragile—something that could be crushed between careless fingers. But now, holding it again, she realized it wasn’t fragility that made it precious. It was the choice to keep it intact.

By the time she reached the glass doors of her building, the city’s noise had faded to a low hum. She pressed the call button for the elevator, her reflection staring back at her in the polished metal.

Her hand lingered in her pocket, thumb running over the petal.

Violet clutched her sister’s small, limp body, tears streaming down her soot-streaked cheeks. Her chest heaved, each breath a struggle against the thick smoke curling around them.

Powder’s face was pale beneath the layer of ash, her lashes clumped together, lips faintly parted. She didn’t stir.

“Come on, Pow,” Violet choked out, her voice breaking as she shook her gently, desperate for any sign of life. The sound of her own sobs felt muffled, swallowed by the crackle of distant fire.

Heavy footsteps cut through the haze.

Violet’s head snapped up. Instinct tightened her grip around Powder, pulling her closer, shielding her with her own body. Her eyes burned as she squinted into the shifting smoke. A dark silhouette loomed—broad-shouldered, unmoving.

The figure stepped forward, the light catching on a familiar outline.

“Vander…” Violet’s voice cracked again, part relief, part disbelief.

He closed the distance quickly, kneeling in front of them. The smell of smoke clung to him, but his presence felt solid—like the one thing in this moment that wouldn’t collapse.

“It’s alright, kid,” he said, his voice low but steady as his eyes swept over Powder. “I’ve got you both.”

Violet’s arms refused to let go, but when Vander’s hands came to lift her sister, she didn’t fight him. She just pressed her forehead to Powder’s, whispering, “Don’t you leave me.”

Violet looked outside the tall glass windows of her condominium, her gaze drifting over the bridge and onto Piltover. She sipped her water thoughtfully, the condensation from the glass numbing her fingers. The city’s lights flickered faintly in the distance, a restless heartbeat against the dark. Somewhere across that bridge, deals were being struck, secrets whispered, and futures decided.

She rolled the cool glass between her palms, the faint hum of traffic below blending with the muted ticking of the clock on her wall. It was quiet here—too quiet. The kind of quiet that let thoughts creep in uninvited.

She clenched her fingers, holding the glass firmly. The pressure of everything weighing heavy. After sixteen years, Zaun was finally given a chance.

One chance.

Something only their family could fight for and possibly win. The future of Zaun was in the palm of the Lanes' hands—they couldn't risk losing the chance of finally making a change.

Not now when they've finally found a loophole.

She let out a steady breath, softening her grasp on the glass in her hand. She walked away from her window, heading towards the couch and sitting down. She left the glass down on her coffee table—the condensation already dropping down and forming a circular patch on the wooden material.

"We've actually got a shot at this," she said out loud, as if to convince herself.

She clenched her fingers into a fist, shaking her head. She didn't want to be given false hope—but the way Caitlyn talked proudly and stood firm? It was so.. comforting? 

No, not comforting. Convincing. That was the word.

It was convincing.

Violet leaned back into the couch, letting her head rest against the cushions. The ceiling above was just an expanse of shadow, but her mind filled it with Caitlyn’s voice—calm, deliberate, and sharp enough to cut through every layer of doubt she’d built up over the years.

It bothered her, how much weight those words carried.

She didn’t even know Caitlyn, not really. Just saw her in the boardroom, on the floor, in that sharp uniform that somehow didn’t cage her. The way she spoke… it was like she’d been holding the city in her hand her entire life, and it never once slipped.

Violet’s hand twitched, fingers curling slightly as if to mimic that grip.

Zaun had never had someone like that. Someone who could look the world in the eye and not flinch.

And yet—she’s Piltover, her mind reminded her, the old, stubborn part of her flaring up.

That should’ve been enough reason to keep her distance.

Her gaze drifted to the half-empty glass on the coffee table. Condensation still bled into the ring it had left, the water slowly pooling out, circling itself like it couldn’t escape.

We’ve actually got a shot at this.

Caitlyn sat cross-legged on her couch, her laptop placed on her lap while documents and files piled next to her. She had her hair in a messy, imperfect bun—one that'd give her mother a stroke. 

Her rectangular glass sat at the bridge of her nose as she typed in an email to one of the Kiramman foundation's executives. 

Her cup of tea was long forgotten, her notes lay disregarded on her small coffee table. She scrunched her nose in frustration before clicking send. She set her laptop aside, her legs numb from sitting too long. 

She grabbed her tea and sighed in disappointment. 

"It's cold," she complained to herself, setting it back down. 

Then a call popped up from her laptop.

Jayce Talis.

She pressed accept, setting the laptop back on her lap as she adjusted her glasses. Jayce's face appeared on the screen, a little too bright compared to the dark backdrop of her room. His sleeves were rolled up, he was sitting on a kitchen stool, a cup of coffee peeking from the side.

"Sprout," he greeted, "have you spoken to your parents yet?" 

Caitlyn lifted a brow, "..No?"

Jayce paused for a second, hesitating and uncertain how much he can disclose. He cleared his throat. "Figures. Cassandra always plays the long game."

"What does that mean, Jayce?"

"I can already hear the gears in your head spinning, Sprout, calm down. Your mother called a council meeting earlier—even your father was present."

Jayce’s tone carried more weight than Caitlyn wanted to admit. He leaned back in his chair, coffee cup in hand, eyes narrowing slightly.

“Council meeting?” Caitlyn repeated, voice sharper now.

Jayce nodded. “And not the routine kind. Cassandra doesn’t summon half the Council unless she’s playing her best cards. Whatever she’s planning, Sprout… you’re in the middle of it, whether you know it yet or not.”

Caitlyn’s pulse quickened. She tugged her glasses off, rubbing the bridge of her nose. “She said nothing. Just—” her voice softened, “—that I’d done well today. That I’m improving. But if she’s already moving pieces behind the scenes…”

“Then she’s testing you,” Jayce finished. “Seeing how you’ll react. How much you’ll figure out on your own. Classic Cassandra.”

Caitlyn looked away, her gaze drifting to the faint city glow outside her windows. “And if I fail?”

Jayce let out a breath. "You can't."

The call ended shortly after—leaving Caitlyn alone with her thoughts, the sheer glow of her laptop's screen the only thing offering her light. The light's reflection painted her face in cold tones; powder blue and white.

Her steady breathing was the only sound keeping her grounded, her hands clutching the laptop's sides. She gulped, nervous and curious on what Jayce meant.

"You’re in the middle of it, whether you know it yet or not.”

In the middle of what? 

She shut her laptop closed, placing it back into her laptop bag and setting it on her table. She picked up her phone and scrolled until she found her mother's contact.

She pressed call.

Cassandra answered after the second ring. 

"Mother."

"Caitlyn." 

"Jayce called."

"Of course he did. That one could never keep a secret, can't he?" 

Cassandra’s voice carried the same unshakable calm it always did, the kind that left no room for guessing what she might be thinking.

“What did he tell you?” she asked, sipping her words like her champagne earlier—measured, deliberate.

“That you called a Council meeting,” Caitlyn said, her tone firmer than she felt. “That Father was there. That this wasn’t routine.”

A faint hum, almost amused, slipped from Cassandra. “So he told you just enough to worry you, but not enough to help.”

“Mother,” Caitlyn pressed, her fingers tightening around the phone, “what is going on?”

A pause. Caitlyn could almost hear the faint shuffle of papers, the quiet clink of glass on Cassandra’s side of the line.

“You’re not ready for the whole answer yet,” Cassandra said at last. “But you’ve shown me you’re ready for the first step.”

Caitlyn’s pulse raced. “And what’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means,” Cassandra replied, her tone sharpening like a blade being drawn, “you’ll be receiving a dossier by morning. Names, histories, alliances. People who are relevant now, and people who will matter more tomorrow. Read it. Understand it. Memorize it.”

Caitlyn swallowed hard. “And then?”

“And then,” Cassandra said, her voice softening almost imperceptibly, “we’ll see if you can stand where I stand. If you can look the city in the eye without blinking.”

Caitlyn opened her mouth to argue, but Cassandra’s tone cut through the silence again, low and warning:

“Do not confuse this with a choice, Caitlyn. You are already playing. Whether you like it or not.”

The line went dead.

The meeting room was dimly lit, lantern-light flickering off polished mahogany. A thick silence stretched, broken only by the faint ticking of the grandfather clock in the corner. Cassandra sat with perfect poise at the head of the table, a half-filled glass of wine cradled in her hand. Tobias lingered at her side, calm and measured as always.

Across from them, Vander leaned back in his chair, broad shoulders tense though his face betrayed little. His hands were clasped together, scarred knuckles resting against the polished surface.

Their morning meeting had ended hours ago, with Cassandra and Tobias requesting Vander's presence—again. Privately.

“We both know why we’re here,” Cassandra began, voice smooth, deliberate. “The deal is viable. Piltover profits from stability. Zaun profits from opportunity. But stability,” her eyes sharpened, “requires certainty.”

Vander gave a humorless huff. “Certainty’s a luxury down in the Lanes. But you already know that. What is it you’re really after, Cassandra?”

Tobias shifted slightly, folding his hands. “Enduring partnerships aren’t built on paper alone. Signatures fade, alliances bend. What lasts is blood. Family.”

Vander’s gaze flicked between them, hard and suspicious. “You’re suggesting something more permanent.”

Cassandra’s lips curved faintly, not quite a smile. “A bond that ensures neither side forgets the value of the other. Your people want legitimacy. My people want loyalty. There’s only one way to guarantee both.”

The implication hung heavy in the air. Vander’s jaw tightened. He reached for his glass but didn’t drink, rolling it between calloused fingers.

“You want to tie this deal to our children."

“Not want,” Cassandra corrected softly. “Require. Claggor is strong. Determined. Caitlyn…” her voice softened just a fraction, pride threading through her control, “…is already proving herself capable of more than most Council members twice her age. Together, they’d form not just an alliance, but a union Piltover and Zaun would have no choice but to recognize.”

“You’ve seen today’s outcome,” Cassandra continued smoothly. “The deal is workable, but deals are fragile. They bend with the wind, and sometimes they break. If we’re to move forward, we must ensure longevity.”

Vander’s brows drew together. “Longevity? In Piltover, maybe you get to speak of things lasting. Down in Zaun, we make it through the week and call it a victory.”

“Which is exactly why you need something that can’t be torn up with the next vote,” Tobias interjected, his voice even. “Not just paper. A union.”

Vander’s eyes narrowed. “A union.”

Cassandra nodded, lifting her glass but not drinking. “Your children are the key. A bond between our families solidifies the arrangement—turns opportunity into permanence.”

“He is your successor, is he not?"

Vander shook his head. “No. Violet is.”

Cassandra hummed, tapping her nails against the champagne glass.

Vander leaned back and continued. “Her presence is enough to command the room. She’s tough and sharp, knows when to push and when to back off. The kids follow her without question. Claggor… he’s strong, yeah. Loyal. But he looks to her for direction.”

“Which is exactly why he is the better choice,” Cassandra countered smoothly. Her voice was calm, but the steel beneath it carried. “Caitlyn will not be overshadowed by him. Violet would clash—two flames vying for air until one burns out. But with Claggor? Caitlyn can stand taller, unchallenged, while he steadies her. He is a foundation, not a rival.”

Tobias inclined his head, backing his wife’s words. “Leaders are not built alone. They require balance. Where Caitlyn brings vision, Claggor brings constancy. That pairing will anchor both families."

Vander’s brow furrowed. His fingers drummed against the table, restless. “And what if Claggor doesn’t want this? What if Caitlyn doesn’t? I’m not about to shove them into something they’ll come to hate.”

Cassandra’s eyes sharpened. “Children are rarely grateful for the burdens placed upon them in their youth. Gratitude comes later, when they see what those burdens built.” She took a slow sip of her drink, then set it down with precision. “Do not mistake discomfort for failure. This is not about their comfort. It is about the survival of both our people.”

Vander fell silent, jaw tightening. He could see the logic, even if it left a bitter taste. Claggor wasn’t Violet—he didn’t bear her fire—but maybe that was the point. Maybe Cassandra was right. Maybe a steady hand at Caitlyn’s side was what this alliance needed.

Vander exhaled through his nose, rubbing at his jaw. “And what about Caitlyn? What if she doesn’t want this?”

Cassandra set her glass down, her expression cool but unwavering. “Caitlyn will understand. She’s being raised to lead, and leaders don’t marry for themselves. They marry for the city.”

Vander’s lips pressed into a hard line. He thought of Claggor—loyal, dependable, too young to be dragged into Piltover’s gilded cages. His chest tightened, but he forced the words out.

“You’re asking me to give up one of my own to your game.”

“I’m offering him a chance,” Cassandra countered, “to lift all of you higher than you’ve ever stood. This is not about cages, Vander. It’s about survival. For Zaun. For Piltover. For them.”

The fire popped in the hearth. Vander looked down at his scarred hands, then back up at Cassandra’s unyielding gaze.

“…I’ll talk to him,” he said finally, the words heavy, reluctant. “But if Claggor says no—”

“Then you’ll remind him,” Cassandra cut in softly, “that sometimes we don’t choose history. Sometimes it chooses us.”

He let out a long breath, gaze fixed on the dark amber liquid swirling in his glass.

“I’ll talk to him,” he said at last. His voice was low, almost resigned. “But if this turns out to break them, Cassandra—if it breaks him—then the blood’s on your hands, not mine.”

Cassandra didn’t flinch. “If it breaks them,” she said coldly, “then they were never meant to stand where we intend to place them.”

The silence that followed was heavier than the deal itself.

Cassandra stood before the tall glass windows of her office, champagne in hand, the condensation seeping into her velvet gloves. Her eyes followed Vander as he stepped into his van, the hulking figure swallowed by the dim glow of Piltover’s lamps. Soon, he would be on the opposite side of the bridge—back in Zaun where the air was heavier, and choices came at a greater cost.

Behind her, Tobias sat at her desk, skimming through a neat stack of documents. His voice was low, casual, as though he were commenting on the weather. “He’ll agree. He knows he has no choice.”

Cassandra adjusted her gloves with deliberate care, then set the champagne flute down on the nearest counter. “That man values his family too much. Children not even of his own blood. Do you think he’d give them up without a fight?”

Tobias didn’t look up, his tone steady. “It’s not as though we’re taking all his children in. This isn’t adoption, Cass. We’re simply giving one of them a chance.”

“A chance to play into the Kiramman game.” Cassandra’s words were edged, a mix of disdain and calculation.

Tobias chuckled, finally setting the papers aside. “We’re guiding him. They should be grateful we even entertained their ridiculous request for legitimacy. Most Council members would’ve laughed him out of the room.”

Cassandra crossed the room and lowered herself onto the velvet loveseat in the corner, the faintest curve at her lips. She folded one leg neatly over the other, the picture of control.

“Gratitude won’t matter,” she said. “What will matter is loyalty. By tying Claggor to Caitlyn, we bind Zaun’s future to ours. A boy with loyalty written into his bones and a daughter already being shaped into a leader. Together, they’ll have no choice but to succeed.”

Tobias leaned back in his chair, steepling his fingers. “And if they fail?”

Her gaze slid back to the window, to the faint glow of Vander’s van already disappearing into the night. “Then they were never worthy of the places we set for them.”

For a moment, neither spoke. The crackle of the fire filled the silence. Then Tobias’s voice cut through, softer this time. “Do you ever worry we’re asking too much of her?”

Cassandra’s eyes lingered on the glass, her reflection staring back. “Power never asks permission, Tobias. It takes. And Caitlyn will learn that—whether she wants to or not.”

The ride back across the bridge was silent, save for the low rumble of the van’s engine. Vander’s jaw was set the whole way, Cassandra’s words gnawing at him, sharp as broken glass. By the time he pulled up outside the building, his chest felt heavy, as though the choice had already been made for him.

Their headquarters loomed against the dim Zaun skyline—a tall, brick structure reinforced with steel beams, windows glowing with warm light from the offices within. Inside, it smelled faintly of ink and machine oil, the constant pulse of industry humming through the walls.

The first floor bustled with workers finishing the day’s tasks—clerks tallying shipments, machinists checking ledgers against crates of spare parts and tools. Everyone moved with practiced rhythm, respectful nods following Vander as he passed through.

He found the children upstairs, in the family’s private office floor. Powder was sprawled on the rug with a sketchbook, charcoal smudging her fingers. Mylo leaned back in an oversized chair, flipping a silver coin between his knuckles. Vi stood near the window, arms folded, surveying the streets below like a hawk keeping watch.

At the long mahogany table, Claggor sat with blueprints spread before him, a pair of brass compasses in hand. He glanced up as Vander entered. “Hey. I was just running the numbers for the refinery expansion. If we—”

“Leave it for now,” Vander interrupted, his voice carrying more weight than usual. “I need a word with you.”

Vi’s brows furrowed. “With him? Why not say it here?”

“Because it’s for him,” Vander said firmly. His eyes met hers, and she reluctantly leaned back against the glass, silent but bristling.

Claggor rose slowly, slipping the compasses closed, and followed Vander down the hall into a quieter office lined with shelves of old account books and ledgers. Vander shut the heavy oak door behind them, the click echoing too loud in the stillness.

Claggor frowned. “What’s wrong?”

Vander exhaled, rubbing a hand over his beard. “Kirammans made an offer. No, not an offer—an arrangement.”

Claggor tilted his head, confusion creasing his brow. “Arrangement?”

“They want to tie families together. You and Caitlyn.”

The words landed like a blow. Claggor blinked, stunned into silence. “Me? Marry her?”

“Yes.” Vander’s voice was steady, though grim. “Cassandra says you’re reliable. Measured. The kind of man who won’t try to outshine her daughter. That’s what Piltover values. They see you as safe.”

Claggor’s mouth twisted, caught between disbelief and anger. “So I’m… what? A transaction? A bridge they can own?”

Vander stepped closer, his big hand settling firmly on the boy’s shoulder. “Not to me. You’re my son. That’s why I’m telling you first. You get a say in this.”

Claggor looked down at the polished floorboards, his reflection warped in the sheen. “And if I say no? Do you think Piltover will just walk away? You know they won’t. If this is about Zaun’s future, then what I want doesn’t matter.”

Vander’s jaw tightened, his hand squeezing once before falling away. “I’ll protect you from this, if you need me to. But you’re right about one thing—they won’t let it go easy.”

The room fell quiet, the hum of the building below pressing against the silence.

Claggor left the office with his head low, shoulders drawn in tight. He didn’t meet anyone’s eyes as he passed through the hall, and Vi immediately straightened from the window at the sight of him.

“Claggor? What was that about?” she asked, her voice sharp.

“Nothing,” he muttered, gathering the blueprints he’d left scattered across the table. His hands trembled just enough to give him away.

Vi’s gaze narrowed. “Bullshit.” She looked past him to Vander, who had followed a moment later, the weight in his posture heavier than usual. “What did you say to him?”

“Not now, Vi,” Vander said quietly.

“Not now?” She stalked closer, chin tilted defiantly upward. “You don’t get to put that tone on and expect me to just shut up. What did you tell him?”

"The Kirammans want a union. A marriage between our families. Zaun will get representation.. under the Kiramman's last name—Claggor will be given the seat." Vander explained smoothly.

Her fists clenched. “You’re giving him up?”

Vander’s eyes softened, regret tugging at the lines on his face. “It’s not that simple.”

“It never is with Piltover,” Vi snapped. “But you’d let them take him anyway? Just hand him over like one of your contracts?”

Vander flinched, but he didn’t argue. His silence spoke louder than anything he could’ve said.

Vi turned away before her anger burned into something worse, her jaw tight. “If Claggor won’t fight it, I will.”

"Violet."

With clenched fists and a tight jaw, Vi faced Vander, rage burning so bright it lit her eyes.

“No! We can’t just let them do whatever they want—manipulating us for their own benefit,” she shouted, her voice cutting through the room. “Haven’t we been played enough? Why Claggor? What do they expect him to be—a pawn in their game?”

“Vi—”

But Vi pushed on, words sharper than her fists.

“Marriage? Seriously? For what? Because their daughter doesn’t want to take their precious seat? So they need another lab rat to shape into their perfect little toy?”

Vi’s words ricocheted through the office, echoing off the steel beams and glass walls. Mylo and Powder had gone silent downstairs, both of them listening without daring to move.

Vander’s jaw tightened, but his voice was calm. “It isn’t about their seat. It’s about keeping Zaun alive. This isn’t some game to them—it’s leverage.”

“Leverage?” Vi barked out a humorless laugh. “At Claggor’s expense? You’re saying his life, his future, gets traded away so Piltover feels safe? That’s not survival, that’s servitude.”

“He’d be safe,” Vander said, the words slow, deliberate, like he had to believe them himself. “He’d be fed, educated, respected in their circles. Do you know how rare that is for anyone from here?”

Vi stepped closer, fists trembling at her sides. “He doesn’t need their table, Vander. He already has one here. With us. And I’m not letting them buy him out of it.”

For a moment, the weight of her defiance filled the room. Vander looked at her, really looked, and for the briefest second he saw himself—fists raised, heart too stubborn to bow.

“You think I like this?” he asked quietly. “You think I want to hand one of you over? If I had it my way, I’d burn every damn bridge they built. But war doesn’t keep you fed. Pride doesn’t keep you breathing. And Piltover knows it.”

Vi’s chest heaved with anger, but beneath it a crack of fear split through. She hated how much sense it made, hated that Vander could even say it aloud.

“They don’t get to own us,” she whispered, voice breaking into steel again. “Not Claggor. Not me. Not any of us.”

Vander exhaled slowly, closing his eyes for a beat before answering. “Then you’d better pray you’re strong enough to stop them, Violet. Because if this deal falls apart, Piltover won’t just ask next time—they’ll take.”

Vi's fists burned, feeling the impulsive need to punch something until her fingers felt numb. Her body was tense, posture straight but forced. She took deep breaths, a poor attempt of calming herself down.

"I'm assuming there's another meeting about all this. When?" 

Vander rubbed a hand over his face, the weight of years pressing down on his shoulders. “Tomorrow evening. They're coming here. Contracts, conditions… all the things they wrap in ribbons to make it look clean.”

Vi’s jaw clenched, her teeth grinding. “And you were just gonna walk Claggor in there like a prize pig?”

“Don’t,” Vander warned, his tone suddenly firm. “Don’t make it sound like I’m selling him. You think this sits easy with me? I’ve spent every day since you lot came under my roof keeping you safe, keeping you fed. Sometimes safety comes with choices you don’t like.”

Vi’s fists shook at her sides, her nails digging into her palms. “Then let me make the choice for once.”

Vander’s eyes softened at that, but he didn’t budge. “This isn’t your fight to pick, Vi.”

She scoffed, bitter and sharp. “The hell it isn’t. Claggor’s my family. Our family. If you’re walking him into that room tomorrow, then so am I.”

Chapter Text

Caitlyn’s heels clicked against the polished floor as she entered the opulent meeting room. The polished marble and grand chandeliers did nothing to soften the hard glances cast their way. Still, she stood tall.

Her family’s board members, dressed in tailored suits and dripping with wealth, sat in silence as she approached. Some whispered to one another, voices low and disapproving, while others merely studied her with calculating eyes.

Caitlyn’s gaze swept the room. She recognized the familiar, smug expressions, the same ones she’d grown up seeing at every gala, every fundraiser, every political dinner. These men and women who smiled politely to her face while sharpening knives behind her back.

But tonight, she wasn’t here to appease them.

“Welcome to the Kiramman Foundation,” she said, her voice smooth, calm, with just the faintest edge of steel. She smiled politely, taking her place at the long mahogany table. “I appreciate you all taking the time, though I know your schedules must be very busy.”

One of the older men leaned forward, adjusting his golden cuff-links. “Your family is very busy too, Caitlyn. Which is why we’re surprised to see you calling this meeting.”

She nodded, unbothered. “I’m sure you are. But as you know, the Foundation’s role has always been to ensure progress and prosperity—not just for Piltover, but for the surrounding regions as well.” Her fingers laced together neatly on the table. “And lately, I’ve come to believe our definition of prosperity has been… too narrowly focused.”

A murmur swept across the room. Some raised their brows. Others frowned.

Another board member, a woman in a navy silk dress, spoke next. “You’re referring to Zaun.”

Caitlyn’s lips curved faintly. “I am.”

Silence fell again, heavier this time. Displeasure radiated from the table.

The man with the cuff-links scoffed. “Caitlyn, surely you understand Zaun is not a sound investment. It’s a liability. We’ve spent decades keeping that cesspit from dragging us down. And now you want us to funnel resources into it?”

Caitlyn’s eyes didn’t waver. “Zaun is not a cesspit. It’s a city—one that has survived despite being given nothing. Imagine what it could become with support. With infrastructure. With opportunity.”

“And imagine what Piltover could lose,” the woman in navy countered. “Resources are finite. If we divert them there, we weaken our own influence.”

“Influence,” Caitlyn repeated softly, tilting her head. Her voice cut sharper now, though her expression remained perfectly composed. “Tell me, what has influence gained us? A reputation for greed? For bleeding Zaun dry while we sit on our gilded thrones?”

A few gasps sounded. One man muttered under his breath.

Caitlyn leaned forward, elbows on the polished surface. “I’m not asking for charity. I’m asking for vision. For long-term investment. Zaun doesn’t need pity—it needs partnership. And if the Kiramman Foundation can’t recognize that, then perhaps it isn’t worthy of the legacy it claims to uphold.”

Her words landed like a stone dropped into still water.

The woman in navy frowned, but her voice softened slightly. “You speak boldly, Caitlyn. Almost… rebelliously.”

Caitlyn allowed herself a small smile. “I learned from the best.”

The board shifted uneasily, exchanging glances. The cuff-link man finally broke the silence, his tone cold. “You would risk the Foundation’s reputation, its resources, its standing, for this… idealism?”

Caitlyn’s eyes sharpened. “No. I would risk my own. The Foundation can stay exactly as it is, if that’s what you all prefer. But I will not. If you won’t support this, then I’ll create something that will. With or without your blessing.”

The weight of her words lingered in the air.

The room, once so full of quiet judgment, now seemed unsettled, almost restless.

Caitlyn sat back, her composure flawless. She had said what she came to say.

The rest was up to them.

Caitlyn marched down the halls, heels echoing throughout the building. She was headed straight to her office, head aching and throat dry from the back-to-back meetings she had to attend. She instructed her assistant, Maddie, to take an early lunch break so that Caitlyn could be left alone.

The kind of solitude she needed to think—where no one would be distracting her. Where she could let her innermost thoughts drift, her intrusive thoughts wander, and where the gears in her head go crazy.

Caitlyn had always grown up to be reserved—quiet, calm and composed. She was taught that any reaction was a weakness—that even a flicker of emotion was unacceptable.

Because she's a Kiramman.

And Kirammans don't falter.

And that's why Caitlyn Kiramman is the woman she is today. Never fails, never loses. Takes on a challenge head-on with not even a hint of fear in her eyes. She'd learn to keep her emotions to herself—shoving the feelings in the back of her head until she forgets all about it.

She wears a neutral expression like a shield—as if it'd hide all her imperfections and protect her from failure. The sharp click of her heels like a ticking time bomb and no one, not even her, knows when it'll explode.

Her shoulders threatened to sag, the tension weighting heavy. The day had barely started, and yet, she's already attended three meetings where a few board members kept insisting her presence was needed in each and every one of the meetings.

Caitlyn is an overachiever. She's a workaholic. She'd never complain about work—or the countless hours she spends at the office, her necktie wearing tight around her neck, threatening to choke her.

If anything, she was proud. Proud that people depended on her presence—it gave her a sense of responsibility, making her feel needed. Important. Useful.

She pushed her office doors open, her silver nameplate shining against the fluorescent lights.

Caitlyn Kiramman.

Silver. She didn't reach gold. Not yet.

She entered—the smell of warm tea, probably jasmine, and her mother's perfume lingering around her office like a trap.

Her parents sat at the small sofa she had in her office, a freshly brewed cup of tea for her waiting on the small coffee table at the corner. Cassandra held her cup in her palms perfectly, as if it was a noble price. She sat impeccably, legs crossed and skirt straightened. Her father, Tobias had a slightly relaxed posture—his body language calm and composed, completely unbothered.

Caitlyn gulped. Her parents never came inside her office to check on her—not for a talk, not for a conversation about the weather, never about the business. They would call her over in their office. They wouldn't come here, personally, in her office.

Cassandra placed her cup of tea back down, the tea cup clinking against the saucer. She laced her fingers together, placing her hands neatly on her lap. She set her gaze on Caitlyn—the kind of look that says: "We have news and you have no other choice but to listen and take it."

"Caitlyn," she greeted, glancing at the empty seat, motioning for her to take a seat.

Caitlyn placed her things down on her table—cautious, her mother's eyes almost burning holes into her as she moved to take a seat.

Cassandra didn’t waste time. “We’ll keep this brief. There is a matter of family concern that cannot be postponed any longer.”

Her father finally spoke, voice calm and deliberate. “Your speech about Zaun has stirred more waves than you realize. The board is unsettled. The Foundation cannot afford instability, and neither can our family. Which is why your mother and I have taken measures.”

Caitlyn’s shoulders stiffened. “Measures?”

Cassandra folded her hands neatly in her lap. “An alliance has been arranged. Between you, and Claggor of the Lanes family.”

The words hung heavy in the air. Caitlyn blinked, convinced she had misheard. “…The Lanes?”

“Yes.” Cassandra’s tone was clipped, her gaze unwavering. “The Lanes have been climbing in influence for years. Their reach extends beyond Zaunite trade now—they are carving themselves into Piltover’s markets. Claggor has proven himself capable, ambitious, and loyal. An alliance with him solidifies a partnership between our families, ensuring stability on both sides of the river.”

Her father’s expression softened, though his words were no less final. “You spoke of unity in your meeting, Caitlyn. This marriage achieves that. It presents Piltover as willing to bridge the gap while keeping the Lanes tied to us, not against us. It is… practical.”

Caitlyn’s heart hammered against her ribs. Her mouth felt dry, but the words forced their way out. “Practical? You would tie me—tie this family—for what, sales? You would use me as collateral in some grand political game?”

Cassandra’s eyes flashed. “Mind your tone. You are a Kiramman. Your life is not your own—it belongs to legacy, to duty. And yes, sometimes that duty demands sacrifice.”

Caitlyn’s jaw clenched, her composure fraying at the edges. “And what if I refuse?”

Her mother’s voice dropped to a quiet, chilling calm. “Then you risk not only your reputation, but ours. You risk undoing everything we have built. Do not mistake this for a choice, Caitlyn. It is an obligation. One you will uphold.”

"You only have one choice, Caitlyn," Tobias added, "It's either you marry someone to take over the Kiramman's council seat for you—or you step up and take it yourself."

Caitlyn had her brows slightly furrowed, a small jut of her bottom lip. Her thoughts were already spiraling. She clenched her fists, her nails digging into her palm.

“You’re asking me to chain myself to a stranger,” she said, her voice lower now, controlled, but the steel underneath unmistakable.

“No,” her mother corrected softly, a hint of cruelty in her composure. “We are asking you to remember who you are—and where your duty lies.”

Caitlyn’s nails dug deeper into her palm. For once, she didn’t drop her gaze.

“Perhaps you’ve forgotten,” she said slowly, deliberately, “but duty works both ways. And I am not a pawn you can shuffle about to keep your power intact.”

The sharp intake of breath from her mother told her she had crossed a line.

"Caitlyn," she muttered, a warning. "It's an easy decision with only two choices." 

She paused, letting her words sink in. Caitlyn’s jaw tightened. Her mother’s words wrapped around her like a vice, suffocating, leaving no room for air—no room for her own voice.

Two choices. That’s all they ever gave her.

Her gaze flicked between them, the cold certainty in her mother’s eyes and the expectant calculation in Tobias’s. She felt her nails biting crescents into her skin, a sting she welcomed—at least it reminded her she was still in control of herself.

“Two choices,” she repeated, her voice sharper than intended, almost trembling with the effort of restraint. “Marry a stranger or surrender my life to the council. Convenient for you, isn’t it?”

Tobias leaned back, unbothered, steepling his fingers. “Convenient?” he echoed, his tone infuriatingly calm. “No, Caitlyn. Practical. You will learn that practicality often outweighs desire.”

Her mother nodded once, adding with quiet finality, “You don’t have to like it. You just have to obey.”

Caitlyn’s chest constricted. She wanted to scream, to shatter their perfect marble table and demand why her happiness was always an afterthought. 

She didn’t want the seat. She didn’t want to be part of the council. She didn’t want to be like her mother—playing dirty and arranging the game to ensure her own win.

She didn’t want to marry a stranger—wear a ring on her left hand; not any type of shine or glitter—not even the glow of diamonds could blind her from the truth. She didn’t want to marry for convenience.

She didn’t want to marry a man—out of all things.

Caitlyn is a lesbian. She always had been. She’d known ever since her first crush at seven years old—a girl her age, with long brown hair and shiny green eyes. She’d been with plenty of women since—not publicly. Never publicly.

She wasn’t ashamed, no. She was careful.

She didn’t want women throwing themselves at her just because she was a Kiramman. She didn’t want the public dissecting her private relationships—whether they were serious or not.

She had always been closeted. She would never bring it up unless asked—and no one ever asked. They've always assumed. She never corrected them.

Her parents’ voices echoed in her mind, demanding, boxing her in with talk of obligation and legacy. But Caitlyn’s chest burned with defiance, the words unspoken but clawing at her throat: This is my life, not yours to script.

The thought of slipping into a loveless marriage—of letting some man play the role of partner when her heart knew it never would fit—was unbearable. She could almost feel the cold metal of a ring on her hand, heavy like a shackle.

Her fists trembled at her sides, knuckles white.

Then she thought about Zaun.

They deserved the seat more than she ever could. They needed representation—voices that had been silenced, stories ignored. Piltover already had enough of that. They didn’t need Caitlyn.

The realization pressed heavier than any ring or council robe ever could. How could she stand among them, pretending to speak for the people, when the people she cared about most had been left in the shadows?

Her hands loosened, curling instead against her sides. She wasn’t powerless—not entirely. She had a voice, and she had the choice to use it. And if her family thought they could corner her into duty, then perhaps it was time she redefined what duty meant.

If she needed to be tied into a marriage—a marriage she never wanted—so that Zaun could finally have a voice, then she’d do it.

She would do it for the families, for the children, for the people who had been silenced and ignored—disregarded until they barely existed in Piltover’s eyes.

It was a small sacrifice for change.

For growth.

For them.

So, she spoke, tone final and firm. 

"I'll do it." Her voice was barely a whisper, "But I want legal papers. I need a say in everything—what I want and what I don't. I want boundaries," she added firmly.

Cassandra and Tobias sent each other glances, satisfied with Caitlyn's acceptance.

"Good. We'll call a lawyer. We'll be meeting the Lanes tomorrow."

And with that, Cassandra and Tobias stood to leave, the door closing with a soft thud. Caitlyn took deep breaths, soothing her palms with a gentle massage. 

The silence that followed was louder than their voices. The echo of the closing door seemed to linger in the room, pressing against her chest.

Caitlyn sat still, her nails grazing the fabric of her skirt as if anchoring herself to reality. The weight of her decision settled in—iron chains disguised as duty. She told herself it was the right choice. It had to be.

For Zaun. For the children who deserved a future. For the people who deserved a voice.

Still, beneath the noble resolve, the smallest part of her wanted to scream. To tell them no. To tear through the polished walls of her family’s house and run until the city disappeared behind her.

Instead, she straightened her spine. If tomorrow was to be the start of something irreversible, then she would meet it with her head high and her terms laid clear.

Her eyes flicked to the window, the glow of Piltover’s lamps spilling across the dark horizon. Somewhere down there, in the depths of the Lanes, Claggor was likely pacing too—caught in the same web.

She exhaled slowly, whispering to herself, almost like a vow.

“This won’t break me.”

The soft hum of the road wasn’t loud enough to drown out the lingering thoughts in the back of Caitlyn’s head. She sat inside the family van, her lawyer and parents present. She nervously tapped her fingers against the file resting on her lap, eyes fixed on the passing blur of the city beyond the window.

She willed the scenery to distract her—the cobbled streets, the mechanical clatter of gears from passing trams, the faint glow of neon drifting up from Zaun. But it wasn’t enough. The knot in her chest only grew tighter with every turn of the wheel.

Her lawyer cleared his throat softly, glancing at her. “We’ll go over the documents once more before the meeting. Nothing you haven’t already seen, but I want to ensure your terms are protected.”

Caitlyn gave a stiff nod, her hand tightening on the file. Protected. The word felt hollow. How much protection could she really have when her life was being bartered like currency?

Across from her, Cassandra sat perfectly poised, hands folded, face unreadable. Tobias, on the other hand, tapped his cane lightly against the floor, as if impatient to arrive.

The van slowed as they drew closer to the industrial edge of Piltover, where polished streets gave way to smoke-stained stone and the faint sting of Zaun’s air seeped through the cracks. Caitlyn’s heart skipped, her throat tightening.

Tomorrow had come sooner than she was ready for.

They reached the other side of the bridge, the Lanes’ building looming tall in the heart of Zaun. Its frame was sturdy, though worn with smoke and time, standing like a challenge against Piltover’s polished skyline.

Passersby slowed, their stares sharp and unfiltered—curiosity, suspicion, and disgust flickering across their faces as the family van rolled deeper into their streets. Some whispered, others folded their arms, watching like hawks as if the very sight of Piltover’s colors crossing into their world was an offense.

Caitlyn swallowed hard, her fingers tightening around the file on her lap. The contrast was suffocating: the air was heavier here, tinted with smoke and grit, but beneath it thrummed a raw kind of life that Piltover’s pristine walls would never allow.

The van pulled to a stop before the entrance. The driver’s quiet announcement felt louder than it should have. Tobias adjusted his cuffs, Cassandra lifted her chin, and the lawyer gathered his papers.

Caitlyn exhaled, slow and steady, her palms clammy despite her best efforts. The door opened, and the smell of Zaun swept in—oil, smoke, and something wild, untamed.

It was time.

The car door was opened, her parents stepping out first while bodyguards fanned out, forming a wall of polished steel and silent menace. Caitlyn followed, smoothing down her collar, forcing her movements to remain steady as she walked up to her parents’ side.

The Lanes were already waiting outside the building. Their presence didn’t need guards or weapons to command attention—the crowd seemed to lean around them, silent power radiating in the way they stood, rooted and unshaken.

Vander broke the stillness, stepping forward with a calm authority that made even the Piltover guards shift in place.

“Tobias. Cassandra. Pleasure to see you again,” he greeted, voice warm yet edged with a weight that spoke louder than any threat.

Tobias inclined his head, his tone measured. “Vander. It’s been some time.”

Cassandra’s smile was thin, polite but distant. “You’ve built quite a presence here.”

Vander’s eyes flicked briefly to Caitlyn, a glimmer of something unreadable in his expression before he returned his attention to her parents. Behind him, Claggor stood firm, shoulders squared, gaze steady. He looked nervous, but there was a quiet determination in the way he carried himself.

The air between the two families crackled with unspoken history. Piltover’s polished dominance against Zaun’s unyielding resilience.

And Caitlyn, standing between them, felt the weight of a city pressing down on her shoulders.

As their parents exchanged formalities, Caitlyn’s gaze shifted to the man beside Vander.

Claggor.

He stood at Vander’s side like a pillar, posture squared, his expression unreadable. There was no friendliness, no curiosity—only the cool detachment of someone fulfilling his role.

Their eyes met briefly. No warmth passed between them, no recognition beyond what the arrangement demanded.

“Caitlyn,” Vander said, his tone even, “this is Claggor.”

She gave a polite nod, her words practiced and clipped. “A pleasure.”

Claggor returned the gesture with the same measured restraint. “Likewise.”

But what really caught Caitlyn’s attention was Violet—Vander’s eldest daughter—standing at the doorway. Her arms were crossed, her stance wide and defiant, with an obvious annoyance plastered across her face.

Unlike Vander and Claggor, Violet made no effort to hide her feelings. Her glare cut straight through the polished formality of the moment, a silent challenge aimed not just at Caitlyn but at the entire procession of Piltover suits and guards.

Caitlyn shifted her weight, refusing to flinch under the scrutiny. Still, the heat of Violet’s stare lingered, brash and unrelenting, in a way that made the tension in the air heavier than before.

Vander’s voice carried over, calm but firm. “Vi.”

She didn’t move at first, only narrowed her eyes, jaw set tight. Then, with a grunt, she stepped aside to allow the group through, though her displeasure was written in every line of her posture.

The contrast was jarring—Claggor, the steady heir; Caitlyn, the polished daughter; and Violet, the storm at the door.

Caitlyn sat beside her parents, her file neatly placed in front of her. Across the table, Vander took the head seat, Claggor at his right, and Vi slouched into the chair beside him, her arms still folded as though she’d been dragged there against her will.

The lawyer adjusted his papers, clearing his throat. “Let’s begin.”

Tobias spoke first, his voice smooth and deliberate. “The purpose of this arrangement is stability. Piltover and Zaun both stand to benefit from cooperation. Through this union, our families can present a united front. In exchange, resources and influence will be shared, fairly.”

Vander leaned back, his arms crossed. “Fairly,” he repeated, the word carrying weight. “Zaun’s had its fill of Piltover’s definition of fairness.”

Cassandra’s smile didn’t waver. “That’s why we’re here to put everything in writing.”

The lawyer slid a draft contract across the table toward Claggor and Vander. “Terms include shared decision-making, clearly defined boundaries, and legal protections for both parties.”

The steady shuffle of papers filled the silence until Caitlyn placed her hand flat on the file in front of her. Her movements were deliberate, calm, but her voice carried a firmness that made every eye in the room shift to her.

“I want my terms made clear.”

Tobias glanced at her, a flicker of surprise crossing his face, but he didn’t interrupt. Cassandra’s eyes narrowed slightly, though she, too, remained silent.

Caitlyn opened her file, sliding a neatly typed page toward the lawyer. “These are the boundaries I expect written into the contract. Non-negotiable.”

She lifted her gaze, meeting Vander’s calm stare, then Claggor’s neutral one.

“First,” she began, tone sharp, “I will retain control of my personal finances, inheritance, and assets. Nothing merges. What is mine remains mine.”

The lawyer scribbled notes.

“Second, this marriage will not dictate my career. I do not wish to be controlled in any way.”

Her eyes flicked briefly toward Vi, who still lounged in her chair with thinly veiled impatience. Caitlyn ignored her.

“Third, no decisions regarding my person—residence, health, or future—will be made without my explicit written consent. I want legal assurance of that.”

The weight of her words settled over the table. Tobias shifted slightly in his seat, Cassandra’s lips pressed into a line, but Caitlyn pressed on.

“Fourth, this arrangement is to remain strictly business. No expectations outside of appearances or obligations required by both families. That must be documented clearly.”

The silence that followed was heavy, cut only by the scratch of the lawyer’s pen.

“And lastly,” Caitlyn continued, her tone firm, “I understand the public must know about this… arrangement to keep it believable. But let it be known that our interactions outside of what’s required will be limited. Appearances only—events, gatherings, meetings that serve their purpose. Nothing more.”

She let the words hang, unflinching as her parents shifted beside her.

Claggor gave a single nod. “That works.”

Caitlyn leaned back in her chair, her chin lifted, her voice final: “If those terms are not included, I walk away. There will be no deal.”

"Caitlyn," Cassandra muttered.

Caitlyn didn't falter, she kept her back straight and hands laced, resting on the table. 

"This is the only way I'll feel secure, that I still have control over my own life. Fail to understand these terms and I will not proceed."

The room lingered in silence, the weight of Caitlyn’s words pressing down on everyone seated at the table.

Vander was the first to break it. He leaned forward, resting his forearms on the table, his gaze steady on Caitlyn. “You don’t waste words,” he said evenly. “Good. Boundaries make things clear. Zaun doesn’t need another deal filled with half-truths and loopholes.”

Claggor gave a small nod, his expression unreadable, but there was no objection.

Cassandra’s shoulders eased, ever so slightly. Tobias only adjusted his cuffs, though his jaw was tight.

Then Vi let out a sharp laugh, the sound loud and unrestrained against the careful diplomacy in the room. She leaned back in her chair, arms still folded.

“Boundaries, huh?” she drawled, her eyes narrowing at Caitlyn. “Sounds less like a marriage and more like a contract between strangers.”

Caitlyn turned her head, meeting Vi’s stare without flinching. Her voice was calm, clipped. “That’s exactly what it is.”

The tension sparked again, thick as smoke, the air between the two women sharp enough to cut.

Vander cleared his throat, the low rumble silencing the room. “Enough. What matters is that both sides know where they stand.” His gaze swept over Caitlyn, then Vi, before returning to the lawyer. 

“Write it down.”

Caitlyn cleared her throat, her gaze landing on Claggor.

“You should know,” she said evenly, “these boundaries are not intended to undermine you. They exist to protect both of us. Neither of us asked for this arrangement, but it will function if we treat it as a partnership.”

Claggor met her eyes, his expression steady, almost unreadable. “Understood,” he replied, his tone flat but firm. “I’ll hold to my end if you hold to yours.”

There was no warmth, no hint of camaraderie—just an agreement sealed in the air between them. Two signatures waiting to be written on paper.

The lawyer nodded, jotting the exchange down as if it were another clause for the contract. Cassandra’s lips curved into a thin smile, satisfied that Caitlyn had found a way to frame her demands without fracturing the deal.

Vander studied her for a long moment, then leaned back in his chair. “Believable enough to satisfy Piltover. Believable enough to keep Zaun from thinking we’ve bent to your rules. That’s all that matters.”

Cassandra finally spoke after some time of just observing.

“The wedding will be held in two weeks. The engagement will be announced next week at the shareholder’s gathering,” she said smoothly, as though every detail had already been planned long before Caitlyn’s consent.

Her words landed with finality, drawing a quiet shift through the room.

Tobias adjusted his cuffs, nodding in agreement. “The timing is efficient. Quick enough to prevent rumors, controlled enough to shape the narrative.”

"Keep the wedding small. I don't want a grand event for a fake wedding," Caitlyn interrupted.

Vander gave a slow grunt, neither pleased nor displeased. “Two weeks, then. Zaun will make its own announcement. We won’t have Piltover speaking for us.”

Caitlyn’s fingers tightened around the edge of her file, the reality settling heavier with every word. Dates, announcements, events—it was no longer theory. It was motion.

The lawyer looked between both families, tapping his pen. “Then the contract must be signed today. Both parties need to leave with assurance.”

Vi let out a sharp laugh, leaning back in her chair. “Guess congratulations are in order.”

Her smirk was pointed, eyes flicking to Caitlyn with deliberate provocation.

Caitlyn inhaled slowly, her expression smooth and unreadable. “I’m sure Zaun will be celebrating, seeing as you’ll finally have a seat on the council.”

Vi arched a brow, leaning forward just enough for her voice to carry an edge. “Don’t act like you’re handing us a gift. We earned that seat—we’re just cutting through Piltover’s red tape to get it.”

Caitlyn didn’t blink. Her tone was steady, precise, each word cutting clean. “Call it what you like. At the end of the day, the only reason you’re getting what you want is through this marriage. The marriage I’m forced into. So yes—” her gaze locked with Vi’s, unwavering “—you’re very much welcome.”

For a heartbeat, the room stilled.

Vi’s smirk faltered, replaced by a flash of something sharper—anger, pride, maybe both. She leaned back again, a dry laugh escaping her. “Careful, cupcake. That crown of yours is showing.”

Caitlyn’s lips curved, just barely. “I'd sit on my throne, but I've already gifted that away."

Before Violet could come up with another snarky reply—Caitlyn interrupted, "Plus, I'd rather a crown than chains," she muttered, unbothered.

The lawyer cleared his throat loudly, pulling the attention back to the table. “If we’re finished with… commentary, I suggest we conclude the session.” 

Chapter Text

The meeting concluded after two whole hours of silent tension, signing papers and laying out the terms and conditions of it all. Caitlyn was exhausted—from the tension, from the cage she was being forced into, from everything.

Her parents moved to the door, speaking quietly with the lawyer. The Lanes began filing out as well, Vander’s broad figure casting a shadow over the threshold.

Only Violet lingered.

She leaned casually against the wall near the exit, arms crossed, gaze pinned on Caitlyn like a predator biding its time. The smirk from earlier had vanished, replaced by something colder, sharper.

Caitlyn rose, smoothing the front of her jacket before stepping toward the door. She ignored Violet at first, but as she passed, a voice low and rough cut through the air.

“You really think you’re untouchable, huh?”

Caitlyn stopped, exhaling slowly before glancing over her shoulder. “No. But I do think I’m necessary. That’s the difference.”

Violet pushed off the wall, closing the space between them with deliberate steps. “Necessary doesn’t mean wanted.”

Caitlyn met her stare, unflinching. “Hm, necessary means I’m needed, though. You might not want me here,” she said, defiance in her tone, “but we all know you need me.”

Violet’s mouth curved, but it wasn’t a smile. It was all teeth, all edge. “Don’t flatter yourself, cupcake. What we need is the seat. You’re just the string tied to it.”

Caitlyn tilted her head, letting her eyes narrow the slightest fraction. “Strings still hold things together. Cut them, and everything unravels.”

The air between them was taut, brittle, each word winding the coil tighter. If anyone else had been left in the room, they would’ve felt it—heat without flame, a storm waiting to break.

Violet’s jaw flexed, her eyes narrowing. “You talk like you’re the only one sacrificing something.”

Caitlyn’s lips curved into something too sharp to be called a smile. “Aren’t I?”

That landed, if only for a second. Violet’s silence stretched just long enough to betray the sting, but then she gave a short, humorless laugh. “Careful, cupcake. Keep talking like that, and you’ll find out just how replaceable you really are.”

Caitlyn smirked, clearly amused with the Zaunite’s tough skull and sharp tongue. “Replaceable,” she repeated, unconvinced. “Funny—if that were true, we wouldn’t be standing here, wasting time on each other.”

Violet’s smirk twitched, threatening to break into a scowl. “Don’t confuse convenience with importance. You’re the pretty ribbon they’re slapping on the package to make it sell.”

Caitlyn tilted her head, eyes flicking down Violet’s frame before lifting again, deliberate. “And you’re the blunt weapon they send in to make it hurt. Guess we both play our roles well.”

Violet leaned in, close enough that Caitlyn could feel the heat of her breath. “You’ll learn real quick, cupcake—Zaun doesn’t keep things around just because they look nice.”

Caitlyn chuckled, "And Piltover doesn't keep things around unless they serve a purpose."

Violet’s eyes narrowed, the corner of her mouth twitching in something between irritation and reluctant respect. “Useful’s one word for it.”

Caitlyn let the silence linger, then leaned just slightly forward, her voice soft but cutting. “Another word might be… irreplaceable.”

The spark in Violet’s eyes flared, sharp enough to cut through the air between them. She opened her mouth, ready with a retort, but the sound of Vander’s voice calling her name from the other end of the hall cut her off.

For a fraction of a second, they held each other’s gaze, tension humming like a live wire—then Violet straightened, pulling back with a scoff. “Don’t get comfortable, cupcake. This isn’t your world.”

Caitlyn smiled faintly, unshaken. “Your family is about to enter my world,” she retorted, heels clicking as she walked past Violet. At the doorway, she paused, her hand brushing the frame as she half-turned back. Her tone was cool, edged with warning. “Be careful, Violet. My world isn’t as shiny as you think it is.”

Violet leaned against the table, arms crossed as she watched Caitlyn leave. She scoffed, half-amused and half-irritated.

Claggor re-entered the room, breaking Violet's brooding silence. "Violet, Vander's calling."

Violet rolled her eyes, running her fingers through her hair.

Claggor chuckled, resting a hand on his sister's shoulder. "Piltie's already got you riled up? It's barely been a week since we met them."

Violet scoffed, shrugging off his hand. "I’m not riled up. Just don’t like her act. All polished smiles and clipped words, like she’s too good to breathe the same air as us.”

Claggor raised a brow, unconvinced. “Funny. For someone you ‘don’t like,’ you’ve sure spent a lot of time thinking about her.”

Violet shot him a glare sharp enough to silence most men, but Claggor only smirked, clearly amused.

“Come on,” he said, gesturing toward the hall. “Before Vander comes looking for you himself. And maybe try not to pick a fight this time.”

Violet muttered something under her breath but started walking anyway, her fists curling and unclenching at her sides.

Vander stood with the Kirammans, him and Tobias speaking quietly in the lobby. Cassandra and Caitlyn were off to the side, their lawyer flipping through documents and discussing extra details in a low, practiced tone.

Caitlyn’s eyes weren’t on the papers, though. They were fixed on the building’s entrance, sharp and calculating, as if memorizing every crack in the walls, every shadow that lingered too long. She looked out of place here—polished boots against oil-stained floors, crisp fabric in a place that chewed up silk and spat out threadbare rags.

Violet spotted her from down the hall, jaw tightening instinctively. She shoved her hands deeper into her pockets, muttering, “Great. Just what I needed.”

“Play nice,” Claggor teased under his breath as he passed her, heading for the group.

Violet ignored him, her eyes narrowing as she strode toward the lobby, her presence impossible to miss.

Vander’s eyes landed on her as she approached. “Ah, there they are.”

Caitlyn tore her attention away from the walls and straightened her stance, slipping back into the mask of composure her parents expected.

Tobias adjusted his cufflinks, voice even. “Business concluded, then.”

But Cassandra wasn’t finished. She stepped forward, her smile faint but deliberate. “One more thing. I’d like to invite you all to the Kiramman estate for dinner. Just us—both families. A chance to sit properly and speak without walls listening.”

Vander studied her a moment, the weight of the offer not lost on him. Private dinners with Piltover’s finest weren’t extended lightly.

At his side, Violet shifted, her arms folding over her chest as though she could already taste the polished silver and suffocating formality.

“Dinner,” she muttered under her breath, earning a look from Claggor.

Vander inclined his head, polite and measured. “We’ll come.”

Caitlyn’s eyes flicked to Violet at that, her expression unreadable, though there was the faintest curve to her lips—as if she knew exactly how much Violet hated the idea.

Tobias had a faint smile, "Great. We'll see you tonight."

Violet paced the room, boots thudding against the uneven floorboards, hands planted firmly on her hips. Her scowl deepened with every turn she made, jaw tight, shoulders squared like she was preparing for a fight rather than a meal.

Her siblings sat clustered around the desk, eyes following her like cautious spectators. No one spoke. Not yet.

Finally, Claggor leaned back in his chair with a sigh. “You’re gonna wear a hole in the floor at this rate.”

Violet shot him a glare sharp enough to cut steel. “Better than sitting around pretending this is normal.”

Mylo raised a brow. “It’s dinner, Violet. Not a death sentence.”

“Easy for you to say,” she snapped, spinning on her heel. “You’re not the one who’s gonna be stuck across the table from Little Miss Perfect, listening to her polished voice talk down at us like we’re dirt she tracked in.”

Powder frowned, fiddling with the gears in her lap. “She didn’t sound that bad…”

Violet groaned, dragging her hands down her face. “Powder, you weren’t even paying attention.”

“Doesn’t mean I didn’t hear,” Powder muttered.

Claggor chuckled under his breath. “You’re wound up over nothing.”

“Nothing?” Violet’s laugh was humorless, sharp. “She looked me dead in the eye and said she’s necessary. Like we should be grateful she’s deigning to exist in the same room as us.”

Mylo smirked, leaning forward. “Sounds like she got under your skin.”

“Under my—” Violet jabbed a finger toward him. “She thinks she’s better than us. I’m not gonna sit there smiling while she acts like she’s doing us a favor.”

Claggor raised a brow, unimpressed. “You are gonna sit there, though. And you’re not gonna start a fight in the middle of a fancy dining hall, because Vander will have your head if you do.”

Violet’s fists clenched, then unclenched. She turned back to pacing, muttering curses under her breath.

Powder peeked up at her, wide-eyed. “You’ll behave, right? Just this once?”

Violet stopped, exhaling sharply through her nose. “I’ll… try.”

Mylo snorted, nearly choking on his laugh. Claggor gave Powder a warning look, but even he was struggling not to grin.

Violet froze mid-step, whipping her head toward her sister. “Excuse me?”

Powder shrugged, feigning innocence as she tightened the bolt on her gadget. “Just saying. You’d either punch her or combust. Probably both.”

Claggor leaned back in his chair, smirking. “She’s not wrong.”

Violet pointed at him like she was about to launch into a full tirade, then groaned and threw her hands up. “Unbelievable. My own family’s ganging up on me.”

“You make it too easy,” Mylo said, grinning.

Violet glared at all three of them, but the red in her cheeks betrayed her. She turned back to the door, muttering under her breath, “Two minutes. Please. I’d last at least five.”

"Pft," Claggor snorted, "You were on the verge of combustion earlier—and that was when they've barely entered the door."

Violet whipped around, eyes narrowing. “I was not on the verge of anything.”

Claggor leaned forward on his elbows, grin tugging at his mouth. “Violet, you looked like you were about to bite her head off the second she opened her mouth.”

Mylo lifted a hand, smirking. “Correction: she opened her mouth and you opened your temper.”

Powder snickered behind her gears. “Five minutes, huh? You’ll be lucky to survive the soup course.”

Violet dragged her palms down her face, groaning. “Why do I even bother with you people?”

“Because you love us,” Claggor said smoothly, ducking just in time as Violet tossed a balled-up rag at his head.

"I’ll pay for your therapy, Clagg. Marrying her is even worse than torture, I feel bad for you,” Violet teased, leaning against the wall with her arms crossed.

Clagg rolled his eyes, unimpressed. “Generous offer, but you might wanna save up for your own sessions first. You’re the one who can’t go thirty seconds without blowing a gasket around her.”

Powder snorted, nearly dropping the gadget in her hands. “He’s right. You’ll need double sessions—one for the temper, one for the denial.”

Mylo smirked, kicking his boots up on the desk. “Honestly, I’d pay good money to see Violet and Caitlyn locked in the same room for an hour. Wouldn’t even need a fight pit. Pure entertainment.”

Violet groaned, dragging a hand down her face. “You’re all insufferable.”

“Maybe,” Claggor said with a shrug, “but we’re not the ones sweating over a Pilty.”

That earned him a glare, but the flush in Violet’s cheeks only deepened.

Vander’s heavy footsteps echoed in the hall. He leaned into the doorway, arms crossed. “Time to go. And Violet—” his gaze pinned her, steady and sharp, “you’re on your best behavior tonight. No excuses.”

Violet huffed, shoving her hands into her pockets. “Yeah, yeah. Best behavior. Got it.”

Her siblings traded skeptical looks as they stood to follow Vander out.

Caitlyn watched the city lights from her balcony, a glass of champagne already balanced between her fingers. If she had to endure another torturous hour with the Lanes, she’d need an early drink—something to smooth the edges, to steady her before she faced them again.

The glass was cold against her palm, but her thoughts burned. Their laughter, their rough voices still clung to her ears from the earlier meeting. The way Violet’s words had scraped, cutting sharp on purpose. Caitlyn tilted her head back and took a long sip.

Below, Piltover hummed—trains rattling over rails, factories churning smoke into the night. A world she knew, predictable, polished, ruled by order. Yet, the thought of inviting chaos into her home tonight made her stomach coil.

Her mother’s voice echoed faintly from the hall, calm and measured as she gave instructions to the staff. Dinner was already in motion. There would be no turning back.

Caitlyn exhaled slowly, her grip tightening on the stem of her glass. If nothing else, she would face them with the same poise as always. They could sneer, they could scowl—but she would not flinch.

And if Violet Lane tried to strike another nerve… Caitlyn smirked faintly to herself, swirling the champagne. Let her try.

When she descended the staircase, she did so in sharp tailoring—a crisp white button-down tucked neatly beneath a fitted navy vest, the matching trousers cut clean and long over pointed heels. A silver watch glinted on her wrist, understated but deliberate, every piece chosen with precision.

The choice wasn’t an accident. Dresses were expected; tradition demanded she present herself as Piltover’s perfect daughter, soft and agreeable. But tonight wasn’t about tradition—it was about strategy. The vest’s sharp lines and the trousers’ stark simplicity said what she wouldn’t put into words: she wasn’t here to be ornamental.

The servants glanced up as she passed, and even Cassandra’s lips pressed thin at the sight, but Caitlyn kept her stride measured, calm. Her hair fell loose around her shoulders, softening the edges of the look just enough to keep it poised, but her expression remained unreadable.

When she entered the dining hall, her gaze flicked immediately to the Zaunites. She caught Violet’s eyes first—the moment stretching, taut and silent. For just a second, Caitlyn swore she saw Violet’s smirk falter, her attention caught despite herself.

Caitlyn adjusted the cuff of her sleeve, unbothered. If Violet thought she’d come down dressed like a doll to decorate Piltover’s side of the table, she was sorely mistaken.

Caitlyn’s heels clicked softly against the marble as she crossed the dining hall. Her expression was composed, polite, her posture immaculate.

She approached Claggor first, extending her hand. “Claggor,” she said smoothly, her tone practiced but not cold. “I trust you’re settling in well.”

Claggor looked momentarily surprised before recovering with a polite smile, shaking her hand. “As well as one can.”

Next, Caitlyn turned to the others—Powder, who looked like she’d rather be anywhere else, and Mylo, whose smirk she ignored with well-trained grace. Her words were measured, brief courtesies offered with the same level of civility she gave in Piltover’s parlors.

And then there was Violet.

Caitlyn’s gaze lingered on her siblings just a second longer, making her intention clear before she finally shifted her eyes toward Violet.

“Violet,” she said, her voice cool and deliberate, as though testing the weight of the name on her tongue.

She didn’t extend her hand this time. She simply inclined her head the faintest fraction, a gesture balanced precariously between respect and dismissal.

The silence stretched for a breath too long. Violet’s jaw flexed, her eyes narrowing in challenge, but Caitlyn’s expression remained perfectly composed.

Then Caitlyn turned, as though nothing of note had passed between them, moving to take her seat at the table.

Dinner began shortly, the soft scraping of utensils on the delicate porcelain causing Powder to internally cringe. Mylo couldn't tell the difference between forks and felt like he was on trial when trying to choose the correct fork in front of the Cassandra Kiramman. Claggor tried to look composed but furrowed his brows with frustration.

And Violet looked like she wanted to beat something up for all the misery she's feeling.

Cassandra picked up her glass, clinking it with a fork. "A toast," she announced, her eyes scanning the Lanes' before landing on her daughter, Caitlyn. "To new beginnings."

Caitlyn picked up her glass, her long, delicate fingers holding the glass with practiced poise. The crystal caught the candlelight, reflecting against the sharp lines of her suit.

“To unity,” she said smoothly, her voice calm and deliberate.

Claggor followed, raising his glass. “To partnership.”

Powder shrugged, lifting hers with a half-smile. “To surviving this dinner.”

Vander chuckled under his breath, masking it with a sip, but Cassandra’s lips pressed into a thin line.

Then Violet leaned forward, glass in hand, her smirk tugging wider as her eyes locked onto Caitlyn. “To honesty,” she said, her voice low, daring.

The table hushed. Caitlyn’s grip on her glass tightened, though she did not look away.

Caitlyn scoffed, muttering something under her breath in another language, clearly annoyed. Tobias shushed her, trying—and failing—not to grin at her choice of words.

Her lips curved, slow and controlled, into a faint smile. “Then let’s hope you can manage it for one evening.”

The aroma of steak, wine, and regret lingered in the dining room. Soft clinks of glass and the scrape of cutlery made Caitlyn flinch, every sound sharp against the silence. The air hung heavy with tension, duty, and unspoken frustration.

Caitlyn shifted in her chair, her napkin creased tight between restless fingers. Every polite smile from across the table felt more like a blade pressed to her throat. Her father’s voice droned on, low and measured, words coated in diplomacy but sharpened with expectation. Her mother sat regal at the head of the table, wine glass poised, eyes flitting toward Caitlyn with the kind of silent command that required no words at all.

The food tasted like nothing. Each bite was just another performance, another mask. Conversation ebbed and flowed around her—discussions of alliances, politics, responsibilities—until the only sound Caitlyn could hear was her own heartbeat, loud and aching against the quiet suffocation of the room.

And then, when she dared to glance up, she caught Violet’s eyes across the table. That single, reckless spark threatened to set the entire room ablaze.

Cassandra’s voice cut through the stale quiet, clear and deliberate.

“So. The wedding.”

The word dropped like a stone into the middle of the table. Caitlyn’s fork froze mid-air, her appetite vanishing entirely. Her father hummed in agreement, as though it were already settled, already inevitable.

“Guest lists will need to be finalized soon,” Cassandra continued, swirling her wine with careful elegance. “The Kirammans have a reputation to uphold, and appearances matter. I expect you both to take this seriously.”

Every word tightened the noose around Caitlyn’s throat. Her mother’s gaze lingered on her, sharp and assessing, while Violet sat stiff beside her, jaw clenched, fighting every instinct not to snarl back.

"We have much to plan," Cassandra reminded, looking expectantly at Caitlyn and Claggor—who was desperately trying to avoid eye contact. "Like the ring, the dress, the decorations," she continued.

Caitlyn hummed. "My assistant can deal with that."

Her answer earned a pointed pause, the clink of Cassandra’s glass against the table louder than it should have been.

“Your assistant?” her mother repeated, each syllable measured, trimmed with disdain.

Caitlyn’s lips curved, but it wasn’t a smile. “She’s rather good at handling details I don’t care for.”

Across the table, Violet’s mouth twitched—caught somewhere between a smirk and a snarl—as if daring Cassandra to press further. Claggor shifted uncomfortably in his chair, suddenly very interested in the untouched peas on his plate.

“You may delegate,” Cassandra allowed, her tone crisp, “but you will not dismiss. A wedding is not merely a celebration—it is a statement. One that carries weight far beyond yourself.”

Caitlyn’s grip on her wine stem tightened. “And yet,” she murmured, her gaze flicking sideways toward Violet, “it’s still mine.”

Powder, uncomfortable with the tension, cut in. "We can handle a few of those things, too, if you'd like the assistance," she offered.

Vander looked at his youngest daughter approvingly. "Ah, yes. Powder has quite the eye for those things, she can take that off your plate."

Caitlyn’s lips curved into something gentler this time, a shadow of a smile breaking through the stiffness. “Then it’s settled,” she said, meeting Powder’s nervous eyes with quiet gratitude.

Cassandra’s glass hovered at her lips, her expression composed but her silence heavy. She set it down with a muted click. “If you insist,” she said smoothly.

The meal dragged on, each course served with the same quiet ceremony, each bite tasting of little more than formality. Conversation dipped into logistics—venues, timing, guest lists—but Caitlyn answered sparingly, her voice clipped, polite, untouchable.

Vander kept the peace where he could, steering topics toward neutral ground. Claggor managed a few awkward jokes that earned strained chuckles, while Powder kept sneaking glances at Caitlyn as if to silently reassure her that she wasn’t alone in this battlefield disguised as a dining room.

At last, plates were cleared, wine glasses drained. Cassandra set her napkin neatly on the table, her gaze sweeping across the guests. “We’ve made progress,” she declared, her tone firm, final, as though she alone had decided it. “I expect updates soon.”

Caitlyn merely inclined her head, her jaw aching from restraint.

The two families rose, heading out to the main gate. The Lanes' family driver arrived shortly, the van door sliding open as their chauffeur waited for them to enter.

The Kirammans stood at the door, politely waiting for their guests to enter. Cassandra’s smile was practiced, precise, the kind that never reached her eyes. Her husband murmured parting courtesies, firm handshakes exchanged in the dim light of the entryway.

"Thank you for inviting us, it was a pleasure," Vander thanked, shaking Tobias' hand firmly.

"The pleasure was ours," Cassandra replied smoothly.

Vander shot Claggor an expectant look, his gaze switching from Claggor to Caitlyn.

Claggor hesitated, then stepped forward, offering his large hand. “This was… eventful. Thank you for dinner,” he said, his tone polite but carrying an honesty that made the words less polished than the Kirammans were used to.

Caitlyn regarded him for a beat, the corners of her mouth twitching before she placed her hand in his. “Eventful is one word for it,” she murmured, just loud enough for him to hear.

Claggor’s lips tugged upward in a faint grin, but his eyes flickered toward Cassandra, who stood nearby with the kind of rigid poise that made warmth feel unwelcome.

“Safe travels,” Cassandra interjected smoothly, her voice carrying the weight of dismissal wrapped in civility.

Violet brushed past Claggor then, her shoulder nearly grazing Caitlyn’s as she moved toward the van.

Powder bowed her head politely, "I'll, uh, start your wedding planning tomorrow and send you the draft."

Caitlyn’s lips softened into a polite smile, but the gratitude in her eyes was sincere. “Thank you, Powder.”

The younger girl brightened just enough to puff her chest in pride, before scurrying into the van under Vander’s gentle nudge. Claggor followed, ducking his head in farewell, and Vander lingered just long enough to give Caitlyn a steady, grounding nod—a silent acknowledgment she clung to.

Then the door slid shut, muffling everything, and the van pulled away into the quiet street.

Behind her, Cassandra’s hand rested against Caitlyn’s arm with delicate precision. “Progress,” her mother murmured, as if claiming the evening as a victory.

Caitlyn didn’t answer. Her eyes stayed fixed on the retreating tail lights until they vanished from sight.

Chapter Text

Caitlyn sat inside the Kiramman van, her fingertips drumming against her lap in a restless rhythm.

Once again, the van made its way toward the Lanes’ building. Wedding preparations had demanded her presence, and Caitlyn had decided it was wiser to arrange them here in Zaun rather than Piltover, where every curious eye tracked her every move like vultures circling.

That much was expected. The whole city was obsessed with the Kiramman family, waiting for the moment their polished facade cracked.

And since she was to marry Claggor Lanes, his family would inevitably be tied to hers. Better, then, to try to get along.

Or—at the very least—to avoid starting an argument every time she opened her mouth.

Especially with Violet Lanes. The sister with far too many opinions, and all of them sharpened like knives against Caitlyn’s throat.

Being near her was like walking barefoot on broken glass: every word Caitlyn spoke was met with a sharp retort, every silence filled with bristling disdain.

As if marrying a stranger wasn’t enough torment. As if marrying a man wasn’t enough. No—she also had to endure his hot-headed, sharp-tongued, maddeningly opinionated sister.

Great. Caitlyn thought, dragging in a breath. This would be fun.

Caitlyn glanced out the window, watching the familiar descent—Piltover’s shining towers shrinking in the distance, swallowed by the dim haze that clung to the Undercity.

She hated to admit it, but there was something grounding about being here. In Piltover, she felt like a display piece—eyes on her gown, her posture, the angle of her smile. Here? The stares were no less piercing, but they weren’t polite. They weren’t rehearsed.

They were honest.

The van pulled to a stop in front of the Lanes’ building, tall and battered but sturdy enough to withstand Zaun’s rough edges. A cluster of children scattered from the steps as the door slid open, their laughter echoing down the street.

Caitlyn smoothed her skirt, inhaled once, and stepped out.

A tall woman with a broad frame approached her. The heavy steps, the mechanical whir of her metal arm, and the sharp scar across her cheek left little doubt she wasn’t someone to mess with.

“Good morning, Miss Kiramman,” the woman greeted, voice low and measured. “I’m Sevika. The Lanes’ right hand.”

Caitlyn straightened her posture instinctively, smoothing the fabric of her coat before offering a polite nod. “Good morning, Sevika.”

"Powder is in her office, she's been notified of your arrival. You can follow me,"

Without waiting for a reply, Sevika turned on her heel, boots striking heavy against the worn floorboards.

The building swallowed them whole, its dim halls a sharp contrast to Piltover’s polished brightness. The air smelled faintly of metal and oil, of smoke and something acrid Caitlyn couldn’t place.

Her steps were careful, heels clicking softly behind Sevika’s deliberate pace. She could feel eyes on her—workers pausing mid-task, children peering from doorways, whispers following her as though the Kiramman name carried its own gravity.

She lifted her chin, refusing to shrink under their gaze.

Powder sat with her legs crossed in a way she knows she'd get scolded for if she sat that way in meetings with the board, her notes scattered all over her desk, and her monitor overloaded with different tabs.

She had her draft ready—well, almost. She still needed to figure out Caitlyn's preferences before she could finalize everything.

Her notes included different shops, names of photographers, types of cake, different flowers and a few other things she just guessed Caitlyn might like.

The knock on her door startled her, scaring her into sitting properly, legs crossed and back straight. She closed a few unnecessary tabs—like instagram where she tried stalking Caitlyn only to find out she isn't on any type of social media—and cleared her throat.

"Come in."

Caitlyn enters the room and Powder suddenly feels as if she's on trial. She straightens her stance once more, suddenly feeling self conscious under Caitlyn's gaze.

Powder tried not to squirm. She’d expected someone cold, sharp, impossible to please. Instead, the woman before her looked… tired. The kind of tired no amount of tea or rest could fix.

"Good morning, Powder. I trust you've come up with something by now?" she greets, approaching Powder's desk.

Powder clears her throat once more, the words seemingly getting caught in between her nerves. "Uh, yes," she starts, gathering her written notes and opening her digital document. "I just need to know a few of your preferences so I can finalize everything."

Caitlyn tilts her head, taking a look at the draft Powder has come up with. "Hm, I'm fine with anything, really."

Powder frowns. "I know it's not a real wedding," she states, "but it's still your wedding. A little personalization won't hurt," she reminds, not unkindly.

Caitlyn's expression softens, inching closer to the notes scattered. "Okay," she mutters, "What do you need to know?"

Caitlyn takes a seat, hands folded neatly over her lap. Powder beams, clicking her pen open.

“We need to decide on colors, flowers, your ring and your dress,” Powder said, listing them off like she was presenting a quarterly report.

Caitlyn blinked. “All of that today?”

“Well—” Powder fidgeted, twirling her pen once before jotting something down. “Not all finalized today, but we need a direction. A vibe. Otherwise this wedding is going to look like… I don’t know, a funeral crossed with a tea party.”

Caitlyn almost smiled at that. Almost. “Heaven forbid.”

Powder’s lips quirked, and she glanced up, encouraged. “Exactly. So. Colors. What do you like?”

"The Kiramman colors will do."

Powder arched an eyebrow, "Is that what you want?"

Caitlyn hesitated, caught off guard by the genuine question. Her life was so often dictated for her that she hadn’t considered what she liked. She opened her mouth, then closed it again, folding her hands tighter. "Yes.”

Powder caught the way Caitlyn hesitated, the way her eyes widened—as if she was surprised to be questioned on something based on her own opinion rather than family expectation or company duty.

Powder didn't bring it up.

"Okay," she nodded, jutting it down in her notepad. "How about flowers?"

Caitlyn's lips pressed into a thin line—fighting with her inner options, again.

“White roses,” Caitlyn said at last. Her jaw tightened. “They’re generic. Basic. Expected. I don’t… I don’t need a personalized wedding.”

Powder just nodded. "Because it's arranged?"

Caitlyn's hands curled, nails digging into her palm. She takes a breath, nodding. "Because I'm expected to comply."

Powder hesitated, her pen hovering over the page. She looked at Caitlyn as if she wanted to argue, but the words never left her mouth.

"I know it's probably very difficult for you," she starts, eyes still on her paper as if she couldn't handle meeting Caitlyn's gaze. "But I do hope our families get along."

Caitlyn’s brows lifted slightly at that—our families. The phrasing struck her. For all her nervousness, Powder seemed to be the only one approaching this union as though it were more than a contract.

She exhaled through her nose, careful to keep her tone neutral. “That would be… ideal. It would surely make this whole arrangement much more easier to deal with."

Powder finally looked up, pen tucked behind her ear now, meeting Caitlyn’s gaze with a tentative smile. It wasn’t polished or rehearsed. It was the kind of smile people in Piltover never offered her anymore—unguarded, simple. Honest.

Then, she laughed. "I have a feeling that was a slight jab for my sister. Violet?"

Caitlyn blinked, her composure faltering for a fraction of a second. So she noticed.

She folded her hands a little tighter in her lap, raising her chin. “Your sister and I… don’t always see eye to eye.”

“That’s putting it lightly,” Powder snorted, leaning back in her chair. “But don’t take it too personally. Vi doesn’t see eye to eye with anyone.”

“Comforting,” Caitlyn murmured, tone clipped but not unkind.

"She's hot-headed—"

"Very."

Powder snorted, continuing. "But she's hardworking too. She's got strong opinions and a sharp tongue—but under all that brass and attitude, she just wants to stand up for what's right."

Powder’s voice lingered in the air, softer now, carrying a weight Caitlyn hadn’t expected.

Caitlyn studied her, eyes narrowing just faintly. Stand up for what’s right. She could almost hear Violet saying it herself, in that infuriatingly brash way—like every word was a fight, like Caitlyn’s very existence was something to challenge.

Her lips pressed thin. “That… may be so,” she allowed, though her tone was cool. A diplomat’s mask. “But she could find less hostile ways of expressing it.”

Powder grinned, tilting her head. “If she did, she wouldn’t be Vi.”

The name slipped from Powder’s mouth with such ease, such fondness, that Caitlyn felt an unexpected twist in her chest. Vi. Too familiar, too casual. It lodged under her skin.

She drew a steady breath, straightening her posture as though bracing against it. “Well. I suppose one must endure certain… personalities.”

Powder bit back a laugh, hiding it behind her hand. “You make it sound like she’s a storm you just have to wait out.”

Caitlyn’s gaze flicked to her, and for the briefest moment, she almost—almost—smiled. But it was gone as quickly as it came. “That would be a generous description.”

Powder’s pen scratched against her notes, but her eyes were still bright, still curious. “You know… you don’t have to like her. But maybe you don’t have to hate her, either.”

Caitlyn stilled. Her fingers curled tighter in her lap. She wanted to retort, to dismiss the notion entirely. But the words tangled in her throat, caught between pride and exhaustion.

Instead, she exhaled slowly, voice quiet but firm. “I don’t hate her.”

And yet, even to her own ears, it sounded less like truth and more like a denial she wasn't sure she believed.

Powder nodded in acknowledgement. She flipped to another page, humming as she doodled circles. “Okay, let's continue. Rings. Do you want something simple? Or big and flashy, like ‘hey look, I’m married, everyone admire my rock’?”

Caitlyn snorted before she could stop herself. The sound startled her almost as much as it did Powder.

Powder’s grin bloomed wide. “Oh my god, you can laugh. I was starting to think you were part machine.”

Caitlyn rolled her eyes, though there was no real irritation behind it. “I’d prefer something simple—not too flashy. I don’t need the whole world to know I’m married. But not so plain that people start wondering if my spouse went bankrupt.”

Powder snorted, scribbling furiously on her page. “Got it. Simple-but-expensive. Rich, but subtle rich. Like… ‘yes, I can buy your house, but no, I won’t because I have taste.’”

Caitlyn gave her a flat look, though the corner of her mouth threatened to betray her. “Something like that.”

Powder tapped her pen against her cheek, considering. “Okay, I can work with that. Maybe platinum? Or a clean band with a single gem. Nothing gaudy.”

Caitlyn leaned slightly closer to the notes, curious despite herself. “And what would you suggest?”

The question seemed to stun Powder, who blinked rapidly before grinning again. “You’re actually asking for my opinion?”

Caitlyn arched a brow. “You are the wedding planner, are you not?”

“Technically,” Powder said, flipping to another messy page full of sketches and swatches, “but usually people just boss me around until I make their ideas happen. This is new. I like it.”

Her pen danced as she circled a small sketch of a slim band with a modest stone at its center. “This. Classic. Timeless. You’d look good with it.”

The words slipped out too fast, and Powder froze. Her cheeks flushed as she corrected herself, waving the pen frantically. “I mean—the ring would look good. On you. As in, it would suit your hand. Not—uh—not that you don’t look good otherwise—”

Caitlyn let her fluster run unchecked, lips curving just slightly as she watched Powder dig her own grave. “Noted,” she murmured, just enough amusement in her tone to make Powder want to melt into her chair.

Powder groaned, dropping her face into her hands. “I hate you already.”

“On the contrary,” Caitlyn said smoothly, adjusting the cuff of her sleeve, “I think you’re doing rather well.”

Powder scribbled the note about the ring, still hiding half her face behind her hand. “Alright. Ring settled. Next up—the dress.”

Caitlyn’s shoulders tensed almost imperceptibly. “Of course.”

Powder perked up, flipping to a fresh page filled with rough sketches—everything from dramatic ballgowns to sleek, fitted silhouettes. She pushed the notebook toward Caitlyn like a dealer laying out a winning hand. “So, what’s your vibe? Classic princess? Bold and modern? Or…” her grin widened, “…something scandalous?”

Caitlyn gave her a look that could have cut glass. “I will not be walking down the aisle half-naked, thank you.”

Powder snorted. “Half-naked gets people talking.”

“I think they’ll already have plenty to say,” Caitlyn replied coolly, smoothing the fabric of her coat as if the thought of gossip clinging to her skin was something she could iron away.

Powder hummed, scanning her own sketches. “Alright, fine. Something elegant then. You strike me as… fitted. Clean lines. Something that looks like it costs more than my entire apartment but doesn’t scream it out loud.”

Caitlyn tilted her head, lips twitching despite herself. “You’re getting better at this.”

“Better?” Powder scoffed, jotting furiously. “I’m great at this. You’ll see.”

She flipped her notebook around, tapping a sketch of a sleek gown with a modest train and subtle embroidery along the bodice. “This one. Minimal, elegant. Makes you look like you own the room the moment you walk in.”

Caitlyn studied it in silence. Powder tried not to fidget under the weight of her gaze.

Finally, Caitlyn nodded. “Acceptable.”

Powder slumped back in her chair with exaggerated relief. “I’ll take it. Coming from you, that’s basically a standing ovation.”

Before Caitlyn could respond, the door swung open with a force enough to rattle picture off the wall.

Powder flinched, almost jumping in her seat, a hand to her chest. "Good God," she muttered under her breath.

"Powder, can you believe the board is making me sign all these unnecessary documents?" she complained, a hand on her hip while her other hand held a contract up to her face, reading and distracted enough to not realize Caitlyn was in the room. "And they want it by the end of the fucking day, I haven't even had coffee yet."

Powder groaned, massaging her temples through the irritation.

Caitlyn cleared her throat, "Good morning to you too, Violet."

Violet froze, mid-stride, the contract still clutched in her hand. Her eyes narrowed as they snapped toward Caitlyn.

“Oh,” she said flatly, lips curling into a smirk. “Didn’t realize we had company. My bad. Should I bow, Your Highness?”

Caitlyn folded her hands neatly in her lap, her tone sugar-coated steel. “A curtsy would be more appropriate, but I imagine that’s beyond your ability.”

Powder slapped her pen down on the desk. “Nope. Uh-uh. We are not doing this right now.”

But neither paid her any mind.

“Tell me,” Violet drawled, stepping fully into the room, “how’s Piltover holding up without its favorite porcelain doll to decorate the gallery?”

Caitlyn’s smile didn’t waver, though her chin lifted just slightly. “Far better than Zaun manages without someone to punch its problems away.”

“Wow,” Powder muttered, sinking lower into her chair, “it’s like watching two cats hiss over a piece of meat.”

Violet braced her hands on the back of Powder’s chair, leaning over her. “Don’t tell me you’ve roped my baby sister into this circus of yours, Princess.”

Caitlyn’s eyes flicked up, cool and deliberate. “On the contrary. Your sister is the only reason this wedding hasn’t descended into chaos. She’s far more capable than the rest of you give her credit for.”

That made Violet pause. Just for a second. Then her smirk returned, sharper now. “Careful. Keep talking like that and I might think you actually like her.”

Powder groaned, dragging both hands down her face. “For the love of God, can someone sedate me before I witness a murder?”

Violet’s smirk sharpened, the scar at the corner of her mouth pulling taut. “You talk real pretty for someone who’s basically just here to sign papers and play dress-up.”

Caitlyn’s fingers tightened on her lap, the only outward sign of her temper slipping. Her voice, however, was smooth as glass. “And you talk an awful lot for someone whose only role is to stand in the corner and scowl. Tell me, Violet, is it tiring being the family guard dog?”

Powder choked. “Okay! We’re done. Conversation over. Both of you—shut up.”

But Violet had already straightened, her shoulders rolling back like she was warming up for a fight. “Careful, Princess. You keep poking me like that, I might forget this is supposed to be civil.”

Caitlyn rose slowly from her chair, composure intact but her eyes flaring with challenge. “If this is your version of civility, then I dread to see what you call hostility.”

Powder shot up between them, arms spread like a human barricade. “Nope! Absolutely not! You two are not turning my office into a boxing ring. I’m planning a wedding, not a funeral!”

Neither budged. They stared over Powder’s head, Violet’s smirk daring, Caitlyn’s cool smile unyielding. The tension was a taut wire ready to snap.

“Great,” Powder muttered, looking between them with wild eyes. “Fantastic. Just kill each other now and save me the trouble of picking floral arrangements for the casket.”

The two didn't back down, didn't falter. They stood toe to toe with neither of them wanting to back down. Their gazes were sharp enough to tear through skin.

The room was charged now—Powder darting between them again, hands raised like she could push back a storm. “Okay, enough! This isn’t happening in my office—”

But Violet and Caitlyn didn’t even hear her anymore, words colliding sharp and fast, the air thick with all the things they weren’t supposed to say.

It was only when the door slammed open that either of them flinched.

Sevika filled the frame, expression carved in stone, mechanical arm flexing as her eyes cut between the two women. “What the fuck is going on in here?”

Powder squeaked. “Team-building?”

Sevika's gaze landed on Violet. "Alright, out."

Violet arched a brow, crossing her arms. "Excuse you?"

"You heard me, kid. Out. This wedding is in two weeks and your attitude won't be the reason for the planning getting delayed."

Violet scoffed, leaning back against Powder’s chair like she had all the time in the world. “What, you’re siding with her now?” She jerked her chin toward Caitlyn, eyes narrowing. “Didn’t realize Zaun took orders from Piltover.”

Caitlyn’s lips parted, ready with a retort sharper than any blade, but Sevika’s voice cut her off before she could speak.

“Don’t flatter yourself, Kiramman,” Sevika said, tone even but dangerous. “I’m not taking your side either. But I’m not about to watch you two play tug-of-war over Powder’s damn desk.”

Powder’s shoulders slumped, relieved to have someone else on her side for once. “Finally. Someone reasonable.”

Sevika stepped further into the office, the heavy click of her boots silencing the last threads of Violet’s smirk. “You,” she jabbed a finger at Violet, “need to cool it before you run your mouth into trouble you can’t punch your way out of. And you—” her gaze cut to Caitlyn, unflinching “—don’t think your pretty manners hide the fact you’ve been fanning the flames just as much.”

Caitlyn stiffened, affront flashing in her eyes, but Sevika didn’t blink.

“This wedding’s happening whether you two like each other or not. So either figure out how to fake it, or I’ll drag Vander in here and let him decide how we’re doing this.”

That shut Violet up faster than anything. Her jaw worked, her fists clenched—but the threat of Vander’s disappointment clearly outweighed her urge to argue.

Caitlyn inhaled slowly, spine still rigid, but she inclined her head a fraction. “Very well. I have no interest in unnecessary conflict.”

“Unnecessary,” Violet muttered under her breath, but Sevika’s sharp look cut her off again.

“Out.” Sevika’s voice left no room for discussion. “Now. Before I make you regret staying.”

Violet clicked her tongue, grabbed the discarded contract off Powder’s desk, and stormed toward the door. Just before slipping out, she shot Caitlyn one last look—sharp, challenging, unfinished business simmering in her eyes.

The door slammed shut behind her.

For a moment, the office was quiet save for Powder’s loud exhale of relief. She dropped into her chair, face-planting into her scattered notes. “You have no idea how exhausting you two are.”

Caitlyn smoothed her skirt, her composure already sliding back into place like armor. “She brings it out of me.”

Sevika snorted. “Don’t give yourself too much credit, Princess. Vi’s been like that since she could talk.”

After Sevika left, Powder sunk further into her chair with a deep breath. "So much for not hating her."

"I wouldn't need to retort if she'd just keep her negative opinions to herself."

By the time Powder snapped her notebook shut, the desk was buried under a landslide of sketches, swatches, and half-finished doodles.

“Alright,” she declared, stretching her arms above her head until her shoulders popped. “Rings, dresses, flowers, venue… I think that’s enough chaos for one day.”

Caitlyn exhaled softly, gathering her gloves and smoothing out invisible creases in her skirt. “A surprisingly productive session, despite the interruptions.”

Powder smirked. “Translation: ‘I didn’t hate this as much as I thought I would.’”

Caitlyn gave her a cool look, though the corner of her lips betrayed her. “Something like that.”

Powder hopped up from her chair, sliding her notebook under her arm. “Good. Because if you and Vi keep up this little routine, I’m gonna need hazard pay. Or at least a helmet.”

The hallway smelled faintly of oil and fresh paint, the walls patched in places where the brickwork had seen better days. Powder trailed beside Caitlyn, notebook still tucked under her arm, her boots clomping against the floor in contrast to Caitlyn’s measured, graceful steps.

“So,” Powder started, nudging the air with her pen like she was fencing, “do you want the whole big-dramatic entrance thing? You know—doors flying open, spotlight, maybe some cheesy music that makes everyone cry?”

Caitlyn gave her a look, sharp but amused. “If you even suggest violins in unison, I’m walking out right now.”

Powder cackled. “Noted. No violins. Maybe drums?”

“Powder.”

“Alright, alright.” She grinned, hands raised in mock surrender. “Just flowers then. Subtle, boring, normal flowers.”

Caitlyn’s lips curved despite herself. “Normal would be preferable, yes. Though not boring. Something elegant.”

"Alright," Powder noted, "Oh! How will we get your ring and dress?"

"You can either order it online and I'll send my assistant to grab it for me," she paused, opening her phone to check her schedule. "Or if my presence is needed, my schedule is free in three days."

Powder made a face, scribbling something quick in her notebook. “Three days, huh? That’s cutting it close. Brides usually want months of fittings, trials, crying in the mirror, more fittings…”

Caitlyn slipped her phone back into her pocket, unbothered. “I’m not most brides.”

“Yeah, no kidding.” Powder smirked. “You’re like… spreadsheets and sniper rifles wrapped in silk. Efficient but terrifying.”

Caitlyn’s brow arched at the description, though her lips curved faintly. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”

They rounded the corner, almost bumping into Vander, who was juggling a thick pile of contracts in his hands. Sevika stood beside him, balancing a tray of steaming coffee like it was an extension of her arm.

Ah, Caitlyn thought drily. Like father, like daughter. Both coffee addicts, both incapable of watching where they were going when armed with paperwork.

Vander cleared his throat, his deep voice carrying easily through the hall. “Ah, Caitlyn,” he greeted warmly, shifting the papers into one hand so he could clasp hers in a firm, brief handshake. His gaze slid toward Powder, and the corners of his mouth tugged into a satisfied smile. “Wedding planning?”

Caitlyn inclined her head, polite as ever. “A successful one.”

“Good.” Vander’s tone was approving, like a craftsman assessing a job well done. He released her hand, eyes flicking between her and Powder. “

Powder brightened at the praise, hugging her notepad to her chest. “We’re making progress,” she said. “Colors, flowers, all that.”

Vander chuckled. “Careful with that one, Caitlyn. She’ll have the whole city roped into helping if you let her.”

Caitlyn offered the faintest smile, polite and practiced. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

And then—like clockwork—the air shifted. A shadow fell across the hallway as Violet appeared, hands shoved into her pockets, her gaze instantly zeroing in on Caitlyn.

“Progress, huh?” Vi drawled, eyebrow arched. “Doubt she let you pick anything fun.”

The temperature in the hall seemed to drop a degree. Powder stiffened. Vander sighed. And Caitlyn?

She simply lifted her chin, spine straight as steel. “Some of us,” she said smoothly, “have different definitions of fun.”

Vander looked at them both, his eyes carrying a silent command. "You know what will be fun," he started, his tone final but not unkind. "The evening gala tomorrow."

Caitlyn stiffened, arching a perfectly-shaped brow. "Pardon?"

"It’s an official event to announce your engagement. Your parents have it all planned,” he replied evenly, shifting the contracts in his hand.

Of course, Caitlyn thought bitterly. Another performance. Another chance to be paraded around like a prize mare at auction.

She schooled her expression, though the slight lift of her chin betrayed her irritation. “I was not informed.”

“They wanted it to be a surprise,” Vander said, though the faint quirk at the corner of his mouth suggested he knew exactly how little she appreciated surprises.

Violet, leaning against the wall with her arms crossed, let out a short laugh. “Oh, this is gonna be good."

"Alright," Caitlyn replied, ignoring Violet's snide remarks. "I should get going then."

Powder, who was scrolling through her phone, sighed. "Wait, if the engagement announcement is tomorrow, then she'd need her ring," she reminded, frantically looking through an online website. "Ordering a ring would take two weeks. Two weeks!"

Caitlyn took her own phone out, opening her contacts. "Call this number. They'll have something ready in less than three hours."

Powder looked up from her phone with a skeptical look on her face. "Is this legal," she asked, half kidding and half serious.

Caitlyn arched a brow, pulling her blazer closer as she crossed her arms. "Obviously. You think a councilors daughter would commit crimes? That's our family jeweler."

"Psh. Who the hell has a family jeweler on speed dial. Hell, who even has family jewelers?" Violet mocked, earning a sharp glare from Sevika and Vander.

"Tell her the order is under Caitlyn Kiramman. My credit card is already in their system," Caitlyn instructed.

Powder blinked at her, thumbs frozen over her phone. “Wait—you just have people like that on standby?”

Caitlyn slipped her phone back into her blazer pocket with a precise motion. “Naturally. My parents insist on… preparedness.”

Powder gave a low whistle. “Guess that’s one way to say ‘rich.’” She typed in the number obediently, though her skeptical expression lingered.

Vi snorted, pushing off the wall. “Preparedness? Please. That’s spoiled-brat convenience at its finest. What’s next, you gonna have a tailor drop from the ceiling if your dress rips?”

Caitlyn’s head turned slowly toward her, gaze razor-sharp. “Better a spoiled brat than someone who doesn’t know which side of a dinner fork to use.”

Sevika coughed into her coffee, clearly fighting a laugh. Vander shot her a look, then shifted his attention back to the two younger women, his patience thinning.

“Powder,” he said, voice deliberate, “make the call. And Vi—” His eyes hardened a fraction. “Less commentary.”

Violet raised her hands in mock surrender, though the smirk never left her lips. “Fine, old man. I’ll behave.”

Powder finally pressed call, pacing in a small circle as she waited for the line to connect. Caitlyn stood silently, arms crossed, every inch the image of composure. But Vi noticed—because of course she did—the slight tension in her shoulders, the way her jaw worked as though she was holding back the urge to snap.

The image of perfect control, and yet, just under the surface, something fragile.

Vi’s smirk faltered, just a little.

They reached the exit, Caitlyn's driver already parked and waiting outside. Caitlyn faced Powder and offered her hand for a handshake which Powder took immediately.

"Thank you, Powder. This has been very helpful."

Powder smiled, "No problem. I'm happy to take at least a few things off your plate."

Caitlyn gave a small nod, the corners of her mouth curving ever so slightly. “You’ve done more than that.”

Which was true. Powder, of all people, had been the only one to treat her as though she were more than a pawn on a board—as if she were a woman with feelings, with opinions that mattered. Not an asset. Not a title. Just… Caitlyn.

For a moment, Powder looked almost startled—then she broke into a grin, scratching the back of her neck. “Careful, Princess. Keep complimenting me and I might start thinking you like me.”

Caitlyn’s smirk was quick, practiced, but not unkind. “Don’t push your luck.”

The driver stepped out to open the car door, and Caitlyn slid in with her usual elegance. Powder lingered on the steps, waving lazily as the car pulled away.

And though Caitlyn’s expression was as composed as ever behind the glass, Powder could’ve sworn she caught the faintest trace of amusement in her eyes before the car disappeared into Piltover traffic.

Jayce stood in front of his chalkboard, a clipboard in hand. His brows were furrowed, and his half-finished coffee sat forgotten on the desk, its steam long since vanished. He pinned blueprints on the wall with quick, practiced movements, eyes darting between numbers as he hunted for the error buried in his calculations.

Chalk dust streaked across the black slacks he’d been wearing for far too long, evidence of the endless cycles of writing, erasing, and rewriting. His shirtsleeves were rolled to his elbows, but the neatness ended there—his tie hung loose, his collar unbuttoned, his hair unruly from frustrated fingers running through it again and again.

The equations sprawled across the board looked more like a storm than a solution, jagged lines of thought that refused to connect. He tapped the chalk impatiently against the slate, muttering to himself under his breath.

“Damn it… no, that doesn’t—no, wait, if the stress ratio shifts here—” He scribbled furiously, only to pause, stare, then slash a line through the formula with a sharp drag of chalk. White powder flecked his knuckles.

The room was quiet except for the scratching of his calculations, the occasional clatter of a blueprint rolling off the desk, and the faint hum of the city outside his window.

The silence didn't last though.

The loud noise of the door swinging open rattled Jayce's prototypes, his walls, and he himself—who almost shrieked in fear thinking he was either getting barged into, something exploding, or that thieves were here to kidnap him.

He rested a hand to his chest, the small piece of chalk leaping out of his grasp.

Caitlyn barged into his office, her brows furrowed and looking like she was four seconds away from exploding.

She shut the door with a loud thud, her arms crossed as she paced around the room.

Jayce set his clipboard down cautiously, afraid even the sound of his own breathing might ignite Caitlyn into flames. She paced the room like a fuse about to run out.

“Sprout, if you walk fast enough, you’ll burn holes into my carpet with those sharp heels,” he muttered, half-joking, half-concerned.

Caitlyn snapped her head toward him, rolling her eyes before dropping into his office chair with a graceless thud. She spun once, more to bleed off tension than for amusement.

“Could you believe my parents set up a whole engagement party without my knowledge?”

Jayce froze mid-step, the blueprint slipping slightly from his grip. “Woah, what? What engagement party—hold up, you’re engaged?”

“Yes, Jayce. Keep up,” she shot back dryly, tugging at her gloves as though they were the true culprits of her agitation. “They set me up with the Lanes’ son a few days ago. I’ve been too busy—and too furious—to tell anyone.”

Jayce blinked, trying to piece it together. “Wait, Vi's brother? Vander’s kid?”

Caitlyn pinched the bridge of her nose. “Violet. Yes, Vander’s son. His daughter is insufferable.'

Jayce’s jaw worked soundlessly for a moment before he huffed out a laugh, incredulous. “Your parents really did that? Without asking you? Sprout, that’s—”

“Insulting. Controlling. Predictable.” Caitlyn’s voice was clipped, her posture perfect despite the fury simmering beneath it. She leaned back in his chair, arms crossing tightly. “And now tomorrow night, I have to smile and play perfect fiancée for their little spectacle of an announcement.”

Jayce set his clipboard aside and rubbed the back of his neck, uncertain whether to laugh or apologize on behalf of all humanity. “Wow. Okay. That’s… a lot.” He eyed her warily. “So. Do you actually like him?”

Caitlyn's face scrunched up in disgust, "No, obviously. Out of all people, Jayce, you should know I'm not attracted to the male species."

Jayce let out a breath he didn't know he was keeping. "God, yeah, no, I know—that's why I was confused why they set you up with—"

"Because they don't know about it! Obviously!" Caitlyn interrupted, throwing her hands in the air.

Jayce’s eyebrows shot up. “Wait, wait—you mean to tell me they arranged this whole circus without even knowing that minor detail?”

Caitlyn gave him a look so withering he immediately shut his mouth. “Of course they don’t know. Do you think I’d still be alive if they did?”

Jayce whistled low under his breath, sinking into the nearest chair. “Sprout… that’s not just insulting. That’s reckless. They’re playing with fire.”

Her laugh was humorless, sharp. “Oh, they don’t care about the fire. They care about the performance. And in their eyes, I am nothing more than another Kiramman obligation to parade around.”

Jayce leaned forward, elbows on his knees, studying her carefully. She looked composed on the surface—perfect posture, controlled tone—but he knew her well enough to see the storm brewing underneath.

Then Caitlyn arched a brow at him, her tone cutting through the air like a blade. “Wait. Why are you so confused? Weren’t you the one who called me and said my mother spoke to the Council about this already?”

Jayce froze, blinking as if she’d just slapped him with a report. “What—no! I said your mother hinted at something, but she never mentioned names. I thought it was about… oh, I don’t know, another property deal or a weapons contract. Not this.”

Caitlyn’s eyes narrowed, suspicion flickering. “So you had no idea.”

He lifted his hands defensively. “None. And believe me, Sprout, if I’d known they were matchmaking you with Vander’s kid, I’d have marched straight to your house and stolen the seating chart before they could finish it.”

Her lips twitched, against her will, into the faintest shadow of a smirk. “You’d steal their seating chart?”

Jayce grinned, leaning back. “Damn right. No one messes with my Sprout without me at least making a mess of their plans first.

Caitlyn finally let out a soft laugh, shaking her head. “You’re ridiculous.”

Jayce leaned back in his chair with a smug grin. “Maybe. But I’m also your only friend who isn’t terrified of your mother, so you’re stuck with me. Now—tell me more. The Lanes. What are they like?”

Caitlyn’s lips pressed together, torn between scoffing and sighing. “Chaotic. Loud. Unrefined.” Her fingers drummed against the armrest of his chair. “Vander himself is… tolerable. Level-headed, even.”

Jayce nodded, listening. “And the daughter? The one that's apparently insufferable?”

Her jaw clenched. “Violet.” She said the name like it was a challenge. “Arrogant. Brash. Insufferable. She struts around as if she owns every room she walks into.”

Jayce’s brows rose. “Sounds… familiar.”

Caitlyn shot him a glare sharp enough to pierce steel, but the corner of her mouth betrayed her, curving ever so slightly.

"She starts an argument every time I open my mouth. She has strong opinions about me and my wealth. And she's insufferably hard to be around," she rambles, throwing her hands in the air like it'd help with her point. "The whole wedding thing is already difficult—and with her around? It feels like I'm being suffocated."

Jayce tilted his head, watching her with a slow, knowing grin. “Uh-huh. Insufferable. Suffocating. Starts arguments every time you breathe.” He tapped his chin theatrically. “Funny, Sprout, the way you’re describing her sounds a lot like… someone else I know.”

Caitlyn’s eyes narrowed into thin slits. “Don’t you dare.”

“I’m just saying,” he drawled, raising his hands in surrender. “You wouldn’t be so worked up if she didn’t get under your skin. Deep under.”

She scoffed, leaning back in his chair with an exasperated huff. “That is the last thing I need. Some reckless, Zaunite brawler wedged under my skin.”

Jayce smirked, reaching for his forgotten coffee. “Mhm. Sure. Keep telling yourself that," he teased, taking a sip. "How about your arranged husband. Is he any good?"

"Ew, husband," she repeated, the word tasting bitter as it left her lips. "He's reserved. Quiet. He's more of a follower rather than a leader."

Jayce raised his brows over the rim of his mug. “Reserved? Quiet? That doesn’t sound so bad, all things considered.”

Caitlyn shook her head firmly. “No, Jayce. He doesn’t speak unless spoken to, he barely looks people in the eye, and when he does, it’s like he’s waiting for permission to exist. My parents probably think that makes him ‘polite.’ To me, it just makes him spineless.”

Jayce let out a low whistle. “Ouch. Poor guy didn’t even do anything and you’re already tearing him apart.”

“He doesn’t have to,” Caitlyn muttered, her expression hardening. “He just stands there while everyone else speaks for him. If I’m being forced into a partnership, I’d at least prefer someone with a backbone.”

Jayce smirked. “So basically… the exact opposite of his sister.”

That earned him another glare, but this time Caitlyn didn’t bother denying it.

“He is kind, though,” she added after a beat, her voice quieter, almost reluctant. “Thoughtful, even. He… tries, in his own way.”

Jayce tilted his head. “So, not completely terrible, then?”

Caitlyn sighed, fingers toying absently with the buttons of her blazer. “Not terrible. Just… not for me. He listens, but he doesn’t challenge. He agrees, but he never argues. It’s like speaking into a void—empty politeness with no real conviction.”

Jayce leaned back in his chair, lips quirking. “And here I thought you hated being challenged.”

Her eyes cut sharply to him, unimpressed. “I don’t hate it. I hate being dismissed. There’s a difference.”

Jayce chuckled, holding up his hands in mock surrender. “Alright, alright. Just making sure I’ve got this right: brother’s too quiet, sister’s too loud, and you’re stuck in the middle wishing the whole thing would disappear.”

Caitlyn pinched the bridge of her nose. “Exactly.”

Chapter Text

The Kiramman estate was in a frenzy.

Maids rushed through the halls, decorating and cleaning for the upcoming gathering later this evening.

In the middle of the chaos stood Cassandra, cutting through it like a knife, her eyes scanning every ribbon, every fold of cloth, every glass set half an inch off-center. Tacky. Bland. Untasteful. Her voice carried, cool and unyielding, as if the entire estate might collapse under the weight of her disappointment.

Cassandra Kiramman was a difficult woman to please, that’s for sure.

Piltover elites would be attending—council members, heirs and heiresses, successful businessmen and women. The night had to be absolutely perfect.

Zaun also had its own guest list. The Lanes corporation had invited their partners and board members.

Basically, both cities’ most powerful and influential people would be in one room. Hearing the announcement of Caitlyn’s engagement; the most insincere, arranged, fake, blandest engagement the world could ever witness.

But Caitlyn couldn’t let that slip, of course.

She had to plaster on a fake, polite smile. She’d have to act somewhat in love with a man she neither knew nor loved—nor ever would. And her mother would no doubt nitpick every little slip-up she made tonight.

The sun hadn’t even set yet. The event wasn’t for another four hours—and yet she was already dreading every single part of it.

Her hands clenched tighter around the rifle’s grip every time her thoughts circled back to what tonight might bring. Tonight. The night her life would be reshaped—her future molded by others and handed to her on a cold platter.

Her finger squeezed the trigger. The shot cracked through the silence, the bullet piercing dead-center, straight through the target’s heart.

She reloaded with practiced ease, though the movement was sharper than usual, her frustration bleeding through the mechanics. Another round chambered. Another breath. Another thought she couldn’t outrun.

No matter how flawless her aim, she couldn’t shoot her way out of what awaited her once the sun fell.

Guests would start arriving soon. And soon, she’d have to wear a mask—one that would hide her inner turmoil.

She stood in the middle of the estate’s shooting range. Her stance was perfect, her grip on the weapon practiced. A few stray hairs had fallen from her ponytail, her expression unreadable.

She had visited the range hoping to take her mind off things, but the opposite had happened. Instead, she thought about it more and more—the frustration bubbling into every move.

The way she gripped the rifle far too aggressively. The way she’d already gone through six targets—all of them showcasing her perfect shot with a neat hole in the center.

Tonight might be a celebration, but to Caitlyn, it was her worst nightmare.

Claggor sat in Vi’s office, his expression worried, his grip on the chair tighter than it should’ve been. Vi already had a glass of whiskey, claiming she needed it to survive the night. His leg bounced up and down, the soft, repeated thuds irritating her.

She downed the last of her drink, setting the glass down with a loud thud. “Can you calm down? The sound of your leg is distracting,” she complained.

Claggor sighed, leaning forward. “I’m extremely nervous,” he admitted.

Vi rested her hand on his shoulder. “I know.”

“Important people will be there,” he continued.

Vi nodded. “A lot of them, yeah.”

He looked at her, brows furrowed. “Not helping,” he muttered, leaning back. “Our family is counting on me—Zaun is counting on me. I don’t think I can handle it.”

“Clagg,” she said softly, “I don’t want you to feel crushed by expectations. Do what you can, do what you can handle. We’re all here for you, okay?”

Claggor’s tense posture relaxed slightly, his sister’s words comforting. Then, he lowered his gaze to the carpet, suddenly feeling small again.

“It’s scary, you know?” he murmured. “The Kirammans are terrifying, councilors will be there, and I’m marrying a girl I barely know.”

Vi let out a low whistle, leaning back. “Yeah, I’d say you’ve got a full plate.” Her tone was dry, but her eyes stayed steady, grounding him.

“You don’t get it,” Claggor muttered, rubbing his palms together. “This isn’t just about me. Vander built all of this with his blood, sweat, and faith in us. If I screw up—if I so much as trip over my words—Zaun looks weak. He looks weak.” His voice cracked, the pressure finally spilling out.

Vi’s jaw tightened, her fingers curling into fists. She reached for the empty glass again, then shoved it aside. “Listen to me,” she said firmly. “Vander chose you for a reason. Not because you’re perfect—because he trusted you. And so do I.”

Claggor blinked at her, swallowing hard.

She smirked faintly. “And hey, if the councilors don’t like you? I’ll knock their teeth in. Problem solved.”

That finally earned a laugh out of him—quiet, shaky, but real.

For a moment, the tension eased. Then it returned, heavier than before. The Kirammans. The council. Caitlyn. The wedding neither side wanted but couldn’t avoid.

Claggor dragged a hand down his face. “I don’t think Caitlyn wants this either.”

Vi’s gaze flickered. “She’s made that pretty damn obvious.”

“It’s… nerve-wracking. I still haven’t fully grasped everything that’s about to happen,” he admitted, voice low. “I’m getting married. I’m getting a seat in the council for Zaun. I’m changing my last name to Kiramman.” He let out a sharp breath. “And now that I’ve said it all out loud—holy shit, it’s insane.”

Vi chuckled, patting his back. “It is, huh? Claggor Kiramman. What a name,” she teased.

Claggor groaned. “Don’t even start. It sounds ridiculous.”

“Ridiculously fancy,” Vi shot back, lips quirking. “You’ll be sittin’ at council dinners, wearin’ stiff suits, talkin’ politics while eatin’ soup with the wrong spoon. Vander would lose his shit.”

That earned another laugh, a little stronger this time, though his shoulders still sagged beneath the weight pressing down on him.

Then, a soft knock interrupted their conversation. The door opened, Powder stood in the doorway with Ekko behind her, a notepad clutched in her hands.

“Hey, Pow,” Vi greeted.

Powder let out a sigh, her hair a mess and stress written across her face. She walked over and plopped down between her siblings.

“Planning everything is torture,” she groaned, tossing her notepad on the table. “Cassandra wants perfection—but she’s also rushing everything! Hasn’t she ever heard the saying perfection takes time?”

Vi and Claggor shared knowing looks, Vi letting out a soft chuckle. “Why, what did Cassandra Kiramman put you up to this time?”

“She’s asking for the ring already! And she keeps bombarding me with questions about the wedding, saying I have to double-check everything with her first before confirming,” Powder rambled, her hands flailing in exasperation. “Like—seriously! I get that the wedding’s arranged, but it’s still her daughter’s wedding, not hers. Can she just calm down and let me breathe for once?”

“And Caitlyn can’t even choose her damn flowers without her mother saying something about how it’s too simple, or too dull, or not worthy of a Kiramman,” Powder added, throwing her arms up. “I swear, I’m one passive-aggressive comment away from telling Cassandra to plan the whole thing herself.”

Vi barked out a laugh. “Now that I’d pay to see.”

Claggor shook his head, though a small smile tugged at his lips. “Please don’t. That woman would skin us alive.”

Powder flopped back against the couch with a dramatic groan, hugging her pillow again. “I can’t keep up with her demands. She’s impossible. I can't believe Caitlyn manages to survive all her mother's demands, it's probably hella tiring having to keep up."

Vi leaned forward, resting her elbows on her knees, eyes narrowing at Powder.

“Caitlyn’s probably feeling that times ten, right? She’s the one getting paraded around tonight." Powder sat up, guilt flashing across her face. She hugged her pillow tighter, chewing her lip. “She didn’t look happy when I talked to her earlier. Like—at all. She’s good at hiding it, but… it’s there. You can see it in her eyes.”

Claggor’s expression softened. “I don’t blame her. She doesn’t want this any more than I do.”

Vi scoffed. “You’re telling me. It’s written all over her face whenever you’re in the same room.” She leaned back, crossing her arms. “Hell, half the city can probably tell this is a sham.”

Powder arched a brow. "Which is why," she started, leaning back. "You need to keep all your thoughts to yourself. Stop making this whole thing harder for her and Claggor."

Vi opened her mouth to speak—but Powder raised her hand, interrupting her.

"The whole thing is already complicated. The whole city is already hovering over them, the least you could do is not add more gas to the flame."

Vi sighed, refilling her glass with more alcohol. "When did you grow a brain, Pow?"

Powder rolled her eyes. "Since I figured out my sister doesn't use hers."

“What worries me,” Claggor muttered. “The councilors, the investors—if they start thinking it’s all for show…”

“It is all for show,” Vi cut in sharply.

He frowned, but she held up a hand before he could argue. “Doesn’t matter, though. What matters is that people believe it. You keep your head up tonight, smile at the right moments, and let Caitlyn handle the rest. She’s been trained for this shit her whole life.”

Claggor’s shoulders slumped again. “That’s not exactly comforting.”

Vi smirked faintly. “Wasn’t supposed to be.”

Ekko, who had been silent up to this point, finally spoke. “Look, if you ask me? This whole thing’s a powder keg. One wrong move and boom—the alliance blows up in everyone’s faces.” He shoved his hands in his pockets, shrugging. “But maybe that’s not a bad thing.”

Powder shot him a glare. “Not helpful, Ekko.”

Vi’s grin widened just slightly. “Actually, I kinda like his thinking.”

Claggor groaned. “Please, don’t encourage this.”

Powder smirked, mischievous now. “What, you afraid Vi’s gonna punch a councilor in front of everyone?”

Vi tilted her head, all faux innocence. “I mean… it would liven up the party.”

Claggor dropped his head into his hands with a muffled groan, while Powder and Ekko both laughed. But beneath the joking, the tension lingered, heavy and inescapable.

Tonight was going to change everything—whether they wanted it to or not.

Caitlyn stood in front of her mirror, staring directly at her reflection.

Her gown hung perfectly against her frame, every fold and shimmer tailored to Cassandra’s impossible standards. The fabric was soft, expensive, flawless—everything she despised about it. She hadn’t chosen it, not really. Her mother had. Just like the necklace, the earrings, even the way her hair had been pulled into a pristine style that left no room for a strand out of place.

Her painted lips curved into a practiced smile, but it faltered the second she blinked.

It wasn’t her staring back at her—it was the future her mother had molded. Cold. Elegant. Empty.

Maddie, her assistant, stood a few steps behind, fussing over the final touches. “You look beautiful, Miss Kiramman,” she said softly, adjusting the fall of Caitlyn’s earrings.

Beautiful. The word landed like a stone. Caitlyn didn’t want to be beautiful tonight. She wanted to be free.

Her hands clenched against the fabric of her dress, knuckles whitening as her chest tightened. “It doesn’t feel like me,” she whispered, voice low.

Maddie hesitated, glancing at her in the mirror. “…Do you want me to tell your mother that?”

Caitlyn let out a humorless laugh. “No. She wouldn’t listen anyway.”

Silence fell again. Beyond the room, Caitlyn could hear the muffled sounds of the estate—the servants rushing, the faint swell of music being rehearsed, the low rumble of voices preparing for the evening.

All of Piltover would soon be waiting for her to step out. To smile. To stand by Claggor’s side as if she wanted nothing more.

Her chest ached with the weight of it.

And yet, she reached for the gloves folded neatly on the vanity and pulled them over her hands. Polite. Elegant. Dutiful. Every motion was another chain locking her into place.

By the time her mother swept into the room, Cassandra’s sharp eyes scanning her from head to toe, Caitlyn’s mask was already back on.

“You’ll do,” Cassandra murmured, adjusting the necklace so it sat a fraction higher. “Tonight, Caitlyn, you are not yourself—you are a Kiramman. Do not forget that.”

Caitlyn forced her lips into a serene smile. “I never do.”

Inside, though, her reflection still stared back at her. Cold. Elegant. Empty.

Downstairs, the first guests had begun to arrive, the soft murmur of conversation drifting all the way up to Caitlyn’s room. Outside, the crunch of tires on gravel announced each shiny new car pulling into the driveway.

Caitlyn adjusted the clasp of her necklace, her fingers lingering longer than necessary, as though the small ritual might steady her nerves. Each burst of laughter rising from below made her shoulders tense, every polite greeting filtering through the walls a reminder of the night’s expectations.

She smoothed her dress, the fabric falling perfectly into place, yet it still felt suffocating. Tonight wasn’t about her—not really. It was about appearances, about the Kiramman name shining brighter than any chandelier hanging in their halls.

Her eyes flicked to the mirror again. Composed. Untouchable. Just as her mother expected.

Vi leaned against the wall, arms crossed, her eyes sweeping the room with quiet scrutiny. She watched the forced smiles, the rehearsed laughter, the shallow nods of polite interest. It was all a performance, and she could see the cracks in it as easily as scars on skin.

Her gaze flicked to Claggor tugging at his tie again, his nerves as plain as day. Mylo shifted restlessly at his side, pretending to study the paintings on the wall just to avoid the cutting looks sent their way.

Vander held his ground with that steady calm of his, exchanging firm handshakes and soft-spoken words with Zaun’s few representatives who had been permitted inside. Powder had left a few minutes ago to find Caitlyn so she could hand over the engagement ring before her grand entrance.

They didn’t belong here. Not really. Everyone knew it—every turned shoulder and raised brow made that clear.

Vi didn’t care. Let them stare. She’d meet their judgment head-on if it came to it.

But her eyes kept drifting toward the grand staircase, waiting. Watching. Because she knew the real show hadn’t even started yet.

The room shifted when the music softened, a subtle cue that drew every head toward the staircase. A hush rippled through the crowd, conversations breaking off mid-sentence as though on command.

Vi straightened without meaning to.

And then Caitlyn appeared.

She descended with the kind of grace that could silence even the most restless of gatherings, every step measured, deliberate, a vision framed by the soft glow of the chandeliers above. The murmurs began again, but different now—admiration laced with envy, curiosity laced with judgment.

Vi’s jaw tightened. To everyone else, Caitlyn was the Kiramman heir, polished and untouchable.

Powder slipped back into place at Vi’s side, practically vibrating with excitement. “She looks amazing, doesn’t she?” she whispered.

Vi didn’t answer.

Caitlyn’s gaze swept across the glittering sea of faces, her composure flawless. But when her eyes caught the corner where the Lanes stood, something flickered—barely there, but Vi noticed it. A pause, a softening, a quick inhale before Caitlyn smoothed it all away.

Vi tilted her head, lips curving just slightly. Gotcha.

Before the moment could linger, Cassandra stepped forward, her heels clicking against the marble as if to command silence on their own. She raised her glass, her presence sharp enough to slice through the hum of conversation.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” Cassandra began, her voice carrying easily across the hall, “thank you for joining us on this most momentous evening. Tonight, we celebrate not only tradition and legacy, but a union that promises to strengthen our city’s future.”

The crowd leaned in, expectant.

Cassandra set her gaze on Caitlyn, then looking expectantly towards Claggor. For a moment, Claggor and Caitlyn shared a look, both sharing the same hesitance before approaching.

They both made their way towards the center of the room standing beside Cassandra—who had this practiced smile that never reached her eyes.

The murmurs swelled at once, curiosity rippling through the gathered guests like a current. A Kiramman and a Lane, standing side by side—it was enough to set tongues wagging before a single word had been spoken.

Claggor shifted his weight, his hands twitching as though unsure where to rest them. Caitlyn’s chin lifted almost imperceptibly, the perfect picture of poise, though Vi caught the stiffness in her shoulders.

Cassandra placed a hand on Caitlyn’s back, guiding her forward with the kind of elegance that masked how forceful it really was. Her smile glistened, brittle under the crystal light.

“Tonight,” she declared, “we honor not just families, but futures. This bond represents unity between Piltover and Zaun—an alliance stronger than any contract or coin.”

The room erupted in polite applause, though the sharp stares and hushed whispers told another story entirely.

Caitlyn faced Claggor slightly, wrapping her hand around his arm. Her grip was gentle, measured, but Vi could see the way her fingers dug in ever so slightly—like she was holding on for balance, or for strength.

Claggor forced a smile, the kind that looked stiff around the edges, his nerves radiating off him in waves. For a fleeting moment, Caitlyn’s eyes lifted to his, and in that shared glance lay the same quiet truth neither dared voice: We don’t want this.

But the crowd didn’t see that. They only saw the Kiramman heir and Zaun’s chosen son standing side by side, framed like a portrait of unity.

“Together,” Cassandra continued, raising her glass higher, “my daughter, Caitlyn Kiramman, and Claggor Lanes shall bind not only their futures, but the futures of our great cities.”

The applause was louder this time, though no warmer. It was dutiful, automatic, a ripple of sound that filled the space without meaning.

The dinner table was worse. Way worse.

Forced proximity, having to sit up straighter than he ever had in his life, trying to keep his elbows tucked in, nodding politely at things he didn’t even understand. It was torture dressed in polished silver.

And what was worse?

Trying to figure out what damn fork to use.

There were too many of them. Lined up like soldiers, gleaming under the chandelier, waiting for him to slip. Salad fork, dinner fork, dessert fork—hell if he knew which was which. His palms were already sweating through the napkin he had crumpled into his lap.

Caitlyn sat beside him, listening intently as her investors spoke. She glanced at Claggor as he stared at the line up of forks as if they had personally offended him.

Caitlyn pointed at the fork at the middle. "This is the dinner fork," she whispered.

Claggor blinked, startled by her whisper. He glanced at her, half expecting to see her smirking, maybe even rolling her eyes at how lost he looked. But Caitlyn’s expression stayed calm, her eyes fixed on the table as if she hadn’t said anything at all.

“The middle one,” she repeated under her breath, just loud enough for him to hear over the chatter of investors.

His ears burned. He gave a stiff nod, gripping the fork she’d pointed out and forcing his hand to steady. The relief was immediate, like he’d been handed a lifeline in the middle of a storm.

Across the table, one of the councilors droned on about trade routes, while another laughed too loudly at a joke Claggor hadn’t caught. He tried to follow along, tried to nod at the right times, but the words slipped past him, heavy and meaningless. All he could focus on was how Caitlyn had noticed. How she’d saved him from looking like a fool in front of everyone.

Maybe she hated this arrangement as much as he did—but at least she wasn’t cruel about it.

"Caitlyn," one of the council men called from the farther end of the table, "We didn't even know you were seeing someone! How did all of this happen?" he questioned.

Caitlyn chuckled, light and polite, as if she’d been expecting the question. “Ah,” she began, placing her glass of champagne back down on the table with a graceful clink. Instantly, the side conversations died out, the weight of the room settling on her.

Claggor risked a glance at her, studying the curve of her lips, the steady calm of her voice. She was good—too good. Every word sounded natural, but he could see it, the tiny tension in her jaw, the way her fingers brushed the stem of her glass like she needed the grounding.

“We decided to keep it private,” she continued smoothly. “There’s a certain peace in cherishing something away from the public eye. Until now, of course.”

The councilors chuckled, some with knowing smirks, others with that thin, skeptical politeness Claggor had come to dread.

He forced himself to nod along, to look like he belonged here, but inside he was crumbling. He wasn’t a politician. He wasn’t trained to spin lies into silk the way Caitlyn just had. He was just trying to make it through the meal without using the wrong fork.

But Caitlyn didn’t falter. She carried the lie for both of them, her voice steady, her smile perfectly balanced. And Claggor sat in silence, equal parts grateful and guilty, praying no one would drag him into the spotlight next.

Powder, Mylo and Vi—who were all sat across from the two—shared knowing looks.

Then a voice cut across the table.

“Claggor, isn’t it?” one of the councilmen asked, leaning forward with a smile that wasn’t kind. “Tell us—what exactly is it you bring to this partnership? Piltover is, after all, making quite the… generous concession.”

The table quieted. Forks paused mid-air. Eyes turned toward him.

Claggor’s throat went dry. The fork in his hand suddenly felt heavy, like he’d been caught stealing it.

He could feel Caitlyn glance at him from the corner of her eye, her expression steady, unreadable. But her hand shifted slightly, the edge of her glove brushing his under the table—a subtle reminder.

Steady.

Caitlyn gripped her champagne glass tighter, her voice cutting through, smooth but sharp. "What makes this engagement strong is that it isn’t just about Piltover’s resources or Zaun’s resilience—it’s about combining the best of both. Piltover’s precision with Zaun’s determination.”

Her smile carried across the table, disarming and polished. “Claggor represents the kind of ingenuity and loyalty that can’t be manufactured. And I, for one, think Piltover would do well to value that.”

The tension cracked, replaced by polite laughter, murmurs of agreement, the scrape of forks resuming against porcelain. Just like that, the spotlight shifted, the councilman retreating behind a sip of wine.

Claggor stared at his plate, relief flooding through him so quickly he almost sagged in his chair. He dared a glance sideways, meeting Caitlyn’s eyes for a flicker of a moment. She looked calm, composed, as if none of it had rattled her—but beneath the careful mask, there was something there. A spark.

A warning, maybe. Or reassurance. He couldn’t tell.

Vi clenched her jaw, irritation bubbling through her.

Powder caught how she held onto the table tighter. "Calm down," she whispered. "She handled it well."

The meal ended in a blur of half-finished wine and too-sweet desserts. Claggor barely tasted any of it. He was too busy trying not to breathe too loud, too busy following Caitlyn’s cues—when to laugh, when to nod, when to pretend he knew what was going on.

But once they rose from the table, things only got worse.

The hall swelled with voices as guests drifted toward the music room, champagne flutes glittering in their hands. And one by one, like moths to a flame, they began to swarm.

“Caitlyn, my dear!” a woman in sequins leaned in, air-kissing both her cheeks. “We’re all just so thrilled about this arrangement.”

“Such a surprise!” another chimed in. “But a clever one, I must say. Zaun has… potential.” Her eyes flicked to Claggor, thin and sharp. “And this must be him.”

Claggor forced a stiff smile, his throat dry. He offered a handshake; the woman’s grip was like ice.

More came. Councilors, merchants, investors—faces Claggor didn’t know, names he couldn’t keep up with. Every introduction felt like being weighed, measured, and quietly dismissed.

Caitlyn was flawless. She answered every question with grace, steered every comment into safer waters. If anyone noticed Claggor’s silence, she covered it with a laugh or a story, making him look like the steady shadow at her side rather than the nervous wreck he was.

But the stares didn’t stop. The whispers followed them like smoke.

More than once, she intercepted a question aimed at him, spinning it back into her own orbit before it could corner him. To anyone else, it might have looked seamless. To Caitlyn, it felt like holding a shield against a relentless barrage.

But what unsettled her most wasn’t the stares, or the whispers, or the endless weight of expectation pressing in on them both.

It was the flicker she caught in Claggor’s eyes whenever someone looked at him like he didn’t belong. That quiet, heavy hurt he didn’t let show anywhere but in the small shifts of his posture.

Caitlyn tightened her grip on his arm, her smile never faltering. Let them look. Let them whisper. She’d stand steady enough for the both of them.

Vi and Powder hovered near the edge of the room, keeping their distance. Across the hall, Claggor and Caitlyn moved together through the crowd, but there was nothing casual about it. Caitlyn’s posture was precise, her eyes sharp, her words clipped but confident as she guided Claggor through the conversation.

“She’s… not just standing there,” Powder murmured. “She’s… directing him.”

Vi narrowed her eyes, taking in the way Caitlyn subtly steered Claggor, answering questions before he even had to, deflecting any hint of awkwardness or misstep. When a councilman made a pointed remark toward Claggor, Caitlyn didn’t flinch—she cut in smoothly, her tone firm, almost sharp, and the man immediately corrected himself, caught off guard by her precision.

“Damn,” Vi muttered, a flicker of respect creeping into her voice despite herself. “She… she’s good.”

Powder smirked. “Good? You mean… intimidating.”

Vi watched as Caitlyn positioned herself slightly in front of Claggor when another guest tried to corner him with a loaded question. Her movements were subtle, efficient, protective. She wasn’t warm—she wasn’t soft—but she was effective, commanding, unshakable.

“She’s… defending him,” Vi said, almost in disbelief, her jaw tightening. “Not with charm… with authority. She’s leading, not following.”

Powder tilted her head, grinning. “See? Even you’re impressed. Bet you didn’t think someone like her could actually handle Claggor like that.”

Vi’s eyes didn’t leave Caitlyn. Every gesture, every measured word, every tiny pivot of her stance screamed control. And the more she watched, the harder it became to deny it: Caitlyn wasn’t just competent—she was formidable.

“Yeah,” Vi said finally, voice low. “She’s… not bad. And I mean that in the only way that matters. She’s deadly serious about him, and she’s not letting anyone—anyone—mess with him.”

Powder leaned closer, whispering, “Careful, Vi… you’re starting to respect her.”

Vi let out a sharp laugh, but it was tinged with tension. “Respect… maybe. But don’t get it twisted. I’m just… taking notes.”

And as she watched Caitlyn navigate the room, controlling the flow, guarding Claggor with every precise move, Vi realized that she had underestimated her—and that Caitlyn was a force to be reckoned with.

Vi’s jaw tightened as she kept her eyes on Caitlyn. Every step the woman took, every word she spoke, exuded command. Vi’s instincts screamed to step forward, to insert herself, to shield Claggor from even the slightest misstep—but Caitlyn was already three moves ahead. She didn’t just anticipate trouble; she orchestrated the space around him, guiding interactions like a tactician, leaving no cracks for anyone to exploit.

“Damn it,” Vi muttered under her breath, fists curling around her drink. Powder glanced at her, eyebrows raised.

“What now?”

Vi shook her head. “It’s… irritating. I want to jump in, protect him, fix everything, but she—she’s already on it.”

Powder smirked knowingly. “Sounds like someone’s conflicted.”

Vi shot her a look, but the truth gnawed at her. She’d always defined herself as Claggor’s protector, the one who’d step in when things got messy. But here, Caitlyn was unflappable, calculating, and utterly effective. And the thought stung.

She noticed the way Caitlyn positioned herself—not aggressively, not with brute force, but strategically. When a guest pressed Claggor, Caitlyn didn’t flinch or fluster; she calmly steered the conversation, deflected criticism, and even gave Claggor a subtle nod, as if to say, I’ve got this.

Vi’s chest tightened. It wasn’t just competence—it was dominance, in the purest sense. She had never seen Claggor treated this way before: guided, defended, respected. And the weird, unwelcome part was that Vi found herself wanting to see more. To see how far Caitlyn could push, how much control she could hold without breaking.

"You irritated because she's protecting him?" Powder teased, nudging Vi's shoulder.

"No," Vi replied. "I'm irritated because she’s good at it. She doesn’t stumble, she doesn’t hesitate… and she doesn’t need me."

Powder grinned. "Ouch. That’s gotta sting, huh?"

Vi shot her a glare, but the tension didn’t leave her chest. “It stings because I should be the one keeping him safe. I’m supposed to be the one who notices before anyone else does. And here she is… handling everything like it’s second nature.”

Powder nudged her again, quieter this time. “Sounds like you’re jealous.”

Vi snorted, a little defensively. “Jealous… maybe. But don’t twist it into weakness. I’m not stepping back. I’m just… watching. Studying. Making sure I know what she’s capable of.”

Powder’s smirk widened. “Careful, Vi. You might learn to respect her… and we both know you hate admitting that.”

Vi tightened her grip on her drink, her eyes locked on Caitlyn across the room. “I don’t respect her,” she muttered, though even she knew it wasn’t entirely true. “I just… don’t underestimate her.”

The hum of chatter blurred together, all champagne bubbles and polished lies, until a councilman she recognized all too well stepped forward.

“Caitlyn,” he greeted, his smile oily. “We must congratulate you again. Such an… unconventional choice.” His gaze slid to Claggor, openly appraising. “Tell me, what exactly does he bring to the table? I imagine it isn’t refinement.”

The surrounding group chuckled politely, the kind of laugh meant to test whether the insult would land.

Caitlyn’s hand on Claggor’s arm stilled, fingers curling slightly. She didn’t let the pause linger.

“Refinement?” Her voice carried, light but edged with steel. “Refinement doesn’t build bridges, Councilor. It doesn’t innovate, or repair, or protect. Claggor has done more for the progress of their city than most men in this room.”

A hush followed, the chuckles dying in throats. Caitlyn’s smile remained cool, unyielding. “If refinement is what you value most, then perhaps you’re in the wrong room.”

The weight of her words settled heavy over the group. Some shifted, some smirked behind their glasses, but none dared push further.

Beside her, Claggor was quiet, stiff with the effort of holding his composure. But when Caitlyn allowed herself a sidelong glance, she saw it: the flicker of relief in his eyes, the way his shoulders eased just a fraction.

His smirk hadn’t faded, no matter how neatly Caitlyn’s words cut him down. If anything, he looked amused—like a predator circling prey that still thought itself safe.

“Ah, yes,” he drawled, lifting his glass. “Progress. A noble sentiment. But progress doesn’t erase… mistakes.” His eyes flicked toward Claggor again, daring anyone to disagree.

The surrounding laughter was sharper this time.

Caitlyn’s spine locked. Her mouth opened—ready, willing, almost desperate to strike back—but before she could, another voice cut through the crowd.

"Alright, shut up." Violet walked through the crowd, her presence commanding the room.

Violet didn’t wait for permission. She stepped between Caitlyn and the councilman, her gaze icy, her stance protective but unyielding. “I don’t care what you were about to say—he doesn’t need your advice, and he sure as hell doesn’t need your insults.”

Heads turned. The Lanes moved like a ripple through still water: Vander steady and imposing, Mylo trailing with an unimpressed glare, Powder darting ahead with a grin too sharp for the occasion. And Violet—Violet strode forward without hesitation, every ounce of her presence daring someone to stop her.

Caitlyn felt her pulse spike. The air thickened, whispers crackling like sparks in dry grass. She rested her hand on Violet's shoulder, pulling the red-head behind her.

"The only mistake here," Caitlyn started, her voice velvet and smooth. "Is that we didn't give Zaun a chance much earlier."

She adjusted her gloves effortlessly. “Two mistakes, actually,” she added. “The other is deciding your presence was necessary here—clearly, it’s not.”

The words landed like crystal shattering on marble.

For a breath, silence stretched, brittle and dangerous. The kind of silence that meant every ear in the room was straining, every eye pinned to Caitlyn Kiramman.

the councilor's smirk faltered, his face flushing a blotchy red. “You—” he began, but whatever retort he had tangled uselessly in his throat.

Caitlyn smoothed her gloves, gaze unflinching, her smile a blade wrapped in silk. She did not need to raise her voice. She never did.

Behind her, she felt Violet's movement still—the sharp heat of her presence halted by Caitlyn’s warning stare. Violet, who looked seconds away from making a scene, now stood frozen, caught between pride and frustration.

Caitlyn didn’t falter. Her voice cut through the murmurs, velvet-wrapped steel.

“May I remind you that this is our home, my engagement, and that you have neither the place nor the right to cause such a scene?”

The councilor opened his mouth, but Caitlyn’s words rolled over him before he could gather himself.

“If it was attention you wanted, Councilor, then perhaps you should’ve arrived with accomplishments rather than insults.” She tilted her head ever so slightly, her smile sharp enough to wound. “You might have found the room far more generous.”

Gasps rippled across the table, like a sudden draft cutting through the polished air. No one laughed this time. Even those who might’ve enjoyed his cruelty kept their mouths shut, unwilling to be caught on the wrong side of Caitlyn Kiramman’s glare.

“Perhaps we should move on,” Vander’s deep voice rumbled from the crowd, calm but carrying. “Some of us came here to celebrate, not posture.”

A few guests tittered nervously, eager to latch onto Vander’s olive branch. Others looked away, ashamed—or perhaps disappointed—that the spectacle was over.

The councilor swallowed his anger with a bitter gulp of champagne. He didn’t speak again.

Caitlyn, still poised at the center, let her gaze sweep the gathering—an unspoken reminder that she commanded the room now, not him. Then, gracefully, she turned back to Claggor, as though no insult had ever been uttered.

“Shall we?” she murmured, her tone light enough for only him to hear.

The way Claggor looked at her—half stunned, half grateful—was almost enough to make her falter. Almost.

But Caitlyn Kiramman never faltered.

Caitlyn had walked away for a moment, slipping away from other patrons trying to make conversation. She stood with her fourth champagne glass at the corner of the room, opting to observe before re-entering the battlefield.

She looked up to see Mel and Jayce approaching, weaving through the lingering guests with easy smiles that didn’t quite reach their eyes.

“Caitlyn,” Mel greeted, her tone warm but careful, as if measuring every word. “You’ve been holding court all evening. Thought we’d check in.”

Jayce gave a small nod, offering a friendly smile. “Yeah. Don’t want you to get buried under all this… chaos.”

Caitlyn managed a polite smile in return, though the weight of the night pressed against her shoulders. “Thank you. I appreciate it. It’s been… quite the evening.”

Mel’s gaze flicked to the grand hall around them, then back to Caitlyn. “It’s not over yet, though, is it?” she said softly, a note of concern threading through her voice.

Jayce leaned slightly closer, lowering his voice. “We wanted to make sure you’re holding up okay. You’ve handled yourself remarkably so far.”

Caitlyn felt a faint warmth at their attention, though a quiet apprehension lingered. The night was far from over, and even friendly faces reminded her of the many obligations still ahead.

Caitlyn shifted slightly, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear. “I… I’m managing,” she said carefully, her voice steady but guarded. “It’s just been a long night.”

Mel gave her a soft, understanding smile. “We can see that. But remember, you don’t have to carry everything alone.” Her eyes lingered on Caitlyn for a moment, unspoken concern passing between them.

Jayce nodded, a faint frown tugging at his features. “And if anyone tries to make things harder than they need to be… well, let’s just say we’re around.”

Caitlyn’s lips twitched in a small, wry smile, grateful for the support but wary of the social minefield surrounding them. “I’ll keep that in mind,” she murmured, though part of her wondered how long such peace could last.

Mel leaned slightly closer, lowering her voice to a near whisper. “Just… promise me you won’t get lost in the etiquette and formalities. There’s still time to breathe, Caitlyn.”

Jayce offered a reassuring nod. “Exactly. Even in the middle of all this chaos, remember who you are—and that you have people looking out for you.”

Caitlyn let out a quiet breath she hadn’t realized she was holding. For a brief moment, the tension of the party lifted, leaving only the comfort of familiar allies in the storm of expectations.

By the time the last toast was made and the musicians began their final song, Caitlyn’s smile had grown tired. Her cheeks ached from holding it in place, her gloves felt too tight, and her mind buzzed with every word, every whisper, every glance that had cut across the room like glass.

Guests were beginning to trickle out, their farewells dripping with politeness, their eyes already calculating the gossip they would carry back to Piltover. Cassandra was still entertaining at the door, regal and untouchable. Claggor stood a little off to the side, talking quietly with Vander, looking far more at ease than when the night began.

Caitlyn slipped away for a moment’s breath, pressing her palm against the cool marble column in the hall. For the first time all evening, she let her shoulders drop.

That was when she felt it—the prickle of eyes on her.

She turned.

Powder, Mylo, and Violet approached together, moving like a small tide against the grand room’s emptiness. Powder still had that mischievous sparkle in her eyes, Mylo looked like he couldn’t quite decide whether to laugh or scoff at everything he’d witnessed, and Violet—Violet's gaze was steady, unreadable, but burning with something Caitlyn wasn’t sure she could name.

“You handled yourself well,” Violet said first, her voice low, measured. A far cry from the fire Caitlyn had seen flicker earlier in the night.

Powder grinned wide. “You roasted that councilman so bad, he looked like he was gonna melt into his seat.”

“Yeah,” Mylo added, crossing his arms, “who knew the fancy Kiramman could throw punches without even moving?”

Powder laughed. “I’m surprised you didn’t bring one of your fancy rifles out and start shooting.”

Caitlyn arched a brow, her lips curving into a sly smile. “Tempting as that might have been, I don’t believe it would’ve matched my dress.”

That earned a bark of laughter from Mylo, loud enough to draw a curious glance from across the room. Powder snorted, clutching her stomach as she tried to stifle her giggles.

Violet, though—Violet just watched her, head tilted, the faintest smirk tugging at her mouth like she was seeing something more than the banter.

“Guess words are sharper than bullets sometimes,” Violet muttered, almost to herself.

Caitlyn met her gaze, unflinching, her chin lifting just slightly. “Only when aimed properly.”

"Either way," Powder continued. "You were badass."

Caitlyn allowed herself a small laugh, the sound loosening something in her chest. “I only did what was necessary.”

Violet's lips curved—just barely. “Necessary or not, you didn’t let them walk over him.” Her eyes flicked toward Claggor across the room. “That means something.”

The weight of her words lingered, heavier than the chandeliers, heavier than the whole night. For the first time since the evening began, Caitlyn felt seen—not as a hostess, not as a Kiramman, but as herself.

In the grand hall, the chandeliers shimmered, their light softer now, reflecting off the gilded walls like muted stars.

Cassandra exhaled slowly, her posture loosening for the first time that evening. Across the room, Caitlyn lingered by a window, her hands clasped lightly in front of her, staring out at the gardens now bathed in moonlight.

"I'd call that a success," Vander said, cutting through the silence.

Tobias nodded along side his wife. "It was."

Cassandra’s gaze drifted from the window to Vander, then to Tobias, a faint, approving smile tugging at her lips. “Well, I suppose we managed to impress them all without many disasters,” she said, her voice light but edged with the satisfaction of control regained.

Vander chuckled softly, shaking his head. “I’d call that a miracle,” he replied, glancing at Caitlyn, who finally tore her eyes from the moonlit gardens and allowed herself a small, relieved sigh.

"Thank you," Claggor muttered. "For defending me earlier. Guiding me. It made this so much more bearable."

Caitlyn gave him a small, almost shy smile. “It was nothing. You handled yourself better than you realize.”

Claggor’s eyes softened, a hint of vulnerability slipping through the usual composure he carried. “Better with you here,” he admitted quietly, almost to himself. “I… I don’t know what I would’ve done without you.”

Vander cleared his throat gently, as if reminding them both of the larger world still lingering around them. “Well, now that the formalities are over, perhaps we can all finally breathe,” he said, a rare warmth threading through his usually measured tone.

Cassandra let out a soft hum. “Not quite over yet. The wedding will be much more difficult."

Caitlyn's shoulders tensed, absentmindedly toying with the diamond ring sitting on her hand.

This night was only one of the many battlefields she'd have to enter. Soon, it'll be wedding planning, more legal papers, then the wedding itself. And she doesn't even want to think about what'll happen after the wedding.

Her gaze drifted to the moonlight spilling across the grand hall, the silver glow catching on the polished floors like a reminder of the calm before the storm. Each shimmer felt like a ticking clock, counting down to the obligations she couldn’t yet escape—formalities, expectations, and the scrutiny that would follow her every step.

Soon, Claggor will be trained to take over the Kiramman seat. Which, to Caitlyn's advantage, finally means her mother would stop pestering her into taking the seat herself.

Caitlyn let out a small, almost imperceptible sigh of relief. Finally, some of the pressure would lift. Her mother’s relentless hints, subtle manipulations, and pointed questions about her future had been exhausting, a constant reminder that she was expected to step into a role she never wanted.

With Claggor preparing to take the Kiramman seat, at least she could focus on surviving the wedding without the added weight of her mother’s expectations pressing down on her every move.

Chapter Text

The Kiramman estate had finally gone quiet.

No more laughter spilling through the halls, no clinking glasses, no rehearsed pleasantries sharpened into polite daggers. The last carriage wheels had faded down the street, leaving only the faint scent of wine and wax lingering in the air.

But not everyone had left.

Down in the living room, Vander nursed a glass of amber liquor beside Tobias, the two men hunched low in quiet conversation while Cassandra kept her spine straight and her tone cool. The talk was no longer for the benefit of guests—it was business now, stripped of theater, their voices carrying just far enough to remind the estate who truly held the power.

Vi drifted away from it all. She’d had her fill of polished words and veiled threats for one night. But the image of Claggor standing beside Caitlyn, rigid and silent through hours of performance, stuck to her like a thorn.

She found herself stepping toward the terrace doors, chasing air, only to stop when she saw a lone figure already standing there. Caitlyn, still dressed in the evening’s finery, hands braced against the railing as though the marble itself was the only thing holding her upright.

Vi leaned against the wall, arms crossed and just.. observing. Observing the way Caitlyn's shoulders had finally relaxed, the way the moonlight complimented her midnight blue hair, the way this version of Caitlyn—relaxed and less polished—looked so different from the earlier version of her tonight.

She wasn't commanding the room this time.

She was just there.

"I can feel your eyes burning through me, Violet," Caitlyn said without looking back, her voice a little too steady to be casual.

Vi’s smirk tugged at the corner of her mouth. “Guess I’m not very subtle.”

“No,” Caitlyn exhaled, her fingers tracing the cool marble railing. "You're not."

That gave Vi pause. For a second she just watched her, the way moonlight softened the angles of Caitlyn’s face, stealing the sharpness that had cut so easily through councilmen hours earlier. Here, she didn’t look untouchable. She looked… real.

“So,” Vi finally pushed off the wall and closed some of the distance, slow enough not to spook the moment. “Tonight wasn't total torture. Was it?”

Caitlyn shrugged. "All the whispers and stares were expected," she sighed. "Though, I didn't think someone would outwardly say something."

Vi stood beside Caitlyn, still staying a respectful distance. She leaned over the railing, elbows resting over the smooth marble as they watched Piltover's light come alive throughout the city.

"Yeah," Vi muttered. "You handled it well."

Caitlyn gave a small, humorless laugh. “Well, it’s not the first time I’ve been a target. And it won’t be the last.”

Vi glanced sideways at her. “Still. You didn’t flinch.”

“That’s the trick, isn’t it?” Caitlyn’s tone softened, her gaze fixed on the glittering sprawl of Piltover below. “Never let them see it land.”

"Still. Thank you."

Caitlyn stilled, turning to face Violet. The soft lights reflected against her skin, but it was her piercing powder-blue eyes that commanded the moment. For once, the familiar cocky, irritating smirk was gone. Her voice carried no hint of passive aggression—only sincerity.

"What for?"

Violet blinked, caught off guard by the question. She scratched the back of her neck, suddenly wishing she had something in her hands to fidget with.

“For… y’know. Not letting them tear into Claggor. Not letting them tear into you.”

Caitlyn’s brows knit, subtle but sharp. “I wasn’t going to.”

“Could’ve fooled me,” Violet muttered, then met her gaze again. “Most topsiders would’ve let it slide. Would’ve looked the other way. But you didn’t. You stood there and took the hit, even when you didn’t have to.”

For a moment, neither spoke.

The city lights blinked in the distance, a living constellation.

Caitlyn’s lips parted like she had an answer, but nothing came out. Instead, she turned back to the railing, her fingers curling tight against the stone.

“Claggor is kind, but he doesn't have a backbone,” Violet chuckled softly.

That earned the faintest curve of Caitlyn’s lips. “You mean he has tact.”

Violet shook her head. “No, I mean he lets people walk all over him. He’ll take a hit just to keep the peace.”

Caitlyn tilted her head, considering. “There are worse qualities.”

“Yeah, but it’s not gonna save him when someone decides to go for blood,” Violet muttered, then glanced at her. “That’s why… what you did tonight mattered. You didn’t leave him twisting in the wind.”

Caitlyn’s eyes flicked toward her, sharp and searching. “You think I did it for him?”

Violet paused, a smirk tugging back into place—though softer this time. “Maybe not just for him.”

"Is this your way of apologizing for being a total arse?" Caitlyn asked, both serious and teasing.

Violet barked a laugh, shaking her head. “Don't get your hopes up, Kiramman.”

Caitlyn hummed, unimpressed, though the faintest hint of a smile tugged at her lips. “Of course. How silly of me to expect such a miracle."

“Glad we’re on the same page.” Violet leaned forward on her elbows, gaze fixed on the city lights. “Wouldn’t want you getting the wrong idea.”

Caitlyn huffed. "Sure, Lanes."

"Vi?" Powder's voice echoed from the hallway. "Vander is finally done yappin' about business and shit. Let's go hooooome."

Caitlyn and Violet shared a light laugh. Not quite friendly, not exactly warm—but not cold either. For once, neither of them felt the urge to shoot or punch the other.

And that, at least, was progress.

Violet pushed herself off the railings, stretching her arms. “Look,” she said before heading back inside, half-turned toward Caitlyn. “Don’t expect an apology. But maybe… maybe I’ll work on being less irritating.”

Caitlyn arched a brow, the corner of her mouth twitching. “I’ll believe it when I see it.”

Violet grinned, already walking away. “Then you better keep watching.”

Violet headed back inside, leaving Caitlyn alone with the hum of the city below. She drew in a slow breath, steadying herself, though she wasn’t sure what she was steadying for.

Violet’s words lingered, unpolished and jagged, yet sincere in a way most things in this estate never were. Less irritating, she’d said, as though that counted for something. And, absurdly, it did.

Caitlyn’s fingers pressed into the marble railing until the cool stone bit at her skin. She didn’t know what unsettled her more—the councilman’s barb after dinner, or the fact that Violet Lanes of all people had stood beside her afterward, unapologetic, unrefined, but present.

From inside came her mother’s voice, sharp as glass, carrying above the lower rumble of the men. That sound was familiar, comforting in its constancy, yet tonight it only made Caitlyn’s shoulders stiffen. Out there, she had been expected to be flawless. Out here, she’d been seen.

And that, she admitted silently, was far more dangerous.

She exhaled, gathering herself, and when she finally turned back inside, her mask slipped neatly back into place.

Vi lingered just inside the doorway, rolling her shoulders as if shaking off the night. She glanced back once, catching a glimpse of Caitlyn framed by the terrace doors, still standing at the railing as though she hadn’t moved.

The warmth of the terrace slipped away as soon as Vi stepped back into the estate. The heavy silence of earlier was gone, replaced by low voices rumbling from the living room.

Vander’s laugh, deep and familiar, carried through the hall. Tobias’ softer tones followed, measured and deliberate, while Cassandra’s clipped words cut cleanly through them both. It wasn’t a party anymore—it was negotiation, and every syllable felt like it weighed more than the glasses they nursed.

Powder had already darted ahead, her footsteps echoing as she vanished toward the front hall, probably chasing Mylo and Claggor.

By the time Vi stepped back into the hall, Powder was already bouncing in place, tugging on Vander’s arm. “Come on, it’s late,” she whined, her voice carrying like it always did.

Mylo lounged against the bannister, looking half-asleep but too stubborn to admit it, while Claggor lingered at his side, as patient as ever.

Vander pushed himself up from his chair, clapping Tobias on the shoulder, their voices low with the kind of parting words that never really ended anything. Cassandra didn’t even bother to stand at first, perched like a hawk on the edge of her seat, spine razor-straight, glass untouched.

“We’ll be on our way,” Vander said, his tone easy but final.

“About time,” Powder muttered, earning herself a quick glare from Claggor.

Vi crossed her arms, rolling her shoulders to shake off the weight of the night, her eyes scanning the room. That’s when Caitlyn appeared from the terrace. The air seemed to shift as she walked in—composed again, mask back in place like she hadn’t just been out there, soft edges in the moonlight.

“Thank you for coming,” Caitlyn said, her voice smooth, steady. Polite. Too polite. Her gaze brushed over Vi just long enough to remind her of the terrace before moving on to Vander. “It was… enlightening.”

Vander chuckled, deep and gravelly. “That’s one word for it.”

Finally, Cassandra rose, smile sharp enough to cut glass. “I’m sure we’ll have much to discuss in the future.”

Vi didn’t miss the way Caitlyn’s jaw tightened at that, even if no one else noticed.

Powder had already skipped toward the door, humming to herself, dragging the end of the night with her. Mylo groaned and followed. Claggor gave a quick, nervous glance back toward Caitlyn before trudging after them.

Vi lingered, just for a beat. Her eyes caught Caitlyn’s again—blue against blue—and for a second it felt like they were both remembering the terrace.

Then she turned away, heading for the door. No words, no promises. Just enough.

The air outside was sharp, clean, a rush against her skin after hours of wine-soaked rooms. She exhaled like she’d been holding her breath all evening.

Still, her eyes flicked back—just once. Caitlyn was standing at the top of the stairs, framed by the chandelier’s glow. Perfectly poised again, untouchable as ever. Except Vi knew better now. She’d seen the faint cracks.

Their gazes met for a heartbeat. No words. Just that flicker of something unspoken, sharp and soft all at once.

Then Vi shoved her hands in her pockets and stepped out into the night, Powder already skipping ahead down the path.

The estate doors closed behind them with a heavy thud. The sound should’ve felt final. Instead, it just echoed in Vi’s chest, louder than she wanted to admit.

Caitlyn sat in front of her vanity, gently wiping away the last trace of make-up from beneath her eyes. Finally, the night was over. No more dresses, no more painted lips, no more sharpening herself into something presentable for her mother’s world.

Just Caitlyn, her silk pajamas, her freshly washed face, and the comfort of routine. A new book waited for her on the nightstand, its spine begging to be cracked open, alongside a steaming cup of chamomile that filled her room with the faintest trace of honey.

She exhaled, shoulders loosening as the silence wrapped around her like a blanket. This was her sanctuary—no audience, no performance, no expectations. Just Caitlyn.

But as she smoothed cream across her cheeks and patted it in with practiced fingers, her mind drifted, uninvited, back to the terrace. To Violet leaning against the railing, arms crossed like she owned the moonlight. To the rough warmth in her voice when she’d said thank you.

Caitlyn frowned at her own reflection, as if her mirror might betray what she was thinking. Foolish. She should be reveling in the peace of the night, not replaying conversations with a stubborn Lane who didn’t know when to keep her mouth shut.

And yet…

The memory lingered.

Caitlyn closed the jar of cream with a soft click, setting it neatly on the vanity. She told herself the warmth in her chest was from the tea waiting beside her bed.

She didn’t quite believe it.

And yet.

She wished it would stay this way. Peaceful.

Making amends with Violet would solve half her engagement complications. Less stress. Less time arguing, more time planning.

Less exhausting bickering, fewer daggers dressed as dinner conversations. More time to focus on what mattered—her work, her duty, her future.

Plus.. she should get along with her future sister-in-law.

Right?

Her nose wrinkled at the thought. Ugh. Even in her own head it sounded absurd. Foreign. Wrong.

Caitlyn leaned back against her pillows, the rim of her teacup brushing her lips, when a sharp knock cracked through the quiet.

She froze. Only one person in this house knocked like that—short, precise, expectant.

“Come in,” she said, already setting the cup aside.

The door opened, and Cassandra stepped in, every line of her posture composed, her gown from earlier exchanged for something simpler but no less immaculate. She didn’t sit, didn’t even glance at the empty book on Caitlyn’s lap.

“You handled yourself adequately tonight,” Cassandra began, voice cool and measured. “Your composure held, despite… unnecessary distractions.”

Caitlyn’s jaw tightened, but she kept her expression smooth. “If you’re referring to Violet, she wasn’t the distraction. She's Claggor's sister, it's only natural that she wanted to stand up for him."

Cassandra’s brows arched, just enough to signal disapproval. "People around her wouldn't tolerate such retort from a Zaunite. Elites are already saying they don't belong. The Lanes may be tolerated in this estate for now, but they are not your concern. Do you understand?”

The weight of her mother’s gaze pressed like stone. Caitlyn folded her hands neatly in her lap, her voice steady, practiced. “Of course, Mother.”

Cassandra lingered a moment longer, eyes narrowing as though searching for a crack in Caitlyn’s mask. Finally, she nodded once and turned to leave.

When the door clicked shut, Caitlyn exhaled slowly, shoulders sinking back into the pillows.

Morning sunlight spilled in through the tall windows, cutting across polished floors and the familiar scatter of rugs and cushions. The Lanes’ place wasn’t gilded the way the Kirammans’ was, but it breathed life—warm colors, worn-in comfort, everything placed because it was lived in, not because it matched.

Vi stretched out of bed, bare feet hitting the cool wood, and yawned. She could already hear Powder downstairs, her laughter carrying through the halls as she argued with Mylo over breakfast. Claggor’s steady voice tried to keep the peace, but from the sound of clattering plates, he wasn’t winning.

Pulling on trousers and a loose shirt, Vi padded down the wide staircase, rolling her shoulders. Her body still remembered last night—tight suits, tight collars, tight conversations. Everything about the Kiramman estate had felt like a performance. Their own home, by contrast, was a relief.

The long dining table was set, sunlight glinting off silver cutlery, but the scene was anything but formal. Powder sat cross-legged on her chair, already licking jam off her fingers. Mylo was trying to sneak extra cream onto his toast before Claggor swatted his hand away.

“Morning,” Claggor said, pushing a plate toward her. Fresh bread, poached eggs, fruit cut neat. “Hungry?”

“Starving,” Vi said, dropping into her seat. She tore a piece of bread with her hands and grinned when Powder made a face at her.

“Bet the fancy council food wasn’t this good,” Mylo said around a mouthful, crumbs flying.

Vi smirked. “Depends. Do you count awkward silence and side-eye as seasoning?”

That earned a laugh from Powder, who nearly tipped her chair back in the process.

But even as she joined in, Vi felt her thoughts pull back—toward the terrace, toward the moonlight on Caitlyn Kiramman’s face, toward words that hadn’t felt like a performance.

She stabbed a piece of fruit with her fork, pushing the thought down. The Kirammans had their world. The Lanes had theirs.

“So,” Powder started, still chewing on a piece of bacon, grease shining on her fingers. “How was last night, Clagg? Total torture?”

Claggor dabbed politely at his mouth with a napkin—because of course he did—and raised a brow. “It wasn’t torture. Just… long.”

“Long and boring,” Mylo corrected, snatching a strip of bacon off Powder’s plate before she smacked his hand. “Bet they made you sit there like some statue while the snobs circled.”

Claggor’s sigh was more amused than tired. “Better a statue than a spectacle. Some of us know how to blend in.”

Vi chuckled into her coffee, shaking her head. “He’s not wrong. You looked like you’d rather sink through the floor, though.”

Claggor’s ears went pink, and Powder grinned wickedly. “See? Torture.”

“I survived, didn’t I?” Claggor said, and there was a flicker of pride in his tone.

Vi smirked. “With a little help.”

That pulled a chorus of groans and laughter from the table, Powder pounding the wood for emphasis while Mylo muttered something about “fancy Kiramman saving his ass”.

Claggor tried to glare, but the corners of his mouth betrayed him, tugging into a reluctant smile.

“You’re gonna be a councilor soon, dude,” Mylo reminded, waving his fork like it was a gavel. “You gotta grow some balls and stand up for yourself. If you can’t defend your own ass, how do ya expect to fight for Zaun?”

Claggor set his utensils down carefully, posture stiffening just a little. “You think I don’t know that?”

Mylo scoffed, leaning back in his chair. “There’s a difference between keeping the peace and letting people walk all over you. Caitlyn had to step in for you, man. Caitlyn.”

Powder snorted, nearly choking on her juice. “The fancy topsider heiress! Our Claggor, saved by the Lady Kiramman.”

Vi smirked over the rim of her coffee cup, finally chiming in. “They’re not wrong, big guy. You held your own, but… if Caitlyn hadn’t opened her mouth when she did, things might’ve gone sideways.”

Claggor’s jaw ticked, but he didn’t argue. He just sighed, heavy but thoughtful. “Maybe. But she didn’t have to step in at all—and she did. That says something.”

"Ya know,” Mylo continued, waving his bacon around like it had somehow helped him curate a sentence, “Caitlyn’s badass. She handles things well—hell, she isn’t even afraid to talk back to a councilor! I wonder why she didn’t take her family’s seat herself.”

Powder perked up, eyes wide with mock seriousness. “Maybe she’s secretly plotting a coup. Start small with defending Claggor, next thing you know she’s running the whole Council.”

Claggor groaned. “You idiot. If she wanted to run the whole council, then she would've just.. straight up took the seat herself."

Vi chuckled, leaning back in her chair. “Nah, Powder’s onto something. You saw her last night—she didn’t even blink when that pompous ass tried to drag us down. She cut him cleaner than a blade through silk.”

“Exactly!” Mylo jabbed his bacon in Vi’s direction. “That’s what I’m saying. If she can stand toe-to-toe with those fossils, why isn’t she sitting in the chamber already? Tobias is, what, testing her or something? Testing if she can survive the sharks?”

“Or maybe she doesn’t want it,” Claggor offered, quieter, thoughtful.

That stilled the table for a second. Powder tilted her head. “Not want it? Who wouldn’t want it? Power, influence, fancy dinners every night—”

“Fake smiles, constant stares, people waiting for you to slip,” Vi interrupted, her smirk fading just a little. “Not exactly paradise.”

Claggor gave a small nod, almost grateful she said it for him. “Maybe that’s the difference. Caitlyn doesn’t see it as a prize. She sees it for what it is.”

“Which makes her dangerous,” Mylo muttered, though the corner of his mouth twitched. “The smart kind of dangerous.”

Vi raised her mug in mock salute. “Guess that’s why she’s interesting.”

Caitlyn's office smelled faintly of jasmine, honey and polished wood. A few documents were piled up neatly at the corner of her desk, all waiting to be read and signed by the end of the day. The tall windows welcomed the morning light, the city outside slowly coming alive as the day starts.

Caitlyn's heels clicked against the polished floors as she enters, her portfolio tucked neatly under her arm. Her assistant stood beside her desk, tablet in hand and scrolling through her schedule for the week.

“Good morning, Miss Kiramman,” Maddie greeted without looking up, stylus tapping against the glass. “You have a meeting with the new investors at ten, another meeting with the trade delegates at noon, and your father’s requested you join the afternoon review with the Lanes for your upcoming wedding.”

Caitlyn slid her portfolio onto the desk and shrugged off her coat, draping it neatly over the back of her chair. “Of course he has,” she murmured, smoothing down her cuffs before lowering herself into the leather seat.

Maddie finally glanced up, eyes sharp. “Do you want me to reschedule, considering yesterday’s—”

“No,” Caitlyn cut in gently, already reaching for the first stack of documents. “Leave it as is. I can handle it.”

Her assistant hesitated, then nodded and began updating the schedule again. The soft clacking of the stylus filled the room.

Caitlyn stepped out of her office, portfolio tucked neatly under her arm, and started down the polished corridor. The halls of the Kiramman wing were hushed this time of morning, just the occasional clerk scurrying past or a secretary balancing a stack of files. She walked with purpose, heels clicking against the marble, mind already halfway to the documents she needed from the records office. Her first meeting was in forty minutes and she needed a specific file which was stored all the way at the other side of the building.

It wasn’t until she rounded the corner that the low murmur of voices caught her ear. Two junior aides leaned close together beside the filing cabinets, their laughter pitched just low enough to suggest they thought they were safe.

“…can you imagine?” one of them whispered, a man with a nervous smile. “The Kiramman heir tied to them. I heard the Lanes barely know which fork to use.”

The woman beside him snickered. “And she’s meant to marry into that? A councilor's daughter, reduced to… what? Babysitting Zaun brats in Piltover silk?”

Caitlyn slowed, every instinct telling her to keep walking. But she didn’t. She stood just out of their sight line, their voices bleeding clearly into the hall.

“I thought she’d take the seat herself,” the man continued, “but maybe she’s not cut out for it. Why else would her parents force a match like this? Clean hands, dirty alliance. Looks good on paper, until the filth rubs off.”

The woman giggled, muffled behind her hand. “Well, at least she’s pretty. She’ll photograph well enough for the papers, even if her husband can’t string two words together without looking lost.”

Caitlyn’s grip on her portfolio tightened until the leather creaked. Her expression remained cool, schooled, though heat curled low in her chest. For a moment, she considered stepping into view, letting her presence slice through their cowardly whispers like glass.

Instead, she straightened her cuffs, adjusted her posture, and continued down the hall. The sharp echo of her heels made both aides flinch and snap their heads around. Their faces drained of color when they realized she’d been within earshot the entire time.

Caitlyn didn’t so much as glance at them. She kept her chin high, eyes fixed forward, as if their existence barely warranted acknowledgment. Yet her stride slowed just enough that the deliberate rhythm of her heels stretched the silence, forcing them to squirm under the reminder of who she was.

The aides fumbled with their papers, coughing, straightening collars, whispering frantic apologies she had no intention of hearing.

By the time Caitlyn reached the records office, her face betrayed nothing. Only her grip on the portfolio remained taut, the faintest tremor in her knuckles where the leather bent.

She reminded herself of her mother’s words: Power is never in the noise. It’s in what you choose to leave unsaid.

But as she collected the papers she’d come for, Caitlyn found her reflection in the glass cabinet door, her jaw set tighter than she realized. She smoothed her cuffs, breathed through her nose, and forced the thought away.

Because if this was how they whispered in the halls—what must they be saying in the council chambers?

“Councilor Kiramman, you must understand how idiotic this all sounds,” one of the older men scoffed, a heavy hand thudding against the polished oak table. His rings clicked against the surface as he leaned forward, his voice dripping with disdain. “A Zaunite, becoming part of this council? Since when have we let outsiders take a seat?”

A few murmurs of agreement rippled around the chamber. Some councilors shifted uncomfortably in their chairs, while others smirked as if the words had confirmed their own beliefs.

Cassandra didn’t flinch. Her hands rested lightly on the table, posture unyielding, every line of her body composed. The insult wasn’t aimed at her directly, but it clung to her all the same, laced with the rumors already hissing through Piltover’s halls.

Her gaze flicked to the speaker, calm and cutting. “Since when,” she asked evenly, “has this council confused lineage with competence?”

The room stilled, and for a heartbeat, the only sound was the distant hum of the city beyond the tall windows.

Cassandra allowed the silence to stretch, then leaned back in her chair, her expression the very picture of restraint. “If you’d like to debate heritage, I suggest you take it up with your historians. But if you’d rather discuss the future of Piltover, then I’d advise we stay focused on those who have already proven their loyalty—and their value—to this city.”

"He isn't part of this city," one argued. "Him and his family don't carry any value to our city."

Cassandra folded her hands in her lap, her voice soft but steady. "Zaun is part of Piltover. An alliance has been formed between the two cities for more than a decade. Their city has not one gotten any representation nor support—and yet, their city still stands strong."

The man’s mouth pressed into a thin line. Others shifted again, but this time not with smugness—more with caution.

"Now,” Cassandra leaned closer, placing her hands on the table as she spoke, her voice firm enough to cut through the murmurs, “imagine if they had the support they needed. Imagine if Zaun’s ingenuity, its resilience, its raw determination, were not spent merely on survival—but channeled into building alongside Piltover.”

She let her gaze sweep the table, lingering just long enough on the doubters to make them shift in their seats.

“Representation does not weaken us,” she continued. “It strengthens us. Because whether you care to admit it or not, Zaun is part of this city. And ignoring that truth has done nothing but breed division.”

Her words fell heavy in the silence, the kind that dared anyone to speak against them.

“Perhaps,” Cassandra added smoothly, though her eyes gleamed sharp as glass, “what frightens some of you is not that a Zaunite might sit among us—but that they might do it better than those born into privilege.”

A ripple moved across the chamber, some councilors frowning, others carefully averting their eyes.

Cassandra leaned back once more, her posture regal, her tone cool again. “The future will come whether we welcome it or not. I, for one, would rather shape it than cower from it.”

“Claggor Lanes is the perfect example. With the Kirammans’ guidance—my guidance—he has learned to navigate these chambers with more dignity than half of you seated here. He's not perfect—not yet. Give it time and trust that I will guide him well. I, for one, would rather my family's seat and legacy gets passed onto someone like him. Someone who is sure to build their very own legacy within mine."

Her gaze cut across the table, lingering on the councilman who’d first spoken against her.

Cassandra folded her hands in her lap, her voice soft but steady. “Choose carefully which hill you’d like to die on, gentlemen. Because the world is watching.”

"Caitlyn Kiramman—engaged to a Zaunite?"

"Kiramman and Lanes—soon to be in-laws?"

"The council’s future in question: Caitlyn Kiramman’s fiancé, Claggor Lanes, rumored successor?"

"A Zaunite in the Council Chambers?"

"An engagement… or an arrangement?"

"Love match, or political maneuver?"

"Partners in marriage—or just business?"

"Caitlyn Kiramman and Claggor Lanes: a union to shake Piltover."

Anonymous:

Wait, Caitlyn Kiramman, the richest heiress in all of Piltover is engaged to a Zaunite?

Randompiltoversnob_284 replied:

Right? this all seems so.. fake.

User20494 replied:

I know! I mean, what could Caitlyn see in Claggor? Not money, that's for sure.

Ilikegossip_829 replied:

She wouldn't be looking for money anyway. She's literally the youngest billionaire in Piltover. Billionaire. With a B.

RandomCommenter_piltover replied:

maybe it's some political strategy.

ZauniteAnonymous posted:

ew. why the hell would a Lanes want to marry into some rich girl’s family.

GearRat99 replied:

bro it’s called survival. u think pilt money doesn’t make life easier?

TopsideElite replied:

Survival? Please. This is clearly the Lanes trying to claw their way up the social ladder.

LanesRising replied:

and what’s wrong with that? every Pilty council family already married for politics. funny how it’s a “problem” only when it’s Zaun.

HexTechie42 replied:

honestly? sounds fake anyway. kiramman’s mom would rather choke on her pearls than let her daughter marry a Zaunite.

Vi burst through the door, the loud thud echoing through the hallway. Her boots slammed against the polished floor, each step sharp and unrelenting, the sound bouncing off the high ceilings. She didn’t bother with restraint—her fists were already balled, her jaw set tight, eyes burning with a fury that warned anyone in her path to stand clear.

Powder, startled by the sudden entrance, rose from her seat, instinctively smoothing down her dress as if that small act could steady the storm barreling toward her.

“Have you seen the fucking articles? The posts? This is all ridiculous,” Vi barked, throwing a paper down so hard it skidded across the table. The headline screamed up at them: Kiramman Heiress to Wed Zaunite — A Union of Pity or Politics?

Powder’s brows shot up. “...They’re saying Cait’s marrying Claggor?”

Vi’s hands curled into fists, pacing like a caged animal. “Yeah. As if Caitlyn Kiramman—Caitlyn—would ever look at Claggor like that! He’s our brother, and they’re acting like she’s about to waltz down the aisle with him just because it makes for good headlines.”

Powder picked up the paper, tilting her head. “Well… at least they didn’t pair her with Mylo. That would’ve been worse.”

Vi snapped her gaze toward her, unamused. “Powder.”

“What? I’m just saying—imagine the photos.”

Vi groaned, dragging both hands down her face. "Not the time for jokes, Powder."

Powder sighed, raising her hands up in mock surrender. "Should we tell Vander? Get some people to delete it? Go get someone sued? I'm sure Ekko could—"

"No." Vi shook her head, arms crossed and fists still curled. "Just—just go clear my schedule for the day. I have to go talk to Vander and probably some board members who’ll want an explanation."

Powder raised a brow. "Psh, clear your schedule," she echoed. "What am I, your assistant?"

Vi shot her a flat look. "No, you’re my pain in the ass who doesn’t know when to stop talking."

Vi exhaled sharply through her nose, but the corner of her mouth twitched despite herself. "Powder, I’m serious. This is going to blow up if we don’t get ahead of it."

"And you think stomping around like you’re about to punch the walls down is gonna fix it?" Powder asked, crossing her arms to mirror her sister. "News flash: that’s not a strategy, it’s a tantrum."

Vi opened her mouth, ready to snap back, then closed it again, teeth grinding. "…Fine. Maybe. But I can’t let people drag Claggor through the mud like this. Not on my watch."

Chapter Text

The gossip traveled faster than Cassandra Kiramman could snap her fingers.

Social media feeds flooded with posts dissecting every rumor, videos cropped and edited with dramatic captions, endless comments speculating about the truth. Headlines screamed across Piltover’s newsstands: Kiramman Heiress Engaged to Zaunite?!

The room was eerily calm.

Vander cut through the silence, his voice both measured but sharp. "It's only been a few days," he began, hands resting on the long table. "News articles are already talking."

Tobias shifted in his chair, exhaling. “They’re not just talking, Vander. They’re turning it into a spectacle. Forums, journals, backroom chatter. Some are treating it like a joke. Others… like it’s an insult to Piltover itself.”

Cassandra’s gaze narrowed, cold steel behind her calm. “Then let them talk,” she said. “The city has always needed its distractions. Better it be us than something that truly matters.”

Vander leaned back, frowning. “Easy for you to say. It’s not just noise anymore. Sooner or later, this gossip starts to weigh on the council. And when that happens, it won’t just be words—it’ll be policy.”

Caitlyn stared at the open article on her laptop, her fingers tapping anxiously against the keyboard.

“We must all be aware that rumors like this affect business—and our image.”

Violet raised a brow, arms crossed as she leaned back in her chair. “Is your reputation what you’re worried about?” Her tone wasn’t mocking, just… genuinely curious.

Caitlyn looked at her, their eyes locking for a beat longer than either intended. Then she turned away, exhaling slowly.

“No,” she said at last. “I’m saying it will look bad for both our families. Do you think people will take it lightly once they figure out Claggor is only receiving the seat because of business?”

She let the words hang in the air, heavy, before adding softly, “Besides… people in Piltover already disagree with someone from Zaun taking a seat. They don’t see the point in changing tradition—only in keeping it.”

Violet tilted her head, watching her carefully. “So what? They don’t like change. They never do. Doesn’t mean it’s not needed.”

Caitlyn’s lips pressed into a thin line. “Needed and accepted are very different things.”

Violet leaned forward then, her voice quieter, more deliberate. “Let me ask you this, Caitlyn… what do you think? Forget the council. Forget the gossip. Do you think Claggor deserves it?”

"Of course," Caitlyn replied.

Violet blinked, caught of guard with how quickly Caitlyn had responded.

“Zaun deserves it. Despite what you think of me, I’m not blind to the way this city works. Zaun should've been in that council the moment we've formed an alliance. And if Piltover refuses to see that… then it only proves how much we need Zaun here.”

Her voice wavered, not with doubt but with something closer to anger. She shut the laptop with a firm click, as if silencing the noise of the world outside.

Violet leaned forward, studying her. “Didn’t peg you for someone who’d stick their neck out for us.”

Caitlyn met her eyes again, steady this time. “I’m not sticking my neck out. I’m stating the truth. And if the truth threatens Piltover’s comfort, then so be it.”

For a moment, Violet didn’t have a smart reply ready. She just stared, a small flicker of something—respect, maybe—crossing her features.

“Alright,” Vander interrupted, his voice grounding the room again. “How are we going to fix this?”

Caitlyn glanced at him, her jaw tightening. “We can’t fix people’s opinions overnight. But we can manage how the story is told.”

Cassandra’s eyes flicked to her daughter, calm but calculating. “Control the narrative before it controls us.”

Violet leaned back in her chair, arms still crossed. “Sounds nice in theory. But you think Piltie elites are just gonna swallow whatever headline you feed ‘em? They already made up their minds the second they saw Claggor’s name next to yours.”

“Then we don’t let it stop there,” Caitlyn countered. Her tone sharpened, deliberate. “We put Claggor in front of them. Publicly. Show them his work, his competence, his vision for the city.”

Silence stretched for a beat before Cassandra smoothed her gloves, unruffled.

“Not just Claggor’s competence,” she said evenly, “but your engagement’s sincerity. If this is to hold, it must be more than business on paper. The public must believe in it. Feel it.”

Caitlyn stiffened, her lips parting as if to protest, but Cassandra’s gaze pinned her in place.

Vander frowned, rubbing a hand over his beard. “You’re saying parade them around like some happy couple? That’s dangerous. Folks can smell a lie quicker than they’ll admit.”

Violet gave a dry laugh, leaning forward on the table. “Guess it’s a good thing Caitlyn’s a natural at playing the part.”

Caitlyn shot her a sharp look, but Violet only smirked back, that flicker of respect still lingering beneath the tease.

Cassandra ignored the jab, her tone clipped. “Then there can be no false step. Appearances, words, timing—everything must be precise. If this is to work, both of you must treat it as more than an arrangement.”

Caitlyn swallowed hard, her mind racing. For the first time, the weight of her mother’s words didn’t just feel like strategy. It felt like a command.

Claggor finally spoke, leaning forward and resting his elbows on the table. "What do you expect us to do? Parade around and act like we're in a perfect couple documentary?"

His words cut through the tension, blunt and unvarnished.

Cassandra’s lips curved into the faintest ghost of a smile.

“Not act, Claggor. Convince. There is a difference.”

“That’s just a fancier word for act, ma’am,” he shot back. His tone was respectful, but unflinching. “You don’t have to make excuses. This is all acting. We aren’t at all in love.”

The words hung in the air like shattered glass.

Caitlyn’s fingers curled into her lap, her expression carefully neutral.

Violet’s brows shot up, then furrowed, as if she was fighting the urge to jump in. Vander shifted, exhaling through his nose, but kept silent.

Cassandra did not flinch. If anything, her stillness was sharper, colder. “Then perhaps you misunderstand the purpose of alliances,” she said smoothly. “Love has never been the currency of the council. Stability is.”

Claggor leaned back, arms folding across his chest. “And if stability demands a lie? Then Piltover’s no better than the undercity it looks down on.”

For the first time, Cassandra’s gaze broke from him—just briefly—to her daughter. Caitlyn met it, her throat tightening, torn between the weight of truth and the necessity of her mother’s game.

“Lying was already a clear step in… all of this. We both knew we had to lie,” Caitlyn intercepted, her tone cutting through the tension.

Claggor’s eyes flicked to her, searching. “And you’re fine with that?”

Her hands pressed flat against the table, knuckles pale, but her voice was steady.

“We both knew from the beginning that marriage was the only way you could claim the seat,” she reminded smoothly. “Marriage that requires convincing the public this is all real. And that—” her gaze swept across the table, unwavering “—that requires lying.”

Claggor’s lips pressed into a thin line, but before he could retort, Caitlyn continued.

“Lying is only a small price to pay. Without it, the council will never let you through the door. With it, you have a chance to change everything once you’re inside.”

Her words hung, sharp and deliberate, like a blade suspended above the table.

Violet’s brows furrowed, her arms dropping from their crossed position. “You’re asking him to build something real on a rotten foundation.”

Caitlyn’s eyes snapped to her. “I’m asking him to survive long enough to build it at all. The results will be worth the journey."

Vander let out a low grunt, leaning back in his chair. “She’s not wrong. Sometimes you swallow poison if it keeps the peace.”

Claggor exhaled slowly, his jaw tense. “Maybe. But if we start by lying, we’d better be ready for the day it all comes crashing down.”

"It won't crash," Caitlyn replied confidently. "I won't let it. We can't let it."

Claggor studied her, lips pressed in a thin line. There was a flicker of something in his eyes—admiration, maybe, or disbelief—but it passed quickly, hidden behind his usual caution.

Violet leaned back again, shaking her head with a soft, humorless laugh. “You sound a lot like your mother right now.”

Caitlyn’s jaw tightened, but she didn’t look away. “If sounding like her is what it takes to protect this, then so be it.”

Cassandra allowed herself the faintest nod of approval, smoothing her gloves. “Then we are in agreement. We go forward, together. Carefully. Strategically.”

Vander scratched at his beard, the weight of his sigh heavy in the air. “Together, huh. Funny word for something half the city already thinks is a sham.”

The silence that followed wasn’t calm. It was taut—threads stretched to their limit, ready to snap at the smallest pull.

Powder, who’d been silently observing the whole meeting, finally spoke.

“Let’s get it done and sorted already,” she said, voice dripping with obvious impatience. "You’re basically just telling them to go on a fake date to prove their undying ‘love’ so the public can go suck up all their lies,” she concluded, throwing her hands up.

“Well, not—” Caitlyn tried to correct.

“That’s easy. Dunno why you gotta make it such a big deal. Psh, talkin’ like it’s rocket science when all it takes is holdin’ hands and makin’ goo-goo eyes at each other in front of a camera.”

Violet groaned, dragging a hand down her face. “Powder…”

“What?” Powder shot back, eyes wide with mock innocence. “I’m right, ain’t I? All this council drama boils down to one fancy dinner, a few kisses, and—boom—the city eats it up.”

Vander muttered under his breath, “Not exactly the kind of subtle strategy we were aiming for.”

Cassandra’s lips thinned, but she didn’t rebuke Powder. Instead, her gaze drifted back to Caitlyn and Claggor. “She may lack grace, but she is not entirely wrong. The public must see you. Together. Undeniable.”

Caitlyn exhaled slowly, shooting Powder a sharp look, but the girl only grinned, swinging her legs carelessly under her chair.

Caitlyn’s jaw tightened. “It isn’t that simple—”

“Sure it is,” Powder cut her off, slouching in her chair. “You and Claggor get all dressed up, smile at each other like you just solved world hunger, let some nosy reporter snap pictures, and ta-da—Piltover thinks you’re the next great love story.”

Violet huffed a laugh. “Gotta admit, Caitlyn, she’s got a point. Beats sittin’ here arguing about it ‘til sunrise.”

Caitlyn turned her glare on Violet, sharp enough to slice steel. “You think this is funny?”

“I think it’s the only part of this circus that is funny,” Violet shot back, smirking.

“Enough,” Cassandra said, her voice smooth but final. She folded her hands neatly on the table. “Powder is crass in her phrasing, but her observation is correct. You will not convince the city with words in council chambers. You will convince them with appearances. With moments they cannot question.”

Claggor let out a low groan, rubbing his face. “So what—dinners, strolls through the market, hand-holding at galas? You’re asking us to turn into walking theater.”

“Not theater,” Cassandra corrected coolly. “Proof.”

Powder grinned wide, leaning forward like she’d won something. “Told you. Fake dates. Problem solved.”

“Not dates,” Caitlyn snapped, her composure finally cracking. “Appearances. Carefully planned, carefully executed—”

“Uh-huh,” Powder sing-songed. “You call it appearances, I call it date night with an audience. Tomato, tomahto. Stop makin' things painfully difficult with all your formal talk and get straight to the point."

Violet snorted, trying—and failing—to hide her amusement. Caitlyn shot her a look that promised retribution later.

"I can very clearly see how you two are related," Caitlyn muttered under her breath.

Vander exhaled, heavy and tired. “So we’re really doing this, then. Selling the lie until folks start buying it.”

Powder shrugged. "People eat up everything they see online. This'll be a piece of cake."

The silence stretched, heavy, until Cassandra broke it with the soft click of her gloves against the table.

“Then it’s settled. The question now is how to begin.”

Tobias leaned forward, brows furrowed. “If you’re serious about swaying opinion, it has to start with visibility. A gala, a council-hosted event—somewhere respectable. Somewhere you can’t be dismissed as a staged stunt.”

Claggor groaned. “Great. Put me in a room full of powdered wigs and forks I can’t figure out. That’ll convince ‘em.”

Violet barked a laugh. “Long as you don’t start eatin’ soup with a dessert spoon, you’ll be fine.”

Claggor shot her a look, unimpressed.

Cassandra’s voice cut through before the teasing could spiral. “A gala is too obvious. The council would see it for what it is. No—what you need is contrast. Appear where they least expect you. Somewhere public, ordinary. A walk through the markets. Patronizing a Piltovan café. A cause or charity the council can’t oppose.”

“Charity,” Caitlyn echoed, thoughtful. “Something civic. Something respectable, but… human.”

Powder leaned back in her chair, unimpressed. “Or you could just go out for drinks and make out in front of everyone. Way faster.”

Caitlyn scrunched her nose in disgust before quickly masking it with a neutral expression.

“Powder,” Vander warned, though the corner of his mouth twitched.

“Just saying!” she grinned, hands up in mock defense. “Less planning, more results.”

Caitlyn pinched the bridge of her nose, inhaling through her teeth. “If we want results, we’ll need both. Controlled appearances, and…” she hesitated, reluctantly glancing at Powder, “…small, organic gestures. Things that don’t look rehearsed.”

Violet smirked knowingly. “So, fake dates with improv. Sounds fun.”

Claggor muttered something under his breath, then sat up straighter. “Alright. Let’s say we do this. Where’s the first step?”

“I got an idea,” Powder piped up immediately, eyes glinting with mischief.

“I’m terrified to hear it,” Caitlyn deadpanned, already bracing herself.

“Hey!” Powder pouted, pointing a finger accusingly. “My plans have been working so far. Even Mrs. Kiramman liked ’em!”

Cassandra’s lips curved into the faintest shadow of a smile. “On occasion.”

Powder brightened at the almost-compliment. “See? Progress!” She clapped her hands together, leaning across the table.

"Alright. So, we got a tight schedule before the wedding, correct?"

Caitlyn nodded cautiously.

“Okay, let’s kill two birds with one stone, then,” Powder grinned.

Violet muttered, “Here we go…”

“You two gotta prep for the wedding anyway, right?” Powder said, pointing between Caitlyn and Claggor. “So why not make that the date? Go try on fancy clothes, look at cakes, argue about flowers—whatever rich people do when they’re pretending to be in love. The public sees it, bam, instant proof you’re a couple. Super believable.”

Caitlyn blinked. “You want us to… turn wedding preparations into a publicity stunt?”

“Duh. The whole thing is a publicity stunt anyway.” Powder spread her hands like it was the most obvious thing in the world. “Kill two birds. You’re planning the wedding and giving the people their gooey romance show at the same time. Saves time, saves face.”

Claggor raised a brow. “So instead of one miserable event, you want us to roll them all into one long miserable event?”

“Now you’re getting it!” Powder shot finger guns.

Vander sighed heavily. “Janna help me, but… it could work. Shops, tailors, bakeries—places we can control the crowd and invite the right eyes.”

Cassandra’s gaze sharpened, calculating. “Yes."

Caitlyn rubbed her temple. “So my wedding dress fitting becomes a headline.”

Violet smirked at her across the table. “Better start practicing those doe eyes, Cupcake.”

Caitlyn shot her a withering look.

Powder only grinned wider. “See? I’m basically a genius.”

The plan was set in motion faster than Caitlyn could talk herself out of it.

The next morning, Caitlyn found herself walking hand-in-hand with Claggor down the street. Powder had insisted they skip the car—“a walk is so much more romantic,” she’d argued—and reminded them it made for easier photographs.

The first stop on their “wedding prep date” was a patisserie, chosen for its cozy charm and large windows—perfect for letting the press peek in without stepping foot inside.

From the moment Caitlyn and Claggor walked through the door, the sweet smell of sugar and buttercream wrapped around them. Outside, camera lenses glinted like hungry eyes.

“This is already a nightmare,” Caitlyn muttered under her breath, forcing a smile as Claggor held the door for her.

“Could be worse,” he said. “At least there’s cake.”

Powder bolted past them, practically pressed against the glass display. “Look at all this! Cupcake, you’re literally marrying a cake buffet. Lucky.”

Caitlyn stiffened. “Powder, this is—”

“Shh!” Powder hissed, waving her off without even looking. “Reporters outside. Pretend you’re about to pick the flavor of your everlasting love or whatever.”

Claggor chuckled, pulling out a chair with exaggerated chivalry. “After you, fiancée.”

Caitlyn sat, posture perfect, while Claggor slouched into the seat across from her. The baker arrived moments later, carrying a polished tray of samples—lavender sponge, chocolate ganache, lemon chiffon, honey-drizzle tart.

“Your options for the wedding cake, Miss Kiramman,” she said warmly. “Each can be made into a tiered design.”

Caitlyn lifted a fork, cutting off a careful bite of the lavender sponge. Before she could taste it, Powder suddenly slammed her palms on the table. “Wrong!”

Both Caitlyn and Claggor jumped. “What—” Caitlyn began.

“You gotta feed each other, duh!” Powder declared, eyes sparkling with mischief. “It’s like, Wedding Rule Number One. Otherwise it’s just… boring cake.”

Claggor blinked at her. “Please tell me she’s joking.”

Violet leaned against the counter, arms folded, grinning. “Not even a little.”

The cameras flashed through the shop’s windows, catching every twitch of Caitlyn’s jaw. Reluctantly, she lifted the fork toward Claggor.

“Open,” she said crisply.

He smirked, leaning forward and taking the bite. “Not bad,” he said, still chewing. “Better than standing around in a suit, anyway.”

Without missing a beat, he scooped up a forkful of chocolate ganache and held it out toward her. “Your turn.”

Caitlyn’s eyes narrowed. Her eyebrows furrowing and her nose scrunched up in frustration—and disgust.

But outside, the reporters’ cameras were practically vibrating with anticipation. Slowly, deliberately, she leaned forward and accepted the bite.

The flashes went off like fireworks.

Powder slapped the table gleefully. “Yes! Perfect! You two look disgustingly in love already.”

Caitlyn fought back the urge to roll her eyes.

"This is ridiculous."

"Extremely," Claggor added, agreeing.

The baker, blissfully oblivious to the theatrics, slid another tray across the table. “Perhaps a citrus option to cleanse the palate?”

Claggor leaned back, muttering under his breath, “More like cleanse my dignity.”

Caitlyn straightened in her chair, adjusting the napkin in her lap like she could will control back into the moment. “We should choose something that won’t be overly sweet. Something sophisticated.”

Powder groaned dramatically. “Boring. This is a wedding, not a council luncheon. Pick the one that makes you wanna marry the cake itself.”

Violet smirked. “She’s got a point, Cupcake. If the cake doesn’t make you weak in the knees, what’s the point?”

Caitlyn shot her a look sharp enough to cut fondant. “If the press hears me say I want to ‘marry the cake,’ it’ll be tomorrow’s headline.”

“Better than the ones you’ve got now,” Violet said, unbothered.

Claggor, trying to save face, reached for the lemon chiffon sample. He cut a piece, then hesitated before lifting it toward Caitlyn again.

"Nope," she said, shaking her head. "One picture is enough. One more and I will sedate someone."

Claggor let out a breath. "Thank god."

Powder groaned and flopped across the table like she’d just been denied oxygen. “Boo. You guys are no fun. The city wants romance, not… whatever that was.”

“The city,” Caitlyn said crisply, “will get what it’s given.”

“Yeah,” Claggor muttered, stabbing at the chiffon again. “And what it’s getting is lemon cake. End of discussion.”

Violet chuckled from the counter. “Guess we’ll call this round a win. Cake: chosen. Love: still pending.”

Caitlyn shot her a look but stood, smoothing her coat with practiced composure. “We should move on before the press decides to camp outside. The longer we linger, the worse it looks.”

Powder perked up instantly. “Ooo, next stop—wedding dresses!”

Claggor blinked. “Wait. You’re dragging me to that?”

“Duh,” Powder grinned. “What’s a fake romance without the groom pretending to care about lace and silk?”

Claggor groaned, already regretting his life choices. Caitlyn only pinched the bridge of her nose.

Outside, the cameras were still flashing. Inside, the circus moved to its next act.

The bell above the boutique door chimed as they stepped inside. The shop gleamed with ivory fabrics and glittering beadwork, mannequins draped in gowns that looked more like art pieces than clothing.

Claggor froze on the threshold. “This place smells like perfume and debt.”

“Smile,” Caitlyn hissed through her teeth, tugging him inside by the sleeve. “There are photographers across the street.”

Powder was already halfway across the showroom, pressing her face against a mannequin’s skirt. “Holy—look at this one! It’s like a cupcake but with diamonds. Caitlyn, you need this.”

Violet leaned casually against a rack of veils, smirking. “Don’t listen to her, Cupcake. That dress is about three chandeliers short of a circus tent.”

The seamstress approached, bowing slightly. “Miss Kiramman, we’ve prepared several selections for you. Shall I bring them out?”

“Yes, thank you,” Caitlyn said smoothly, though her jaw was tight.

Powder practically bounced. “Yes, yes, yes! Bring the sparkles!”

While Caitlyn disappeared inside the dressing room, Claggor collapsed into a chair like a man facing execution. Violet sauntered over, plopping down beside him.

“Cheer up,” she said. “Worst case, you sit here for three hours pretending to care about lace.”

“That’s exactly the worst case,” he muttered.

The door opened, and Caitlyn stepped out in the first gown—sleek, elegant, shimmering faintly under the boutique lights.

For a moment, the room went still. Then Powder broke it with a dramatic gasp. “Oh. My. GOD. She actually looks like she’s in love with herself!”

Claggor coughed into his fist, trying to hide a laugh. Caitlyn’s glare nearly incinerated him on the spot.

Violet gave a slow grin. “Not bad, Cupcake. Almost makes you look tolerable.”

Caitlyn exhaled sharply through her nose. “If either of you speaks again, I swear—”

“Turn!” Powder shouted. “Do the twirl!”

“I am not—”

“Twiiirl!”

The cameras outside flashed as Caitlyn reluctantly spun, every inch of her body screaming with restrained dignity.

Claggor leaned back, whispering, “You know… she might actually murder us before the wedding.”

Violet smirked. “Yeah. But at least she’ll look good doing it.”

The seamstress returned with another gown, a softer style this time—lace sleeves, flowing skirt, delicate embroidery. Caitlyn disappeared inside again.

Powder leaned over to Claggor, stage-whispering far too loudly, “Okay, when she comes out, you gotta look at her like she’s the only person on the planet. Y’know, heart eyes, the whole thing.”

Claggor blinked. “Excuse me?”

“Romance, genius!” Powder threw her arms up. “You think people outside are gonna buy it if you look like you’d rather be at a bar?”

Violet snorted. “She’s got a point. Even I can tell you look like you’re at a funeral.”

Powder’s patience wore thin after the third dress. She threw her hands up dramatically. “Okay, enough! Claggor’s hopeless at compliments, and you two are stiffer than a pair of broomsticks. We need professional help.”

She spun in her chair and jabbed a finger toward Violet. “You. Go help her with the next dress.”

Violet blinked, caught off guard. “Me? Why me?”

“Because,” Powder sing-songed, “you don’t sound like a dead fish when you talk. And Caitlyn won’t strangle you with a bow if you zip her up wrong.”

Caitlyn, standing halfway behind the curtain, stiffened. “That’s completely unnecessary.”

“Very necessary,” Powder countered, smirking. “You want this whole charade to work, right? Well, nothing screams ‘romance’ like your fiancée’s sister helping you into a gown.”

Claggor raised his hands in surrender. “Don’t look at me. I’m staying out of this one.”

Violet dragged a palm over her face, muttering under her breath, but pushed herself up. “Fine. But if she stabs me with a pin, it’s on you, Pow.”

Inside, Caitlyn had her back turned, the gown half-zipped. She kept her chin high, her tone clipped. “I told her this wasn’t needed. I can manage on my own.”

“Yeah?” Violet smirked, leaning lazily against the wall for a beat. “Looked like you were losing that fight with the zipper.”

Caitlyn glanced over her shoulder, her glare sharp enough to cut glass. “I wasn’t.”

“Sure,” Violet drawled, stepping closer anyway. “C’mon, Cupcake. Easier if you just let me.”

Caitlyn exhaled through her nose, her jaw tight. Then, reluctantly, she shifted, exposing the line of her back where satin hugged her waist. “Fine. But don’t wrinkle it.”

Violet’s smirk faded into something quieter as she reached for the zipper. Her fingers brushed against Caitlyn’s bare skin, light, unintentional—but enough to make Caitlyn’s breath falter.

The zipper glided upward in slow, precise motion. Caitlyn’s pulse hammered in her throat, and she prayed Violet couldn’t hear it.

“Relax,” Violet murmured, voice low. “You’re all tense.”

“I am not tense,” Caitlyn snapped a fraction too quickly.

Violet leaned in, close enough for Caitlyn to feel the warmth of her. “Sure. Not tense at all.”

The zipper clicked shut at the top. Caitlyn turned, smoothing the bodice, refusing to look up until she had composed herself. But when she finally met Violet’s eyes, there was something there—something playful, but softened, curious.

And then Powder’s voice rang out: “No making out in there, Vi! Remember, that's your brother's fiancé!"

Caitlyn went scarlet, tugging the curtain open with far more force than necessary. “We are not—”

Violet’s laugh spilled out before Caitlyn could finish. “Relax, Cupcake. You’re fine.”

But Caitlyn wasn’t fine at all. Her heart was still racing, and it had nothing to do with the dress.

Her brow arched, sharp and cool. “Wait. Where did the nickname Cupcake come from?” Her tone was clipped, her expression anything but amused.

Violet chuckled, unbothered. “That frilly dress you tried on earlier made you look like one.”

Caitlyn blinked, scandalized. “Excuse me?”

“What?” Violet’s grin widened, leaning back with her hands in her pockets. “All frosted and sweet-looking on the outside. Can’t say it didn’t fit.”

Caitlyn’s lips pressed into a thin, dangerous line. "You've called me 'Cupcake' even before this dress fitting, Violet."

The smirk faltered just enough to betray Violet’s surprise. She blinked, then covered it with a shrug. “Guess it stuck. Don’t tell me you keep a record of every nickname I throw at you.”

“I keep a record of everything you say to me,” Caitlyn replied evenly, her eyes narrowing just slightly. “And I distinctly remember the first time you used it—long before I ever wore a dress like that.”

Violet tilted her head, grin tugging back into place, though softer now. “Maybe I saw it in you before you did.”

Caitlyn scoffed, turning toward the mirror again to avoid the weight of that line. “Don’t be absurd.”

But Violet didn’t press. She only leaned against the wall, arms folded, watching her with that infuriating mix of teasing warmth and sincerity.

“If that was your idea of a compliment, Violet, I assure you it was not received as one.”

Violet only smirked more, eyes flicking down and then back up deliberately slow. “Didn’t say it was a compliment. Just an observation.”

Caitlyn’s cheeks heated, though she refused to give her the satisfaction of seeing her fluster. She drew herself taller, tugging at the gown as if smoothing out her composure along with the fabric.

“Then keep your observations to yourself,” she said crisply, but the slight tremor in her voice betrayed her.

Violet tilted her head, clearly hearing it, and that smirk softened into something else—something more dangerous in its subtlety.

“Sure thing, Cupcake."

Caitlyn drew in a steadying breath, tugging the fabric into place one last time before signaling she was done. “Let’s move on. We’re wasting time.”

Violet opened the door for her with an exaggerated bow, earning only an unimpressed look in return. Together they stepped into the boutique’s main hall, where racks of gowns shimmered beneath the warm lights and staff flitted about with clipboards and fabric swatches.

The moment Caitlyn emerged, the polite smiles came. Too polite. Perfectly practiced.

She caught it before Violet did—the pair of attendants off near the mannequins, whispering low but not low enough.

“—can’t believe it’s true. A Lanes marrying into the Kirammans?”

“Shame, isn’t it? She could’ve had anyone. But a Zaunite? It’s disgraceful.”

“She’s lowering herself. Imagine what the council will say.”

"She deserves better. She has rejected the most eligible bachelor's in Piltover just to settle with someone from Zaun."

Caitlyn’s steps faltered, just slightly. The words cut sharper than she cared to admit.

Violet noticed. Her gaze flicked from Caitlyn’s clenched jaw to the whispering staff. Her shoulders tensed, a dangerous edge in her stance like she was a second away from marching over there.

Caitlyn stopped mid-step. Violet almost walked past her before realizing she’d gone still.

The staff froze too when Caitlyn turned her head—that piercing, aristocratic calm in her expression sharper than any blade. She didn’t raise her voice. She didn’t need to.

“If you have concerns about my marriage,” Caitlyn said evenly, “you are welcome to share them. Directly. To my face.”

The two attendants went pale, fumbling for words. “M-Miss Kiramman, we didn’t mean—”

“You did,” she cut in, her tone precise, mercilessly polite. “You meant every word. And I assure you, your whispers are neither subtle nor clever.”

Her hands folded neatly in front of her as though she were addressing the council itself. “I suggest you remember that this family chooses who it associates with — staff included. If my decision offends you, perhaps you ought to consider whether you belong here at all.”

Silence dropped over the room. One of them stammered an apology; the other only stared at the floor.

“Let’s go, Violet. Help me get this dress off. We’re better off finding an establishment with respect.”

Her words cracked like a gavel striking wood, final and irrefutable.

Violet didn’t argue. She just shot the staff a look that promised far worse than Caitlyn’s elegant dismissal, then followed her into the fitting room.

Inside, Caitlyn’s hands trembled as she reached for the dress laces, but her chin stayed high. Violet stepped in, brushing her hands aside gently.

“I got it,” she said, voice low, steady.

Caitlyn finally exhaled, her shoulders loosening a fraction as Violet undid the ties. The silence stretched between them, broken only by the rustle of fabric.

When the last ribbon came free, Violet leaned close, murmuring, “Gotta say, Cupcake… you handled that cleaner than I ever could’ve. No fists, no broken noses. Just ice.”

Caitlyn met her gaze in the mirror. “And yet, you’re still smiling about it.”

“Because watching you shut ‘em down?” Violet smirked. “Kinda hot, not gonna lie.”

A faint flush touched Caitlyn’s cheeks, but she lifted her chin higher, as if daring Violet to make more of it.

The room still buzzed with the weight of her words, the two staff frozen in guilty silence.

Violet offered a sharp grin to the seamstresses as she held the door open. “You heard her. Respect’s the minimum buy-in. Maybe work on that.”

Caitlyn swept past without another glance, her posture flawless despite the storm in her chest. The corridor outside seemed brighter, less suffocating, the moment she left the fitting room behind.

“You didn’t have to say anything,” Violet muttered at her side. “I would’ve handled it.”

Caitlyn gave her a sidelong look, lips curved into the faintest smirk. “You'd leave someone with a broken nose and I rather not make a bigger headline with you punching staff during my dress fitting."

For once, Violet had no comeback. She only shoved her hands in her pockets, a grin tugging at her mouth.

Ahead, Powder was already waiting by the door, bouncing on her heels. “Finally! Took you long enough. What happened? Did you fight again?”

Violet shook her head. "Some staff were bitching around."

Powder’s eyes widened. “What’d they say?”

“Nothing worth repeating,” Caitlyn answered coolly, tugging her gloves back into place. “But it was enough.”

Violet gave a sharp, humorless grin. “Trust me, they won’t forget this fitting anytime soon.”

Powder blinked between them, then broke into a slow grin. “Ohhh. You went full ice-queen mode, didn’t you? Bet they’re still frozen in there.”

Caitlyn’s lips curved into the faintest, sharpest smile. “Good.”

Powder chuckled, rolling her eyes. "Okay, so what next?"

"Lunch," Violet responds almost immediately. "I'm hungry. Zipping up dresses and tying ribbons tired me out."

“You didn’t even zip anything,” Caitlyn said dryly, giving her a side-eye.

Violet shrugged. “Emotional support is exhausting, Cupcake.”

Powder perked up. “Lunch is actually genius! Perfect chance for you two lovebirds to ‘accidentally’ share a plate, maybe feed each other again—”

“No,” Caitlyn cut in, sharp.

Claggor groaned, dragging a hand over his face. “If she makes me share a fork in front of the cameras, I’m leaving.”

Caitlyn arched a brow, arms crossed. “I’m not sharing a fork with you, that’s for sure. You barely know the difference between a fish fork and a salad fork.”

Claggor raised his hands in mock defense. “Didn’t know forks had personalities.”

Violet snorted, clearly enjoying herself. “Oh, they do, big guy. Trust me—Cupcake here could write a thesis on it.”

Caitlyn shot her a glare sharp enough to cut steel. “At least I know how to behave in public.”

“Yeah,” Claggor muttered, “you’re real fun at parties.”

Powder clapped her hands, beaming. “Perfect! You two already sound like an old married couple. Lunch is gonna sell itself.”

"Old married couple," Caitlyn echoed. "One that's a second away from signing divorce papers, probably."

"Hey!" Powder scolded. "You haven't even gotten married yet. Divorce isn't an option."

"Yet," Violet added, grinning.

Caitlyn shot her a withering look. “Your faith in this arrangement is truly inspiring, Violet.”

Violet only shrugged, completely unbothered. “I’m just saying, I’ve seen fights less bitter than this over a broken jukebox.”

Claggor groaned, dragging a hand down his face. “If this is what married life sounds like, I’m starting to regret the cake.”

Powder perked up. “No regrets! Lunch will fix everything. Food heals all wounds. That’s science.”

Caitlyn exhaled slowly, pinching the bridge of her nose. “This is going to be the longest engagement in history.”

The restaurant Powder picked wasn’t subtle. Golden chandeliers, velvet curtains, and an open patio where the tables lined up neatly in full view of Piltover’s busiest street. Every passerby could see them; every table around them was already buzzing with whispers.

Caitlyn adjusted her posture as she sat, perfectly composed even though she felt every eye on her. Claggor sat across from her, stiff in his chair like he’d rather be facing down a Hextech malfunction than this lunch.

Violet leaned back, scanning the crowd with that sharp, protective gaze, while Powder busied herself with the menu like this was her grandest achievement yet.

“Order something expensive,” Powder whispered, grinning. “If the tabloids are gonna write about this, might as well get a free steak out of it.”

Caitlyn didn’t even look up from the menu. “This isn’t a free meal. It’s reputation management.”

“Same thing,” Powder shot back.

Claggor sighed and muttered, “So, do we toast or—what do fake couples even do at lunch?”

“Smile,” Caitlyn said flatly, eyes flicking up to meet his. “And try not to look like you’re on death row.”

Violet smirked over her glass of water. “Good luck with that.”

The waiter had barely set down the breadbasket before the first flash went off from outside the window. A cluster of reporters loitered across the street, pretending to sip coffee while their cameras clicked relentlessly.

Claggor stiffened. “They’re taking pictures already?”

“They never stopped,” Caitlyn muttered, her smile frozen as she buttered a roll with the precision of a surgeon.

Powder leaned across the table, whispering loudly enough for the next table to hear, “Feed her something. Couples always do that.”

Caitlyn’s knife paused mid-spread. “Absolutely not.”

“C’mon, it’s cute!” Powder insisted, nudging Claggor’s elbow. “Pick up a fork, act romantic. Boom. Headlines say ‘True Love Over Lunch.’”

Violet nearly choked on her drink, covering her grin with her hand. “Oh, this I gotta see.”

Claggor reluctantly cut a piece of salmon and lifted the fork halfway across the table. “Uh… say ah?”

Caitlyn’s eyes narrowed like she was staring down an assassin. “If you put that anywhere near my mouth, I will stab you with the salad fork.”

“Couples don’t usually threaten each other during lunch,” Violet teased, her grin widening.

“Fine,” Caitlyn hissed, leaning forward just enough to take the bite, lips tightening the second the cameras flashed again. She swallowed, then set her fork down with forced elegance. “Happy?”

Powder squealed, bouncing in her seat. “Perfect! That looked so natural!”

Claggor deadpanned, “Nothing about this is natural.”

But outside, the shutters clicked like wildfire.

Conversation in the restaurant resumed, softer and polite on the surface—until Caitlyn caught the voices from the next table over.

“…I mean, look at them,” one woman whispered, poorly. “That’s not just politics. You can’t fake the way she looked at him just now.”

Her companion chuckled. “Please, you think the Kiramman heir would actually choose a Zaunite? It’s for show.”

“No,” the first insisted, lowering her voice. “Did you see? She fed him. They’re glowing. That isn’t strategy, that’s chemistry.”

Caitlyn’s fork stilled against her plate. Her pulse quickened, heat creeping up her neck—not because of the gossip itself, but because of how easily strangers bought into it. Bought into her.

Violet noticed her tense, brows knitting. “Cupcake?” she murmured, quiet enough for only Caitlyn to hear.

Caitlyn forced her expression back into something calm, cool. “Nothing,” she said, but the word felt brittle.

Powder, of course, caught the flicker in her face and leaned across the table. “Oh, this is golden. They already think you’re into each other. My plan’s working even faster than I thought!”

Claggor groaned. “I don’t know whether to be relieved or terrified.”

Violet leaned back, smirking. “Guess the real question is—” she tipped her glass toward Caitlyn, eyes glinting, “—why does the idea of people believing it bother you so much?”

Caitlyn didn’t answer. Couldn’t, really. She only reached for her wine and took a slow, measured sip, letting the silence cover what her words would not.

Chapter Text

The Kiramman estate was bursting at the seams—tailors rushing down the halls, florists arguing over vases, the sharp tang of wine and wax still clinging to the air.

The wedding day was approaching faster than Caitlyn wanted it to. The estate was preparing for a reception where she would have to act like the happiest bride Piltover and Zaun had ever seen, her newly wedded husband standing proudly beside her. She could already imagine the endless questions and hollow congratulations the elites had lined up.

Caitlyn smiled when spoken to, nodded when asked her opinion, but inside her chest it was all too tight. Too loud. Too much.

She had been asked at least fifteen times what she thought about the decor, and had been shown four different sets of ceramics to choose from—and honestly, even Caitlyn couldn’t tell the difference between them.

At last, she slipped away, making her way to the garden where no florist would corner her about flowers, and no maid would press her to choose which fine china should be brought out.

Here, she could finally breathe.

Only three more days until the wedding. Three. And Caitlyn hadn’t even had the proper time to let it all sink in—hadn’t had the time to truly think about what was about to happen. Which was ironic, considering this was meant to change her entire life.

From the garden, she could hear Powder's voice from inside; instructions on where the flowers should be placed, telling the maids to sweep the stairs and vacuum the carpet.

Caitlyn exhaled, slow and steady. At least, with Powder there, she was sure the preparations would be handled just fine.

She should feel honored. She should feel proud. That was what everyone told her, what her mother whispered with that tight, approving smile, what the guests would toast to on the big day. And yet, every time Caitlyn imagined walking down the aisle, her chest grew heavier, not lighter.

A laugh bubbled up from the manor—Powder again, bright and unrestrained. Caitlyn almost smiled at the sound. Powder had a way of making everything seem possible, manageable, even fun. If only Caitlyn could borrow that boundless energy for herself.

She pressed her palms to her knees and inhaled deeply, forcing herself upright. There would be no avoiding it forever. Sooner or later, someone would notice she’d slipped away. And when they did, they would ask her the same questions again, expecting the same smiles.

Vi’s back rested against the wall, arms loosely crossed, her head tilted just enough to watch Caitlyn from where she stood. The garden wasn’t her place—hell, this whole estate wasn’t—but she lingered anyway, half-hidden in the shade of the archway.

Caitlyn sat so still, shoulders drawn tight despite the serenity of her surroundings. From a distance, she looked almost like a painting—composed, elegant, untouchable. But Vi knew better. She saw the way Caitlyn’s hands pressed flat against her knees as though steadying herself, the faint tremor in her exhale.

No one else noticed the bride slipping away. No one cared that the weight of perfection was pressing in from every polished corner of the estate.

But Vi noticed.

Something in her chest tugged—equal parts protective instinct and an ache she’d never learned how to name.

For a moment, Vi stayed where she was, letting the silence settle between them. Then, with a quiet push off the wall, she stepped forward, her boots crunching lightly against the gravel path.

“Didn’t peg you for the type to run from fine china and flower arrangements,” Vi said, her voice low but carrying, breaking the still air around them.

Caitlyn didn't look up, her fingers lightly toying with a petal that fell on her lap.

"Didn't think deciding on which fine china to use would bring out unwanted opinions from my mother."

Vi hummed—not bothering to ask for permission and sitting beside Caitlyn.

Caitlyn’s lips twitched, the smallest ghost of a smile. “She thinks I don’t notice when she swaps my choices for her own.”

“Sounds about right,” Vi said, stretching her legs out in front of her, the gravel crunching beneath her boots. “Bet she’s got a whole checklist you’re just supposed to nod through.”

Caitlyn finally glanced at her, blue eyes sharp but tired. “And what would you know about checklists?”

Vi smirked, tilting her head. “Enough to know I’d fail all of yours.”

For a moment, Caitlyn just stared at her, as if weighing whether to indulge the banter or let silence settle between them again. But silence was dangerous. In silence, Caitlyn had to feel, and she wasn’t ready for that—not here, not now.

So instead she asked, almost too softly, “And what are you doing here?”

“Same thing you are,” Vi replied, leaning back on her palms. “Hiding."

That pulled a genuine breath of laughter out of Caitlyn, fragile but real. She shook her head, eyes dropping back to the petal in her lap. “I shouldn’t even be here. I should be inside. Choosing centerpieces. Pretending to care.”

“Pretending’s exhausting,” Vi said simply.

For a moment Caitlyn didn’t reply. Her gaze had gone distant, lips parted as though the words Vi had offered were tugging at something inside her, loosening knots she wasn’t sure she wanted undone.

Her eyes flicked to Vi’s. Noticing the quiet strength there, the ease, the lack of judgment. Vi’s presence felt like stepping into shade after hours beneath the sun—cool, relieving, and a little dangerous, too.

The silence that followed wasn’t comfortable, but neither was it sharp. It was that thin, delicate middle ground—neither ready to admit why they stayed sitting there side by side, but neither willing to leave first.

A gust of wind shook the trees overhead, scattering petals across Caitlyn’s lap. Vi brushed one from her shoulder without thinking, fingers grazing the fine fabric.

Caitlyn went still at the touch, and before she could stop herself, a memory stirred—summer light on the academy’s shooting range, the sharp smell of gunpowder, and a girl with ink-dark hair leaning over her shoulder to correct her stance. Caitlyn had been fifteen, hopeless at hiding the flush in her cheeks as the girl’s hand skimmed down her arm, guiding her aim. She hadn’t hit the target, not really—but she had fallen headfirst into something she didn’t yet have a name for.

She’d almost asked her to stay after practice, almost dared to say what fluttered frantic in her chest—but before she could, the instructor barked her name. The girl pulled back with an easy smile, her warmth gone as quickly as it came. Caitlyn had swallowed her words whole and never let them out again.

And now, years later, she felt that exact same rush run through her body. A feeling she’d spent years pretending didn’t exist, one she still couldn’t name without fear—but Vi’s nearness made it impossible to ignore.

It was nothing, she thought to herself. Just wedding jitters. Nothing serious.

She cleared her throat. “You shouldn’t—”

“Relax, cupcake,” Vi cut in, though there was no real bite to it. “Just saving you from drowning in flowers.”

Caitlyn let out the faintest huff, not quite a laugh, not quite annoyance. “Go cause trouble somewhere else, will you?”

Vi tilted her head toward the manor, where the sound of Powder’s voice still carried, bright and commanding. “Pretty sure my sister’s got that covered.”

That earned her a sideways glance from Caitlyn—sharp, exasperated, but hiding something Vi couldn’t name.

Before either could say more, a maid called out, “Miss Caitlyn? Your mother is asking for you.”

Caitlyn rose smoothly, brushing stray petals from her skirt. Her composure slipped neatly back into place like a mask she’d never taken off.

Vi watched her, a strange tightness settling in her chest.

Caitlyn hesitated just a fraction before turning toward the manor. “Try not to be seen,” she murmured without looking back.

And then she was gone, swallowed up by the estate once more.

Vi stayed behind, staring at the spot she’d left, the echo of her laugh still caught in her ears. For someone she was supposed to hate, Caitlyn Kiramman was becoming far too hard to ignore.

The manor swallowed her whole the moment she stepped back inside.

Powder was halfway up the grand staircase, arms full of ribbon, shouting cheerful orders down to the staff like a general leading troops.

Caitlyn’s mother stood near the drawing-room doors, speaking in hushed tones with one of the florists. The moment she spotted Caitlyn, her eyes narrowed.

“There you are,” she said smoothly, though her smile was stretched too thin. “We’ve been waiting for you. The dessert table hasn’t been finalized.”

Caitlyn’s lips curved into something practiced, polite. “Of course.”

She let herself be guided back into the current, voices tugging at her from all directions, questions layered on top of questions. Which centerpiece looked more refined? Did the menu need more seafood? Would gold-rimmed glasses be more fitting than silver?

She answered them all—smiling when expected, agreeing when it kept things moving. Every nod, every polite laugh, every carefully measured word pressed tighter against her chest until she wondered if anyone else could hear the strain in her voice.

Not one of them noticed her hands were still faintly dusted with garden petals. Not one of them noticed she had slipped away at all.

"Cait,” Powder called, ribbons spilling from her arms like streamers. “Wait, can I call you that? I’ll just call you that anyway—but that’s besides the point. What color ribbon would be better? Blue or gold?”

Caitlyn blinked at her, caught between the two bundles shoved inches from her face. “They look nearly identical,” she said carefully.

“They’re not!” Powder gasped, indignant. “Blue says ‘classic, timeless elegance.’ Gold says ‘power, wealth, intimidation.’” She grinned, eyes alight with mischief. “You do want to intimidate everyone, right? That’s the fun part of being the bride.”

Caitlyn forced a smile, one that didn’t reach her eyes. “I’ll leave it in your capable hands.”

“Good,” Powder chirped, spinning on her heel and nearly colliding with a maid before disappearing back up the stairs, ribbons trailing behind her like comet tails.

A few hours—and a lot of ribbon—later, they've all decided to take a break from decorating and planning, all gathering in the living room for tea and sandwiches.

Cassandra nodded approvingly as Maddie presented the new posts from a few days ago, following Claggor and Caitlyn’s—quote-unquote—date. People had already begun crafting theories about how their supposed love story started, some even going so far as to claim they had been secretly in love for years and only revealed it now because of their engagement.

Caitlyn cringed as she scrolled through the latest posts, her brows knitting tighter with every comment that assumed she and Claggor had been sharing lingering stares, stolen touches, or whispered confessions long before this supposed “big reveal.” One particularly dramatic thread described how their “forbidden romance” blossomed in the shadow of Piltover’s elite, full of pining glances and midnight rendezvous.

“Utter nonsense,” Caitlyn muttered under her breath, pinching the bridge of her nose.

Powder grinned, far too entertained. “The public loves a good story. Especially one that paints you as some hopeless romantic finally giving in after years of restraint. It’s practically poetry to them.”

“More like a headache to me,” Caitlyn shot back, sliding the tablet across the table in disgust. “Who in their right mind believes any of this?”

Cassandra folded her hands neatly, the picture of composure. “Everyone who matters, apparently. Which is precisely why we can’t afford to dismiss it. Let them believe what they want—it works in our favor. You look desirable, grounded, and—most importantly—taken.”

Caitlyn stiffened at the word, her jaw tightening. Taken.

"Congrats on being Piltover’s heartthrob. Never thought I’d see the day.”Mylo muttered, smirking as he tossed a peanut in his mouth.

Claggor groaned. “You’re not helping.”

Powder, meanwhile, was perched beside him, phone in hand, scrolling gleefully. “Oh, this one says you proposed in the middle of a gunfight and Caitlyn swooned. That’s so romantic.”

Caitlyn’s head snapped toward her. “I would've shot someone, not swooned," she corrected. "I would not say yes to a man stupid enough to propose while a weapon is sitting in my hands."

“Doesn’t matter,” Powder sing-songed. “It’s trending.”

Vander, sitting heavily in an armchair with a drink in hand, gave a low chuckle. "Folks believe it, that's what matters."

"Are people really this miserable enough to fall for this," Caitlyn murmured, messaging her temples in frustration.

"Only miserable idiots who have nothing else better to do with their lives believes this type of shit," Vi scoffed.

"Violet," Vander warned, unamused.

Vi leaned back against the wall, arms crossed, eyes flicking to Caitlyn with a smirk she clearly wasn’t trying hard enough to hide. “What? I’m just saying what everyone’s thinking. Who even comes up with this crap?”

“People with too much time on their hands,” Claggor muttered, though his cheeks had gone a little pink. “And, for the record, I didn’t propose to anyone in a gunfight. Not my style.”

“That’s because you don’t have style,” Mylo jabbed.

Claggor threw a cushion at his head.

Powder was already reading aloud again, voice bubbling with laughter. “Listen to this one—‘their romance is proof that love blooms even in the grimiest parts of Zaun, a symbol of unity between Piltover’s law and the undercity’s soul.’” She gasped dramatically, holding her chest. “You’re basically a fairytale.”

“I am going to burn that tablet,” Caitlyn deadpanned.

“Relax, cupcake,” Vi drawled, finally pushing off the wall and circling the table until she was close enough to pluck the device out of Powder’s hands. “Fairytales sell. Just smile, nod, and let ‘em think what they want.”

Caitlyn glared at her. “Easy for you to say. You’re not the one being painted as a swooning damsel clinging to someone else’s arm.”

Vi arched a brow, leaning in with that infuriating grin. “You’d rather be painted clinging to mine?”

The room erupted—Mylo choked on a peanut, Powder squealed, Claggor groaned, and even Vander’s chuckle rumbled deep in his chest.

“Makes sense, doesn’t it? Vi’s got more muscles,” Powder laughed, tossing her head back.

“Oh, perfect,” Mylo drawled. “The sister-in-laws bonding over dress zipping and arm holding. The media will eat it up—two women who used to shoot each other dagger stares, now united by our beloved brother Claggor.”

Caitlyn’s face flared crimson, her composure finally slipping. “I—That is not—!” She stopped, swallowed hard, and forced herself to sit straighter, as though sheer posture could undo the heat in her cheeks. “This conversation is over.”

Mylo and Powder shared a look—a look one could only call the intro to chaos. Powder grinned, picking up a teaspoon and holding it up like a microphone.

"So," she began. "Miss—or shall I call, future Mrs. Kiramman—how do you feel about your upcoming wedding?"

Caitlyn arched a brow, unamused. "Oh, I'm absolutely thrilled," she dead-panned, sipping on her tea.

Powder gasped, clutching the spoon-microphone dramatically. “You heard it here, folks—Piltover’s very own Ice Queen is thrilled! The crowd goes wild!” She waved her free hand above her head like she was narrating a wrestling match.

“More like they’d faint from boredom,” Mylo muttered, kicking his feet up on the coffee table.

“Oh, hush,” Powder snapped, smacking his shin with the spoon. “This is groundbreaking journalism.”

Claggor groaned, dragging a palm down his face. “Why are we even encouraging this?”

“Because it’s funny,” Vi said, smirking as she leaned against the back of Caitlyn’s chair. “Besides, you can’t tell me you’re not curious what the blushing bride thinks.”

“I am not blushing,” Caitlyn said sharply, lowering her teacup just enough for Vi to catch the faint pink dusting her cheeks.

“Sure you’re not,” Vi teased, her grin widening.

Vander cleared his throat, though amusement tugged at the corner of his mouth. “Let the poor girl breathe. She’s got enough people poking at her without you lot piling on.”

Powder wasn’t deterred. She leaned in, spoon still in hand, eyes glinting with mischief. "So, what are you most looking forward to, Miss bride?"

"Going home and getting everything over with."

The room went quiet for half a beat—then Mylo snorted so hard tea nearly sprayed out his nose.

“Damn,” he wheezed, clutching his stomach. “Straight to the point.”

Powder gawked at Caitlyn like she’d just committed a cardinal sin on live television. “You can’t say that!”

“I just did,” Caitlyn replied smoothly, taking another sip of her tea like she hadn’t just thrown cold water over the entire spectacle.

Vi barked a laugh, low and unrestrained. “Gotta admit, cupcake’s got style. Brutal, but style.”

Claggor groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose. “You’re supposed to at least pretend you’re excited, Cait. That’s, y’know… the bare minimum.”

“I’ve been pretending all week,” Caitlyn said, her voice dry as the Piltover sun. “I’m due for some honesty.”

Powder, undeterred as ever, shoved the spoon-microphone back under Caitlyn’s nose. “Okay, then. What’s one thing you are excited about?”

Caitlyn opened her mouth, then closed it, her brows knitting as though even she couldn’t conjure up a polite answer fast enough. Her pause was long enough that everyone leaned in, waiting.

Finally, her gaze flicked sideways—just for a moment, just enough to catch the glint of Vi’s smirk.

“…The silence after it’s all done,” Caitlyn said at last, straightening her spine.

Powder squinted at her like she knew something was being left unsaid. “That’s boring.”

“Boring,” Caitlyn repeated, the faintest twitch of a smile tugging at her lips. “Sounds perfect.”

Vi chuckled under her breath, shaking her head. “Guess we know who’s not getting booked for interviews after this circus.”

“Good,” Caitlyn muttered, setting her teacup down with finality. “I’d rather shoot myself than sit through another round of this nonsense.”

The silence that followed was broken only by Mylo’s cackling and Powder’s dramatic gasp of, “The bride has spoken!”

Mylo was still laughing when a sharp crack echoed outside—like a firecracker, or a glass shattering. The chatter froze, every head turning toward the window. Vander set his drink down, slow and steady, while Vi’s hand twitched toward her sidearm. Caitlyn’s breath caught. Whatever it was, it was close. Too close.

"What the hell was that?" Vi immediately reacted, her fist clenched.

Powder grabbed her wrist, eyes wide. “Don’t go. I know you—you’re reckless,” she hissed, holding fast as though she could anchor her sister in place.

Cassandra rose from her seat with chilling composure, her gown whispering against the floor. “Stay inside,” she ordered sharply, eyes sweeping over the room like a commander sizing up her troops. But Caitlyn saw the tightness in her mother’s jaw, the flicker of unease she tried to bury beneath control.

Tobias straightened as well, adjusting his cuffs as if the gesture alone could impose order. “It’s probably nothing,” he said, though his voice was too quick, too forced. “A servant dropping a tray. Overreaction won’t help.”

Before anyone else could move, Caitlyn did. She strode to the weapons rack by the door, pulled her rifle free, and checked the chamber with practiced ease. The sound of the mechanism snapping into place echoed through the hall like a promise.

“I’m not waiting,” she said, her voice steady even as her pulse thundered in her ears. Her gaze flicked to her mother’s, daring her to object. “If someone’s making a mess of our home, I want to see it.”

For once, Cassandra said nothing. She only pressed her lips thin, then followed. Tobias muttered a curse and trailed after them.

Together they pushed the manor doors open. Cold night air rushed in. Caitlyn raised her rifle, sighting down the path, every sense razor-sharp. And then she saw it.

Paint still dripping down the stone wall, the words jagged and furious:

ZAUNITES DON’T BELONG HERE.

For a moment, no one breathed. Tobias paled, his hand twitching uselessly at his side. Cassandra’s jaw locked tight, her composure cracking like thin glass. Vi let out a low, feral growl, shoulders coiled with tension. Powder shrank back, eyes darting everywhere at once, as though expecting the vandals to leap from the shadows.

Vi’s fists clenched at her sides. “Cowards,” she spat under her breath, the word rumbling like thunder. Powder flinched, drawing closer to Vander. Tobias muttered something about the Guard, but no one was listening.

Cassandra’s eyes stayed locked on the dripping letters. “Zaunites don’t belong here…” she whispered, voice sharp with restrained fury. “They dared.”

But Caitlyn didn’t lower her weapon. She scanned the walls, the trees, the rooftops beyond, heart pounding. Whoever had done this might still be out there, watching.

And if they were—she intended to catch them.

Caitlyn lifted her rifle higher, the barrel tracking slowly along the shadows of the courtyard, every breath measured. If the vandal was still near, she’d be the first to see them. Her finger brushed the trigger guard, steady, ready.

Vi approached her slowly, careful, like stepping up to a wild animal caught in a trap. She laid a hand over Caitlyn’s, gently pushing the rifle barrel down. Her voice was low, steady.

“Calm down, Caitlyn. They’re long gone.”

Caitlyn’s breath hitched, but she didn’t resist—not fully. The paint still dripped down the wall, crimson in the moonlight, the words burning into her chest: ZAUNITES DON’T BELONG HERE.

She forced her grip to ease, just enough. But her eyes never left the shadows.

If they were gone tonight, they wouldn’t be forever.

Chapter Text

Everything was perfect.

The hall glittered with polished brass and crystal, the air thick with candle smoke and expectation. On one side of the aisle sat Piltover—silks and pressed suits, faces powdered and precise, not a single strand of hair daring to fall out of place. On the other side, Zaun—clothes scrubbed and borrowed, their rough hands folded awkwardly against fabrics that felt too smooth, too suffocating.

It wasn’t a wedding. It was a show of unity, staged for the watching eyes of two cities that had never been further apart.

Both sides were on edge for very different reasons.

The Piltover nobles sat stiff-backed, their polished smiles stretched thin as glass. To them, this day marked the unthinkable: a Zaunite stepping into council halls, tarnishing centuries of “refined” lineage with oil-stained hands.

Across the aisle, Zaun held its breath. Rough fingers twisted together in silent prayer, every heart begging the gods that this union might finally open a door long barred to them. For Piltover, the wedding was a threat. For Zaun, it was salvation.

And for Caitlyn, it was absolute hell.

The wedding ring was cold against Caitlyn's finger. Her wedding dress was too heavy, too tight. Her hair made her look like a princess, sure—but right now, she feels like Rapunzel, locked away in a tower.

She was anxious, masking it away with elegance. She thought of the words scrawled across the Kiramman gates three nights ago, still burning in her mind. Sheriff Grayson was hunting the culprit, but what if they slipped past the guards? What if today ended not with vows, but with an accident?

She didn’t fear for herself; she could handle herself. But the Lanes—Vi, Powder, Claggor, the rest—if anything happened to them under Piltover’s roof, she could never forgive herself.

A soft knock disrupted her train of thought, her gaze tearing away from her reflection to look at the door.

“Come in.”

The door creaked open, and Vi slipped inside. She wasn’t dressed like the rest of Piltover—no starched suit, no polished jewels. Just a fitted jacket that couldn’t quite hide the tension in her shoulders, her hair half-tamed but stubbornly falling loose.

Her eyes caught Caitlyn’s in the mirror and held them. No smirk, no sharp comment—just something raw, unreadable.

“…You clean up nice,” Vi muttered, voice rougher than usual, like the words scraped on their way out.

Caitlyn forced a smile at her reflection, though her chest tightened. “I'm always cleaned up."

Vi rolled her eyes, leaning against the wall. "Just take the compliment, would ya?"

Caitlyn smoothed an invisible crease along her dress, anything to keep her hands from trembling. “You shouldn’t be here,” she said softly, though part of her was grateful she was.

“Yeah, well,” Vi shrugged, eyes flicking to the heavy veil draped over the chair beside her, “its not like I'm the groom. I'm allowed to see the bride before the ceremony."

Then, she scratched the shaves side of her head. "Plus," she chuckled, "Powder sent me."

Caitlyn arched a brow. “Powder sent you? To do what, exactly—make sure I don’t run?”

Vi smirked, but it didn’t reach her eyes. “Nah. She said you’d probably forget to breathe if someone didn’t remind you.”

Despite herself, Caitlyn laughed—short, brittle. The sound cracked the tension for a heartbeat, then faded just as quickly.

Silence lingered, heavier this time. Vi’s gaze dropped to Caitlyn’s hands folded in her lap, to the thin gold band already strangling her finger. Her smirk vanished.

“You don’t look like someone about to marry the guy of her dreams,” she said quietly.

Caitlyn’s breath stilled. Her reflection in the mirror looked like a stranger—veiled, painted, polished. A perfect bride. And yet Vi’s words cut straight through the mask.

“I'm not,” Caitlyn whispered back.

Vi’s jaw tightened, but before she could answer, a voice called from the hallway, summoning Caitlyn to the ceremony.

Caitlyn’s stomach sank, though her chest felt… lighter. Maybe it was Vi’s terrible jokes, or maybe it was simply her presence. With Vi, she didn’t have to keep up appearances. Violet didn’t expect perfection—didn’t expect anything at all. Just being here was enough.

Vi pushed off the wall, moving toward the door. Her hand lingered on the frame, knuckles pale. “Guess this is it,” she said, voice low. Then, after a beat: “Don’t let ’em break you, cupcake.”

And just like that, she was gone, leaving Caitlyn with her veil, her silence, and the weight of the world waiting outside.

The door shut behind Vi, and the silence pressed in again. Caitlyn reached for the veil, fingers trembling as she lowered it over her face. The lace blurred her reflection into something unrecognizable.

The knock came once more—this time brisk, businesslike. “Miss bride,” the voice repeated, “they’re waiting.”

Caitlyn rose. The dress pulled heavy at her shoulders, every step a reminder of the weight she carried. She followed the attendant out into the corridor, the air colder here, the marble floors amplifying each echo of her heels.

Guards lined the passage. Some watched her with impassive discipline; others with something closer to pity. Servants bowed their heads as she passed. The further she walked, the louder the murmur of the gathered crowd grew—nobles whispering, Zaunites shifting restlessly.

By the time she reached the great doors, her pulse was a drumbeat in her ears.

The suit itched. Not because it didn’t fit—it fit fine, the Kiramman's tailor had made sure of that—but because it wasn’t his. Nothing about today was his. Not the tie cutting into his throat, not the marble under his boots, not the air heavy with perfume instead of smoke and metal.

He sat in a side room tucked behind the hall, away from the stares of Piltover and the restless whispers of Zaun. His hands fidgeted over and over, folding and unfolding, tracing the new polish rubbed into his nails. Powder had joked earlier that he looked like a banker. Mylo had said he looked like an idiot. Both of them had been right.

He wasn’t nervous about marrying Caitlyn. Not exactly. He admired her—if he was honest with himself. She was sharp, steady, kinder than anyone he’d ever met from Topside. If anyone from Zaun deserved to stand in Piltover’s golden halls, it was her.

But he knew better than to think this was about him. Or her.

It was about the people sitting on opposite sides of that aisle, glaring daggers past the flowers and chandeliers. He was a stand-in, a brick in the foundation of someone else’s house. A showpiece dressed in borrowed silk.

The knock came before he could sink too far into it. Heavy, impatient. Only one person knocked like that.

“Yeah?” he called.

The door swung open, and Vi stepped in. She looked wrong in a jacket, half-tamed hair framing a face that had never belonged in any hall of Piltover. For once, she wasn’t smirking.

“Place is crawling with nobles,” she said, pulling the door shut behind her. “They all look at me like I tracked mud in.”

Claggor let out a low chuckle, shaking his head. “You probably did.”

Vi’s lips twitched, but the joke didn’t land all the way. She crossed the room, leaned against the table, arms folded. “How you holding up?”

Claggor glanced at the polished shoes on his feet, the glint of the cufflinks catching candlelight. “Feel like a pawn about to be pushed off the board.”

“Yeah.” Her voice was quieter now. “That’s about right.”

They sat with it for a moment, the silence thick. Vi’s eyes flicked toward the door, toward the sound of distant violins tuning. “She looks…” She stopped, jaw tight. “She looks like she’s walking into a cage.”

Claggor exhaled slow, steady, like it would make the knot in his chest loosen. “You think I don’t know? This—” he gestured vaguely at the walls, the candles, the ceremony waiting to happen “—this ain’t for either of us, Vi. We’re just the pretty pictures on someone else’s poster.”

Vi’s eyes softened at that, though the storm in them never left. “Just don’t forget who you are, yeah? Don’t let them grind you down.”

Claggor gave her a small, tired grin. “Funny. Caitlyn said something like that once, about Zaunites being too damn stubborn to be broken. Guess she’s right.”

For the first time, Vi let out a breath that sounded like a laugh. She pushed off the table, straightening her jacket. “Then prove her right.”

The summons came then—a muffled call from the hall, telling them the ceremony was ready to begin.

Claggor stood, adjusting the jacket one last time. His reflection in the mirror didn’t look like him, but maybe that was the point.

Vi clapped him on the shoulder, firm, grounding. “Go on, big guy. Let’s get this circus started.”

The music swelled as the great doors at the back of the hall swung open.

Claggor squared his shoulders, every step heavy as he moved down the aisle toward the altar. Piltover’s nobles watched him like hawks, their smiles sharpened into knives. Across the aisle, Zaunites leaned forward, shoulders tense with hope that maybe—just maybe—this union would change something.

He kept his gaze fixed ahead. Each step sounded louder than the last against the marble floor.

Vi slipped into a seat near the middle of Zaun’s side, right beside Powder. The pew creaked under them, drawing a couple of sharp looks from the Piltover nobles across the aisle. Vi met one stare head-on until the woman shifted uncomfortably and looked away.

Powder tugged on Vi’s sleeve the second they sat. “Can you believe this? Cait actually went through with it.” Her voice was a whisper, but it carried her usual restless energy, too quick, too sharp.

“Eyes front, Pow,” Vi muttered, though her lips twitched despite herself.

Powder leaned forward, elbow on the back of the pew in front of her, whispering again. “Claggor looks like he’s about to faint.”

Vi’s gaze flicked toward the altar. Claggor was standing tall, but his hands flexed at his sides, the only crack in his steady front. “He’s got this,” she murmured, more to herself than to Powder.

Two rows up, Mylo shot them a look over his shoulder, mouthing shut up. Powder stuck her tongue out at him before slumping back into her seat. Vander sat solid at the row’s end, Tobias beside him—both unmoving, like stones placed to anchor Zaun’s side against the storm of polished nobles across from them.

The music shifted, softer, more deliberate. The air grew heavier, as though the entire hall had drawn a single, bracing breath.

The doors opened again.

And there she was.

Caitlyn stepped into the hall, draped in silk and lace that glittered under the crystal chandeliers. The veil softened her features into something distant, untouchable.

The room fell silent.

Vi’s hands tightened against her knees. Powder leaned close, whispering, “She looks like a doll in a box.”

Vi didn’t answer. Her eyes never left Caitlyn.

Here we go.

Every step Caitlyn took toward the aisle felt heavy. Controlled. Maybe even too controlled. It wasn’t the graceful glide of a bride, but the careful march of someone walking into a trap.

The veil blurred her view, softening the edges of the crowd, but she felt their stares all the same—sharp, measuring, hungry. Piltover’s nobles watched her like a prize paraded at auction. Zaun’s eyes followed with hope so fierce it ached.

She kept her chin high. Shoulders straight. Every inch of her posture drilled into perfection. Inside, her chest was tight, breath shallow, like her corset wasn’t fabric but iron bars.

Vi watched from the side, Powder pressed close at her side. She saw through the polish instantly. Caitlyn’s hands were steady, but too steady—clenched just enough to betray the fight beneath her calm. Vi’s gut twisted.

Powder whispered, “She’s gonna blow up or something. I know it. I can feel it.”

“She won’t,” Vi muttered back, though her throat felt dry.

At the altar, Claggor shifted his weight, heart hammering as Caitlyn drew closer. For the briefest moment, her eyes met his through the veil. There was no sparkle, no shy smile, nothing that a groom should see on his bride’s face. Only that tight, practiced composure.

It hit him like a stone dropped in his stomach.

The music swelled, guiding Caitlyn down the last stretch of the aisle. The murmur of the crowd faded into silence, thick and expectant.

Each step echoed like a countdown.

Once she had reached the altar, the music faded into the background, the silence stretching into something deafening.

Everyone was on the edge of their seats.

Caitlyn stood beside Claggor, her veil softening her expression into something unreadable, untouchable. She could feel the heat of the crowd pressing against her back, every breath in the room balanced on a knife’s edge.

The officiant cleared his throat before speaking, his voice steady, practiced, yet carrying the weight of the occasion.

“Today, we gather in the presence of Piltover and Zaun alike…”

His words rolled on, all about unity, trust, progress—buzzing phrases polished for politics. But Caitlyn barely heard them. The ringing in her ears was louder. The words on the Kiramman gates three nights ago echoed louder. The gold band digging into her finger felt heavier.

Claggor tried to focus on the speech, but each word bounced off him. He wasn’t here for speeches. He was here because two cities demanded it. He glanced sideways at Caitlyn, catching only a blur of her profile through the veil. She looked like she was carved out of ice.

In the pews, Vi sat forward, elbows on her knees, fists knotted tight. Powder shifted restlessly beside her, whispering under her breath about how boring the speech was, but Vi barely registered it. Her eyes never left Caitlyn.

The officiant’s voice deepened as he reached the vows.

“Let us now hear the words that will bind two lives—and, we pray, two nations.”

The silence thickened again.

All eyes turned to Caitlyn and Claggor.

The officiant turned first to Claggor.

“Do you, Claggor, take Caitlyn Kiramman—” a faint pause, almost as if the name itself felt strange in his mouth “—to be your lawfully wedded wife, to walk beside her in prosperity and hardship, in triumph and trial, from this day until your last?”

Claggor’s throat bobbed as he swallowed. Every eye in the hall was pinned to him—Zaunites silently begging him not to falter, Piltover nobles waiting for him to slip, to confirm what they already thought of him.

He glanced at Caitlyn. Her veil hid her expression, but he thought he saw the faintest tremor at the corner of her mouth.

“I do,” he said, his voice low but steady enough to carry.

Zaun exhaled as one. Piltover sat even stiffer, as though bracing themselves against it.

The officiant’s gaze shifted to Caitlyn.

“And do you, Caitlyn Kiramman, take Claggor—” another faint pause “—to be your lawfully wedded husband, to walk beside him in prosperity and hardship, in triumph and trial, from this day until your last?”

The silence that followed was heavier than the music, heavier than the stares.

Caitlyn’s lips parted, but no sound came. Her chest rose, fell. She forced herself to breathe. She thought of her family, the rows of nobles behind her, the gates still scarred with graffiti. She thought of the gold ring pressing against her skin like a brand.

She thought of Vi’s voice in her ear, just moments ago. Don’t let ’em break you, cupcake.

Her tongue felt like stone. The word was there, small and brittle, waiting to shatter the room.

“I…”

Vi’s knuckles whitened against her knees. Powder leaned closer, breath caught in her throat.

Claggor held his ground, but inside, he braced himself for whatever came next.

I can’t, she wanted to scream. The word burned in her throat, pressing against her teeth, desperate to break free.

No.

She had a responsibility. Not only to Piltover but to Zaun, too. If she faltered here—if she let her true feelings split the air—it wouldn’t just end the wedding. It would shatter everything.

Her mother’s reputation would collapse in an instant. Cassandra would never recover from the scandal. Piltover’s council would see Caitlyn as a traitor, a child unfit to carry the Kiramman name. And Zaun… Zaun would take the brunt of the blow. The deal broken, the door slammed shut again, every hope of progress turned into fresh resentment.

She saw it all in her mind’s eye: Piltover nobles sneering, “Of course the Zaunite wasn’t enough.” Zaunites muttering, “Of course Piltover played us for fools.” The fragile bridge between their worlds, crumbling into dust.

Her pulse roared in her ears.

Her mouth moved before her heart could stop it.

“I do.”

The words rang hollow, paper-thin.

The officiant smiled faintly, relief breaking the tension for a fleeting instant. Around the hall, nobles nodded as if the world had been righted, as if history itself had been secured in that one fragile vow.

Zaunites leaned into one another, some with cautious smiles, others with misty eyes, daring to believe.

Claggor didn’t let himself look at Caitlyn—not yet. He just breathed, steady, shoulders squared, as if he could carry the weight for both of them.

The applause were washed out in Caitlyn’s hearing, the rapid beating of her heart the only thing ringing in her ears.

Elites kept tight smiles and controlled claps, their gloved hands moving in perfect, shallow rhythm. To them, this was theater, another performance to be judged and catalogued, not a union of two lives.

Across the aisle, Zaun erupted more honestly—hands slapping together with force, voices breaking into cheers before quickly dimming under Piltover’s icy glares. The sound faltered, uneven, like they’d overstepped in someone else’s hall.

Caitlyn kept her face serene, veil hiding the faint quiver at her mouth. Inside, every nerve screamed. The officiant’s words—declaration of unity, of binding, of two cities stepping forward together—bounced off her like stones against armor.

Beside her, Claggor shifted only slightly, shoulders square, chin lifted. To the world, he looked steady, a groom proud of his bride. But Caitlyn, close enough to feel the tension radiating off him, knew the truth: he was holding the mask just as tightly as she was.

In the crowd, Vi didn’t clap. Her hands stayed locked together, knuckles white, while Powder’s eager clapping slowed when she noticed. Powder leaned in to whisper something, but one look at Vi’s face made her snap her mouth shut.

The officiant’s voice cut through the fading applause.

“Then, by the vows spoken here today, and by the witness of both Piltover and Zaun, I now pronounce you bound.”

The hall exhaled as one, relief rolling through like a tide.

Caitlyn’s chest, however, only tightened further.

The reception was worse than the ceremony itself.

I thought marrying a man was the worst part of all of this, Caitlyn thought grimly. Turns out, the reception is worse. Way worse.

At least the vows had been short, clean, mercifully simple. But this—this was a gauntlet.

Everywhere she turned, another powdered face loomed, lips pulled into brittle smiles as questions poured like interrogation lamps switched on.

“How long have you two known each other?”

“When did you realize it was love?”

“What are your plans for the future?”

What is this, a wedding reception or an investigation?

It wasn’t just curiosity. It was surveillance. Half the nobles seemed convinced that if they looked long enough, pressed hard enough, they’d find the lie beneath it all.

Their eyes flicked to Claggor like vultures circling roadkill. One woman actually tsked under her breath at his slightly crooked tie, as if that alone justified an annulment and a lifetime of exile.

The newly wedded couple sat at the table placed at the center, like prized exhibits in a museum. Every noble’s eyes seemed fixed on them, weighing their posture, their smiles, their very breathing.

Caitlyn sat upright, hands folded in her lap, her wine untouched. Claggor shifted uncomfortably beside her, tugging once more at his collar as if it might strangle him.

Plates of delicacies were brought out—steamed fish glazed in crystal sauce, roasted pheasant, Piltover’s finest wines—but the air around them made everything taste like ash.

Every so often, another guest would drift over. A councilor with too-white teeth, a merchant with a carefully rehearsed blessing. How did you meet? How long had you known? What comes next? The questions stabbed like needles, polite on the surface, prying underneath.

Caitlyn answered with practiced poise, her voice steady even when her chest felt tight. Claggor forced smiles that never reached his eyes. Together, they spun the story their city needed to hear, even as the weight of the lie grew heavier with each toast raised in their name.

Caitlyn lifted her wine glass up to her lips, taking a slow sip as her eyes scanned the room. Guests were now immersed in their own conversations, laughter bubbling up like champagne, brittle and false.

Councilors leaned close over polished tables, whispering with the same hunger they brought to trade deals. Piltover merchants boasted about new ventures to Zaunite workers who nodded stiffly, unsure whether to feel honored or humiliated.

Every laugh, every clink of glass, felt like another reminder that this wasn’t about her—or Claggor. It was about them. About a show of unity that demanded she smile on cue.

Her gaze drifted to the far edge of the hall. Powder was animated, gesturing wildly at something Vi had said, her grin uncontained. Vi sat beside her, slouched in her chair, arms crossed but eyes sharp as ever—watching Caitlyn through the crowd.

The sip of wine turned bitter on Caitlyn’s tongue. She set the glass down too carefully, as though it might shatter if she let slip even an ounce of the tension building in her chest.

Caitlyn excused herself with the kind of smile her mother had drilled into her since childhood—polite, composed, unreadable. She murmured something about needing air, and before Claggor could rise with her, she pressed a steadying hand to his arm. “Stay. They’ll notice if you leave.”

The words weren’t a request.

She slipped away from the table, her skirt brushing against polished marble, her heels echoing too loudly in her own ears. The further she moved from the hall, the easier it became to breathe. The music and chatter dulled behind her, muffled by the heavy oak doors as she pushed through them.

The night air hit her like a blessing. Cool. Sharp. Real.

She braced a hand against the stone railing of the balcony, staring out at Piltover’s skyline—gilded spires rising above dark streets, lanterns flickering against a restless sea of smoke. From here, the city looked calm, even beautiful. But Caitlyn knew better. She could still see the graffiti scrawled across her family’s gates in her mind’s eye. She could still feel Vi’s words echoing under her skin.

Her fingers tightened around the railing until her knuckles ached.

For a moment, she let herself drop the mask. Her shoulders slumped, her chest heaved. She tilted her head back and let out a sound—half sigh, half laugh—that came out shakier than she wanted.

“Congratulations, Cait,” she whispered to herself, bitter. “You survived the wedding. Now what?”

She allowed herself a slow breath, an attempt at calming herself down before she blows. Her ring felt foreign on her finger, the cold metal pressing on her like a dagger.

This whole arrangement was performative. All perfectly timed laughs and tight smiles that never reached her eyes. Her responses to even the simplest of questions being scripted in her head. A lie, rehearsed over and over until it became second nature.

It was exhausting.

She flexed her fingers as if the band might slip free, as if it would loosen the weight around her chest. But it clung stubbornly, a reminder that this wasn’t about her. It never had been.

Her mother’s voice rang in her head—for Piltover, for Zaun, for stability. Words dressed up as duty but shackles all the same.

Caitlyn pressed her palms flat to the cold stone, grounding herself against the rising tide of frustration. From inside, the muffled roar of conversation and laughter swelled again, like a wave waiting to drag her back under.

For a fleeting second, she considered running—just bolting into the night, leaving it all behind. No councilors, no reception, no vows she never meant. Just silence. Freedom.

Her breath caught. The thought was reckless, impossible. And yet… it was the first thing that felt honest all day.

Surrounded by celebration and newfound unity, the wedded couple felt nothing but cold chains wrapped around their wrists. Their future was already forced upon them—a path set in stone.

Caitlyn wished she could go home, take a thirteen-hour nap instead of processing everything properly—which definitely wasn’t healthy. She could already imagine the stack of paperwork piling up on her desk after the days of absence she had been forced to take in order to plan her wedding.

She just wanted everything to go back to normal, to have her routine as it always was—waking up at five sharp, choking down the disgusting coffee from the lobby, drowning in endless papers to read and sign, then going home to get barely any sleep before repeating it all again.

Being a wife wasn’t part of that routine.

“Uh, Caitlyn?”

Caitlyn blinked, turning her head toward Powder—who was standing awkwardly with a glass of wine.

“Yes, Powder?”

Powder took a slow sip, leaning against the table. “You look like you’re ready to kick everyone out.”

A soft sigh escaped Caitlyn’s lips as she reached for her own glass. “That’s because I am.”

“Aw, come on, Miss Bride! Live it up a little,” Powder cheered, placing her empty glass on the couple’s table. Then she turned to Claggor, fussing with his tie and hair. “I know you’re not part of the Piltie squad, but you gotta at least look the part.”

Claggor groaned, rolling his eyes and pushing his sister’s hand away. “Pow, you’re tipsy.”

“Psh,” she said dramatically, “I’m not.”

“Powder,” he warned.

“Fiiiinneeee,” she relented, before grinning. “But hey! Piltie alcohol doesn’t taste like dog piss and regret. It’s addicting!”

Caitlyn chuckled, sipping her wine as she watched the scene unfold. Then her gaze wandered across the room until she found her parents in the crowd.

Cassandra commanded the room with authority, poise, and poison—while her husband, Tobias, carried himself with a much gentler warmth. Talking to him was easier, less suffocating. Even Caitlyn often wondered how their dynamic worked. Warmth and the Ice Queen herself, together in a marriage.

Come to think of it, Caitlyn had never really imagined herself in a relationship. Her sole focus had always been her career, building the Kiramman empire as high as the clouds. Relationships had no place in her plans. Still, she always thought that if she ever was bound into one, it would be with a woman. If she had to go home exhausted from work, she’d rather return to a wife waiting for her. Not a man—that would only make her day worse.

She’d had flings before, of course.

In high school, she snuck kisses under benches, flirted behind trees, and discreetly held hands beneath desks.

By college, after convincing her parents to let her stay in a dorm, she was sneaking girls in for late-night “study” sessions, slipping into parties and dragging a girl into a closet within three minutes of arrival.

None of her flings lasted. She always pushed them away before things grew serious, making it clear her sexuality had to remain hidden. If a girl refused, Caitlyn would shove a stack of cash at her and make sure she was intimidated into silence.

Surprisingly, nothing ever came to light. And that was because no one dared to expose Caitlyn Kiramman. Her last name alone was enough to ruin them. And besides, Caitlyn always promised them a mind-blowing orgasm—who could really say no to that?

So no, she wouldn’t say there was zero chance of her being in a relationship. It just wasn’t important enough for her to pursue.

And she simply didn’t want to deal with endless questions about her sexuality. She’d have to explain herself not only to her parents but to the public as well. Being a Kiramman meant the city was deeply invested in your every move—which, in Caitlyn’s opinion, was loser behavior. Who in their right mind was miserable enough to pick apart every single mistake in someone else’s life?

And now, with her last name tied to a man—kind, yes, but still a man—she felt grey.

Probably because her inner rainbow was being shoved into a closet, but…

Anyway, that wasn’t the point.

The point was: of all the people in the world, Caitlyn had never once pictured herself with a man. Especially not Claggor Lanes—whose sister, Violet, unfortunately wielded a tongue sharper than any dagger.

Chapter Text

The wedding was a week ago. Caitlyn and Claggor had already returned to their work, and as promised, the Lanes Foundation finally signed the papers, granting the Kirammans the parcel of land they had long sought.

Claggor and Caitlyn had taken up residence in the Kiramman estate—a calculated choice to quiet rumors. Living apart would only feed speculation, and appearances mattered. This way, the public assumed they returned home together each night, and Claggor remained close to Cassandra, who watched his every step with sharp eyes.

In truth, they lived on opposite wings of the estate. Their paths crossed in hallways or at the dinner table when duty demanded it, but once the courtiers and servants turned away, they retreated to their separate quarters.

Caitlyn had taken on the project in Zaun—rushing back to Piltover and then down to Zaun to check how the new building was being raised—while Claggor was being groomed for his upcoming seat on the council.

The arrangement kept them apart more often than not, their marriage measured in passing glances and brief dinners before they both disappeared into their obligations.

Behind the closed doors of council chambers, Piltover officials whispered that the marriage had been a desperate maneuver to appease Zaun. Some went so far as to call Caitlyn a traitor to her lineage, a Kiramman who had sullied her bloodline for politics.

Zaunites, meanwhile, were split: some saw Claggor as a man who had clawed his way into Piltover’s gilded circles, while others muttered that he had sold out the Lanes for a seat at the Kiramman table.

Zaun looked at Caitlyn with silent judgment, eyes searching for anything—any sign of insincerity, of hesitation, of Piltover polished manners slipping through her promises. Every speech she gave in the undercity was weighed, every glance toward her uniform studied. To them, Caitlyn was not just herself anymore—she was a Kiramman, a Piltover wife. One misstep and they would call her mask shattered.

Some Zaunites listened, nodding at her plans, but most folded their arms and waited. They wanted proof, not pretty words. They wanted to see if she would still walk the streets once the buildings were finished, if she would still speak to them without guards at her side, if she would still care when the ink on the treaty faded.

For all her confidence, Caitlyn could feel the weight of their stares like a rifle aimed between her shoulder blades.

“Mrs. Kiramman! Can we get a short interview?” A tall man pressed forward, shoving his microphone closer.

Caitlyn kept her expression neutral—any flicker of annoyance or hesitation could be twisted, weaponized. She rested a hand on the microphone and gently pushed it away, shaking her head.

“No interviews, please,” she said evenly.

Murmurs rippled through the small crowd. Some Zaunites scowled, taking her refusal as arrogance. A few journalists glanced at one another, unsure whether to press or retreat.

"Mrs Kiramman, please! We just need a few words—"

Caitlyn raised her hand, silencing the crowd. "I understand you're only doing your job, but as you can see," she gestured, showing the stack of files in her hand, "I'm, unfortunately, also on the clock."

The murmurs softened, though a few skeptical glances lingered. Caitlyn stepped forward, scanning the crowd, her voice calm but deliberate. “These plans are for the people building this city, not for headlines. I promise, when the time is right, there will be interviews. For now, I need to hear from those making this project a reality.”

A few journalists reluctantly lowered their microphones, muttering under their breath, while the Zaunites shifted uneasily. Some arms were still crossed, but their gazes softened just a fraction, curiosity edging out suspicion.

"Alright, alright." A voice cut through the crowd—one Caitlyn knew all too well.

Vi stood just outside the building doors, hands tucked into her pockets. Beside her, Sevika remained rigid, a permanent scowl etched across her face as she scanned the crowd like a hawk.

“No loitering,” Vi called out, motioning to her guards to clear the area. “And no cameras. Delete any footage already taken—unless Caitlyn gave consent, that’s illegal.”

Finally, her guards pushed past the crowd, clearing a path toward the entrance. Caitlyn’s eyes flicked to Vi, and for a brief moment, the weight on her shoulders lifted—not from duty, but from familiarity. Vi’s presence was like a warning shot and a comfort all at once.

“Violet,” Caitlyn said, her tone low but measured.

Vi leaned casually against the doorway, one eyebrow raised, eyes scanning Caitlyn with a mix of amusement and concern. “You’re looking tense, Caitlyn. The whole Piltover-Zaun circus getting to you?”

Caitlyn allowed herself the tiniest of smiles. “You know how it is. One wrong word, one misstep… and suddenly, it’s all headlines and whispers.”

Sevika’s arms were crossed, her eyes never leaving the crowd, a living reminder that discretion came with consequences. Vi shot her a sidelong glance, smirking, then turned back to Caitlyn.

"Anyway, Caitlyn, what're you doing here?"

"Blueprints," Caitlyn replied casually, showing the stack of papers in her hands. "I need to ask Vander a few questions."

Vi’s brow arched, a flicker of surprise breaking her otherwise easy grin. “Vander, huh? Didn’t think you’d be the type to go asking the old man for pointers.”

Caitlyn tilted her head, her tone measured but teasing. “On the contrary, Violet. Vander knows more about Zaun’s foundations—structural and otherwise—than any engineer Piltover could send me. If I want this project to last, I’d be a fool not to ask.”

“Smart,” Vi admitted, though her smirk lingered. “Still, you showing up here with blueprints in hand—” she tapped the stack of files lightly, “—that’s a hell of a picture. Zaunites love a leader who gets her boots dirty. Might even win you a few skeptics.”

“Or make me look desperate,” Caitlyn countered softly.

Vi shrugged. “Maybe. But desperate ain’t always bad. It means you care.”

That gave Caitlyn pause—just long enough for the noise of the street to creep back in, the shuffle of boots, the buzz of half-whispered words from the thinning crowd. She straightened the stack of papers again, forcing her expression back to neutrality.

"Well," Caitlyn cleared her throat, straightening her posture suddenly, "Is Vander available? I have to return to my office in a few hours."

Sevika grunted, jerking her chin toward the door. “He’s inside. Been waiting on you, in fact. Don’t keep him long—he doesn’t like wasted time.”

Vi rolled her eyes. “Relax, Sev. Vander’s not gonna bite.” She leaned a little closer to Caitlyn, her voice dipping so only she could hear. “Well, unless you start talking like a council report. He hates that.”

Caitlyn exhaled through her nose, a near laugh, though she quickly schooled her expression. “Duly noted.”

“Mrs. Kiramman,” he said, slow and deliberate, tasting the title. “To what do I owe the honor?”

Caitlyn set the stack of blueprints on the table between them, the papers neat. “I need your insight on the foundation. The engineers from Piltover have drawn up plans, but the soil here isn’t Piltover’s. I want this project to stand, not collapse the moment we pat ourselves on the back.”

Vander leaned on the table, studying her face rather than the files. His silence stretched long enough that Caitlyn felt the stares again—though this time, it wasn’t a crowd, just one man with the weight of Zaun behind his eyes.

Finally, he grunted, setting his glass aside. “Most Piltover folks don’t ask before they build. They hammer their stone into our dirt and call it progress. You? You’re asking. That’s a start.”

Relief flickered in Caitlyn’s chest, though she kept her tone even. “I don’t want to build on Zaun. I want to build with it.”

Vander’s gaze softened for a moment. “Sevika,” he called.

Right on cue, the door creaked open and Sevika stepped inside, arms crossed like she’d been waiting there all along.

“Call Vi over, will you?” Vander said, his tone more command than request.

Sevika smirked faintly but gave a short nod, disappearing back into the hallway. Her voice carried a moment later: “Oi, Vi! Get in here.”

Bootsteps followed soon after, and Vi appeared in the doorway, sleeves rolled up. “What’s up?”

“You know the ground here better than most. Spent half your childhood punching down walls just to see how they were held up.” He jerked his chin toward Caitlyn. “Go on. Help her. She’ll need someone who speaks Zaun as well as she speaks blueprints.”

Vi blinked, caught off guard, then glanced at Caitlyn. “Me? With… her?”

“Unless you’ve suddenly forgotten how beams work,” Vander said dryly, before turning back to his glass.

Caitlyn raised an eyebrow, clearly amused. “Well, Violet, it seems I’ve been assigned an assistant.”

Vi huffed, crossing her arms. “Assistant? Don’t push it, cupcake. I’m here to make sure you don’t build a tower that sinks into the ground the first time it rains.”

But even as she said it, Vi drifted closer to the table, curiosity tugging her eyes down to the blueprints. Caitlyn slid the papers a little nearer to her without a word, and for a moment, their shoulders almost brushed.

“See here?” Vi tapped the corner of the map. “This slope won’t hold the weight, not without reinforcing the lower side. Rainwater pools there. Trust me, I’ve waded through enough of it.”

Caitlyn leaned in, her head tilting toward Vi’s, eyes scanning where she pointed. “That’s not marked anywhere in the surveys.”

“’Cause surveys don’t care about places people actually walk,” Vi said. Her grin tilted, proud and a little smug. “Good thing you’ve got me.”

Caitlyn rolled her eyes but still jotted down notes, her handwriting neat and deliberate.

“Who made these anyway?” Vi asked, leaning over the table again. “I doubt you did it. Unless you’re an architect, along with the many other things you do.”

“Hardly,” Caitlyn said, a quiet huff escaping her. “The engineers in Piltover drafted them. I’m just… making sure every line holds up before we commit.”

Vi raised a brow. “So you’re double-checking their work?”

“Triple-checking, if you want to be exact.” Caitlyn’s lips curved, just a little. “They don’t always account for the kind of conditions we’re standing on now.”

Vi studied her for a moment, the easy way she said it—as though combing through stacks of paper for errors was second nature. “You really don’t let a thing slip by, do you?”

“Not if I can help it.” Caitlyn glanced up at her, meeting her eyes steadily. “Someone has to be thorough.”

For a beat too long, Vi didn’t answer. She just smirked faintly, leaning back with her arms crossed. “Guess it’s a good thing you’ve got me for the stuff you can’t read off paper.”

Something flickered in Caitlyn’s expression—amusement, maybe something more—but she only dipped her head back to the plans. “Don't make me regret it.”

The meeting had lasted longer than Caitlyn had intended, her once clean blueprints now containing Vander’s notes—ink scrawled in margins, arrows slashing across her precise measurements. She thanked him for his help, her tone polite, even, though her throat felt dry.

She stepped out of Vander’s office, her heels echoing softly down the hallway. Pulling out her pocket watch to check the time, she nearly bumped into someone.

“Apologies, Claggor.”

Claggor straightened immediately at the sight of Caitlyn. Though they were married, he still found her presence intimidating. His hand shot to his tie, adjusting it with unconscious precision.

“Good afternoon, Caitlyn,” he said, his throat suddenly dry.

“Sheesh, you act as if you aren’t married,” Powder laughed from behind him, arms folded and eyes glinting with amusement. “You sound like robots.”

Caitlyn ignored the jab, tucking her watch away as her gaze lingered on Claggor. Politeness wrapped her words like a shield. “I do hope you aren’t dreading every second you forcefully have to spend with my mother every day.”

Claggor let out a breath that was almost a laugh, though it sounded more like surrender. “Your mother is… thorough.” His eyes flicked down the hall, as if the Matron might appear at any second. “She asks more questions than a council hearing.”

Powder smirked, leaning casually against the wall. “And you answer all of them like a good little councilman-in-training. Honestly, it’s fun watching you sweat.”

Claggor muttered something under his breath and rubbed the back of his neck. Caitlyn, however, caught the faintest twitch of a smile.

“Patience,” she said softly, her tone unreadable. “She’s testing you, nothing more. Survive my mother, and the council will seem merciful by comparison.”

“Well, well, look at this,” Mylo drawled, eyeing Claggor straightening his tie again. “The happy couple, bumpin’ into each other like strangers. Real romantic."

The voice came from down the hall—Vi, who just now decided to leave Vander's office, striding in with that irreverent swagger, Mylo trailing behind her with a grin that was already two parts trouble.

Claggor’s ears turned pink, and Caitlyn’s jaw tightened, but Vi cut the tension with a chuckle. “Relax, cupcake,” she said, her gaze landing on Caitlyn with an ease that made the hall feel less suffocating. “You’d think you two were at a business interview, not a marriage.”

Powder barked a laugh. “Exactly what I said!”

Mylo leaned against the wall, smirking. “Guess romance in Piltover comes with a dress code and a full set of blueprints.”

Caitlyn shot him a look sharp enough to silence most men, but Mylo only grinned wider.

Vi, however, just tilted her head, her smirk softening at the edges as her eyes lingered on Caitlyn—longer than necessary, longer than anyone else dared.

“Hm, well,” Caitlyn hummed, her tone clipped but smooth, “unfortunately for me, this marriage is apparently a package deal—a husband and his three dreadfully annoying siblings.”

“Ouch,” Mylo clutched his chest dramatically. “Right in the heart. Didn’t even try to sugarcoat it.”

Powder burst out laughing, clapping her hands. “She’s got you pegged, Mylo. Dreadfully annoying is, like, your whole personality.”

“Oi!” Mylo shot back, but his grin betrayed him.

Claggor cleared his throat, adjusting his tie again as though that would make him invisible. “They… mean well.”

“They mean loud,” Caitlyn corrected, arching an eyebrow.

Vi leaned in, her smirk unmistakable, eyes locked on Caitlyn like she was the only one in the hall. “Guess you’ll just have to get used to us, cupcake. Didn’t anyone tell you? In Zaun, family’s a lifetime contract.”

Powder waggled her eyebrows. “And no returns.”

“Or refunds,” Mylo added, grinning like a fox.

Caitlyn sighed, her tone feathered with sarcasm. “This wasn’t part of the contract.”

“Sure it was,” Vi shot back instantly, leaning one shoulder against the wall, her grin sharp but her eyes soft on Caitlyn. “Tiny print. You just didn’t read it.”

“That’s on you,” Mylo said, smug, jabbing a thumb at Caitlyn like he’d won something.

Powder snickered, her voice sing-song. “Clause number one: you marry one of us, you get the rest of us for free.”

“Clause number two,” Vi added, pushing off the wall, stepping closer, “no escape.” Her tone was playful, but there was a weight in the way her gaze lingered on Caitlyn, as though daring her to deny it.

Claggor cleared his throat loudly, tugging at his tie for what must’ve been the tenth time. “Alright, alright. That’s enough. Let Caitlyn breathe.”

But Caitlyn’s eyes hadn’t left Vi’s. She adjusted the papers in her arms, her composure perfectly intact—except for the faintest twitch at the corner of her mouth, like she was suppressing something sharper than words.

“Breathe?” she echoed smoothly. “I was under the impression that’s the one luxury Zaun never offers.”

Powder grinned, Mylo snorted, and Vi’s smirk only widened, like Caitlyn had just thrown down a gauntlet.

Caitlyn adjusted the stack of papers in her arms, the crisp shuffle filling the silence. She cleared her throat, posture straightening. “Anyway,” she said smoothly, “I should return to Piltover. Meetings, revisions, blueprints that refuse to fix themselves.”

Claggor nodded, though his gaze lingered on her as if he wanted to say more and couldn’t find the words. Powder gave an exaggerated salute, smirking. Mylo only chuckled under his breath, murmuring something about Piltover priorities.

But Vi didn’t laugh. She watched Caitlyn with that half-smile of hers, unreadable and steady. “Don’t let those blueprints swallow you whole, cupcake,” she said, voice pitched low enough to belong only to Caitlyn.

"And Sevika's waiting for you at the door," Vi said. "Just in case the crowd came back or something."

Caitlyn’s hand stilled on the edge of her papers. For the briefest moment, her eyes met Vi’s—cool Piltover steel meeting Zaun’s fire.

"Alright," she nodded. "Thank you, Violet. I'll be going now."

Then, with a practiced flick of composure, she smoothed her skirts and stepped toward the exit.

Her heels echoed down the hall, the sound crisp and deliberate. She didn’t look back, but she didn’t have to; she could feel Vi’s gaze follow her until the doors closed behind her.

Vi watched Caitlyn’s figure disappear around the corner before finally turning back to Claggor. She stepped close, dropping a heavy hand on his shoulder and giving it a playful shake.

“So,” she drawled, grinning wide, “how’s it like livin’ with royalty?”

Claggor stiffened, his hand shooting to his tie like it always did. “It’s… fine,” he muttered, clearly uncomfortable.

“Fine?” Mylo barked a laugh, smirking. “C’mon, you’ve got a whole wing of the house to yourself. Bet your sheets are softer than a councilman’s ass.”

Powder snorted, doubling over with laughter. “Do they make you bow before dinner? Call her ‘Your Grace’?”

Claggor groaned, rubbing at his temple. “No. We keep out of each other’s way. It’s… practical.”

Vi tilted her head, eyes narrowing in mock suspicion. “Practical, huh? Doesn’t sound like much fun for a honeymoon.”

That earned her a scowl. “It’s not about fun, Vi. It’s about keeping things steady. Keeping people from talking.”

Vi’s smirk softened just a touch, her hand still resting on his shoulder. “Yeah, I know. Just don’t let Cassandra eat you alive in the process.”

Powder leaned in with a wicked grin. “Too late.”

Mylo cackled.

Claggor sighed. “Why do I put up with any of you?”

“Because you love us,” Vi answered instantly, giving his shoulder another squeeze before letting go.

"But seriously, how's the training, future councilor?" Powder asked, eyes full of curiosity.

Claggor shifted under their collective stares, tugging at his tie again. “Training’s… intense. Cassandra doesn’t miss a detail. It’s like she’s got eyes in the back of her head. And front. And sides.”

“Creepy,” Powder muttered, wrinkling her nose.

“Sounds like hell,” Mylo added with a grin. “Bet she makes you balance a book on your head while quoting laws backwards.”

Vi chuckled. “Wouldn’t put it past her.”

Claggor sighed, but the corner of his mouth twitched. “It’s more like—every word I say is measured. Every gesture. She corrects the way I sit, the way I hold my fork, even how I breathe sometimes. Says if I don’t look like I belong, the council’ll chew me alive.”

“Damn,” Vi said, eyebrows raised. “She’s molding you like clay, huh?”

“More like grinding me down to dust,” Claggor muttered.

Powder leaned closer, grinning. “Don’t worry. If she eats you alive, we’ll carve you a nice statue in Zaun. ‘Here lies Claggor, survived Piltover’s forks and knives, didn’t survive Cassandra Kiramman.’”

Mylo barked a laugh, nearly doubling over. “Hey, at least if Cassandra Kiramman does decide to eat you alive,” he started, grinning like the devil himself, “at least we’ll know she used the right kind of fork.”

Powder wheezed, clutching her stomach. “Oh my god—Mylo!”

Vi smirked, giving Claggor’s shoulder another squeeze. “Relax, big guy. You’ve handled worse than council drills and picky forks. Just remember who you are under all that polish, yeah?”

Claggor finally cracked a real smile, small but genuine. “Yeah. Thanks, Vi.”

Powder nudged him with her elbow. “But seriously, if you start calling us ‘my esteemed colleagues,’ I’m setting your suits on fire.”

“Seconded,” Mylo added, still grinning.

Vi’s smirk returned, sharp and fond all at once.

A few days later, Vi pushed open the heavy glass doors of the Kiramman company’s headquarters, the weight of Vander’s folder tucked under her arm. He’d been very clear—deliver these to Caitlyn personally, no runners, no guards.

The lobby was all marble floors and polished brass, the kind of shine that made Vi feel like every scuff on her boots was a crime. A secretary at the desk straightened when she spotted her.

“Miss… Lanes, is it?” The woman’s polite smile faltered when she clocked Vi’s last name. “Do you have an appointment?”

“Don’t need one,” Vi said easily, flashing the folder. “Got a delivery for Caitlyn Kiramman. Vander Lanes said it goes to her hands only.”

The secretary opened her mouth to protest, but the sharp, rhythmic sound of heels cut her off. Caitlyn descended the wide staircase, papers pressed against her chest, already speaking to someone at her side before her gaze landed on Vi.

She stopped mid-sentence, surprise flickering across her carefully composed face. “Violet?”

“Hey, Cupca—Caitlyn.” Vi tipped the folder toward her. “Special delivery. Vander says these are for you.”

Caitlyn descended the last few steps, dismissing the aide with a glance before approaching. “He could have sent a courier.”

Vi shrugged. “Could’ve. Guess he figured you might ignore a courier.”

Caitlyn rolled her eyes, opening the folder to briefly scan the page. She tilted her head as she read, lips in a pout as she focused.

Caitlyn tapped the page with her finger. "I need to figure out a few things. Do you mind staying for questions?"

Vi shifted her weight, hands sinking into her pockets. “Questions, huh? Thought you had a whole council of stuffed shirts for that.”

Caitlyn glanced up, unimpressed. “Stuffed shirts don’t know which streets flood every spring or which walls crumble after a month. You do.”

That earned her a crooked grin. Vi leaned in slightly, voice low and teasing. “Careful, Cupcake. You keep talkin’ like that, people might think you actually value my opinion.”

Caitlyn didn’t look away, though the faintest hint of color crept into her cheeks. “Don’t flatter yourself. I value accuracy. If you can provide that, then yes—your opinion.” She snapped the folder shut, tucking it against her chest. “Walk with me.”

Vi blinked, then followed as Caitlyn turned on her heel.

“So,” Caitlyn began briskly, flipping the folder back open as they moved, “Vander insists the foundations must be raised by two feet to avoid flooding. Would you say that’s sufficient?”

“With the location that you're planning to build on,” Vi said, studying the sketch. "Two feet’s a start. But that still depends on the structure you're going for and what resources you're going to use. I suggest you add another feet or two to be safe."

Caitlyn considered it, then wrote the figure down with her neat, deliberate handwriting. “Four, then.”

Vi blinked at her, almost amused. “Just like that? Don’t you Piltover types usually argue numbers to death before they lift a finger?”

“Only when I disagree,” Caitlyn replied smoothly, closing the folder. “And in this case, you’re right.”

That earned her a crooked grin. “Careful, Cupcake. You’re makin’ a habit of sayin’ that.”

Caitlyn sniffed, though the corner of her mouth threatened to curve. “Don’t grow too comfortable, Violet. I’m merely being efficient.”

“Efficient, huh?” Vi stepped closer, her smirk widening. “Funny. Feels a lot like trust.”

“That’s what happens when trust is the only currency you have,” Caitlyn countered, her voice soft but deliberate. She glanced sideways at her, the faintest curve at her lips. “Besides, I can trust your critique. You grew up there—you know what Piltover’s engineers never will.”

Vi’s grin lingered, though her eyes softened. “Careful, Cupcake. Keep sayin’ things like that, and I’ll start thinkin’ you actually believe in me.”

Caitlyn didn’t flinch this time. “Perhaps it's because you prove yourself capable."

Caitlyn spread the latest blueprints across the polished table. Tobias leaned over, squinting at the lines and annotations.

“You’ve really gone through every detail,” he said, tapping a finger along one of Vander’s notes scribbled in the margin. “Even the parts the engineers themselves didn’t mark.”

“I need to be certain,” Caitlyn replied, her voice calm but firm. “Piltover may draft the plans, but Zaun isn’t Piltover. The soil shifts differently here. Water pools differently. If we build without accounting for that, all our work collapses.”

Tobias nodded slowly, impressed despite himself. “You’re… thorough. More than I expected. Most people would just glance over it, trust the engineers.”

Caitlyn gave a faint smile, not looking up. “Trust is good, but confirmation is better. I’ll review everything, line by line, until I know it will hold.”

He glanced at the notes in the margins—Vi’s observations, Vander’s guidance, Caitlyn’s own meticulous handwriting weaving it all together. “You’ve really taken this project to heart,” he said quietly. “Not just as paperwork, but… something that matters.”

Caitlyn paused, pen hovering over a corner of the blueprint.

The blueprints had changed shape entirely. Vander’s notes bled into Caitlyn’s revisions, Vi’s observations scrawled in the margins beside her precise handwriting. The once-neat project had become a battlefield of ink and compromise.

“It does matter,” she said softly. “I want it to stand. I want it to be right—for everyone involved.”

Tobias let that sink in, then straightened. “Good. Keep at it. You’ve got the skill, and… I can see the care. That counts for more than you think. You're doing well, dear."

Caitlyn nodded once, returning her attention to the plans, her mind already shifting to the next phase: visiting the site, coordinating with workers, and ensuring that every detail—big or small—would be accounted for.

Caitlyn spent her mornings in Piltover, locked in meetings where every clause was dissected and her loyalty tested with thinly veiled barbs. Her afternoons were swallowed by Zaun, where skepticism lingered thicker than the smog.

And Violet—Violet was everywhere. Delivering reports from Vander, walking Caitlyn through alleys she’d never dared step in, leaning against doorframes with that maddening half-smile while Caitlyn tried (and failed) not to stare too long.

Though, Caitlyn did appreciate Violet's input since she did know Zaun better than her.

Claggor, meanwhile, was nearly a ghost in Caitlyn’s days. Their marriage existed on paper and at council dinners, where Cassandra’s sharp eyes never left them. When the performance ended, they drifted back to opposite wings of the estate, their words limited to brief exchanges that could fit on a single notecard.

They were friendly—at times—but still kept their distance, only crossing the distance when faced with a crowd.

Rumors still swirled on both sides of the bridge—Piltover questioned Caitlyn’s loyalty, Zaun questioned her sincerity. Neither seemed satisfied.

The construction site was loud—hammers clanging, metal screeching, voices calling over one another—but in the corner, near a pile of unused stone, Vi noticed movement.

A child, no older than eight, stood barefoot in the dust. Wide green eyes followed every motion of the workers, small hands tucked behind their back as if afraid to be chased off.

Vi pushed off the stack of lumber she’d been leaning on, crouching to meet the child’s eye level. “Hey there,” she said softly. “You’ll get hurt standing here. Can I help you?”

The child’s lip quivered, ready to bolt. Vi extended a hand gently. After a hesitant pause, one small hand crept forward and pressed into hers.

“Good,” Vi murmured, closing her fingers just enough to reassure without trapping. “Now… how’d you get lost?”

“Got lost,” the child whispered.

Vi glanced around at the half-built frame of the building, then down at the child. “Lost from home?”

A nod.

Vi reached into her coat pocket and pulled out a scrap of paper. With a pencil, she sketched a small house—square walls, a roof, a window—and then a little stick figure outside it. “Does this look like yours?”

The child sniffled, then shook their head. “No… mine’s broken. Holes in the roof.”

Vi’s chest tightened. “Ah… okay. Then we’ll make sure the new one doesn’t have holes, alright?”

Suddenly, a voice barked from across the site. “Oi! You two! Move out of the way before you get squashed!”

Vi’s grip on the child’s hand tightened reflexively. “Hey, it’s fine—we’re moving—”

Before she could finish, Caitlyn stepped in, striding over with measured authority. “Excuse me,” she said sharply, but calmly, to the worker. “They’re under my supervision. I’ll ensure they’re safe.”

The worker paused, muttering under his breath, but didn’t press further. Caitlyn knelt beside the child, brushing dust from their cheek with the edge of her glove. “It’s alright,” she said softly. “You’re safe here. I’ll make sure nothing happens to you.”

Vi relaxed slightly, watching Caitlyn’s quiet patience and care. She realized, with a pang of warmth, that the same person who could command a room with authority could also make a scared child feel protected.

“Should we find someone who knows you?” Vi asked, squeezing the child’s hand gently.

The child nodded, fingers still wrapped around hers. Vi led them toward a group of workers until one recognized the child’s name and promised to walk them safely back through the alleys.

Caitlyn lingered a moment longer, giving both Vi and the child an encouraging smile. When the child disappeared into the crowd, she exhaled softly, smoothing her papers against her chest.

Vi turned to Caitlyn, brushing dust from her hands. “You didn’t have to step in like that.”

“Perhaps not,” Caitlyn admitted, eyes soft, a subtle warmth in her tone. “But someone ought to make them feel safe while you figure out the rest.”

Caitlyn glanced at Vi with something like a smile tugging at her lips. “You handled that child… very well. Gently, patient. I don’t see that side of you often.”

Vi shrugged, leaning against a beam. “Wasn’t anything special.”

“Wasn’t?” Caitlyn echoed, raising an eyebrow. “You didn’t have to crouch down, draw a house, and walk them to safety. Most people would’ve just shooed them away or ignored them.”

Vi let out a soft laugh, eyes dropping to the ground. “Guess I’ve seen enough of that kind of life myself.” She glanced up at Caitlyn, voice quieter now. “My childhood… wasn’t exactly easy. I spent a lot of time looking out for kids smaller than me. Trying to make things feel safe where I could.”

Caitlyn’s expression softened, her usual composure giving way to genuine understanding. “That explains a lot. The way you stepped in—without hesitation, without showing off—it’s instinctive. Protective. Compassionate.”

Vi shrugged again, though the edge of a grin appeared. “Well… somebody had to. And, uh… it sticks with you. Helps you see when someone else needs the same.”

Caitlyn studied her for a long moment, noticing the faint line of vulnerability beneath Vi’s usual bravado. “It does you credit,” she said quietly. “It’s… admirable.”

Vi’s grin tugged at the corner of her mouth, softer than usual. “Careful, Cupcake. Keep being nice like that, and Zaun’s gonna start thinkin’ you belong to them.”

Caitlyn allowed herself the faintest smile. “Would that be so terrible?”

Vi shook her head, chuckling under her breath. “Hell no.”

“Anyway,” Caitlyn continued casually, as if that whole exchange hadn’t just shifted something in Vi’s chest, “I was thinking of hiring Zaunite construction to lead this project. Vander mentioned the soil there was looser, and I’d prefer having people who are more familiar with their own land to lead.”

Vi blinked, a huff of laughter escaping before she could stop it. “You’re unbelievable.”

Caitlyn raised an eyebrow. “Unbelievable?”

“Yeah,” Vi shook her head, grinning. “You go from softening a kid’s heart to talkin’ about dirt and beams like it’s the same thing.”

“It is,” Caitlyn replied smoothly, lips twitching as though fighting a smile. “Both require care, patience… and a steady hand.”

Vi’s grin lingered, but she didn’t quip back this time. She just studied Caitlyn for a moment, noting the quiet kindness in her eyes, the way she’d naturally step in when needed.

Vi shook her head, leaning back against the wall to cover the sudden rush in her chest. “Nothin’. Just… didn’t think I’d see someone like you fit in down here so easy.”

Caitlyn’s lips parted, but she didn’t answer immediately. Instead, she looked past the scaffolding toward the workers. “It’s not about fitting in. It’s about listening.”

That landed heavier than Vi expected, her throat tightening before she laughed it off.

“So, about the construction workers.”

“Ah, right,” Vi said, snapping back to the present. “I can find you a few people.”

“I’d appreciate that,” Caitlyn said, glancing over her shoulder at her assistant. “Maddie, would you run into the Lanes and bring back food for the crew? Enough for everyone. They’ve been working since dawn.”

Maddie nodded, scribbling a note before hurrying off.

Vi watched the exchange, her grin fading into something softer. It was easy to forget, sometimes, with Caitlyn’s crisp accent and polished clothes, that she noticed things no one else did—that she cared enough to act on them. And for the first time, Vi realized Caitlyn’s kindness wasn’t just meticulous—it was genuine.

Chapter Text

The day had been running smoothly—too smoothly. The scaffolding rose higher, workers shouting instructions over the clang of iron and grind of stone. Caitlyn stood a few paces back, blueprint rolled under her arm, watching with sharp eyes as every beam slotted into place.

Then it happened.

A rope snapped with a sharp crack, the sound knifing through the noise of the site. A wooden beam, half-hoisted, slipped sideways and crashed against the scaffolding. The frame shuddered. One man yelped as the platform beneath his feet gave way, splinters raining down.

“Hold on!” Vi barked, already moving. She dashed forward, catching the man as he stumbled from the collapsing section. The two of them slammed into the dirt hard, but Vi’s arm held him steady, breaking the fall.

The site erupted in shouts—workers scrambling, others shouting orders no one could follow.

“Everyone, stop!” Caitlyn’s voice cut sharp and clear across the chaos. She didn’t shout, but the command in her tone froze the panic long enough to regain control. “Secure the beam. Clear this section—no one climbs until it’s reinforced."

Her eyes snapped to Maddie, who was already at her side. “Fetch the first aid kit. Now.”

Vi hauled the injured worker upright, grimacing at the blood streaking down his temple. “You’re alright, big guy. Just a nasty knock.” She looked over her shoulder, meeting Caitlyn’s gaze. “He needs proper bandaging.”

“I’ll see to it,” Caitlyn said firmly, crouching beside them. She pulled off one glove, dabbing carefully at the man’s forehead once Maddie pressed cloth into her hand. Her movements were precise, clinical, but gentle. “You’ll be fine. Keep pressure here."

The man groaned but nodded, soothed more by her composure than the words themselves.

“Stay here, drink some water. I’ll have someone assist you home.”

The man shook his head, trying to push himself up. “No, I can’t go home. I can’t afford losing my pay for today—”

Caitlyn placed her hand on his shoulder, steady but gentle, guiding him back down. “You’ll still be paid, of course. Compensated, even. This was a safety violation, and I’ll make sure nothing like this happens again.”

The worker froze, blinking up at her. It was rare to hear such words from anyone tied to Piltover, rarer still to believe them. Yet Caitlyn’s tone left no room for doubt—it wasn’t charity, it was a promise.

Relief softened his face, and he finally allowed himself to lean back, shoulders sagging.

Vi, standing just behind, let out a low whistle. “Huh. Thought you Piltie types only knew how to cut corners, not hand out wages.”

Caitlyn didn’t rise to the jab. She simply met Vi’s gaze with that cool steadiness of hers. “A man’s livelihood shouldn’t be risked because of poor oversight. If we’re building something meant to last, that includes trust.”

Her lips curved, just faintly. “And besides—I’ve got a heart, and enough money to be handing out wages. Why not use both?”

That earned her a grin from Vi, wide and a little incredulous.

Vi tilted her head, grin tugging at her lips despite herself. Damn, she thought. She’s actually serious.

"How about you, Violet?" Caitlyn asked, catching Vi off guard. "Are you hurt?"

Oh.

Vi shook her head, "I'm fine."

And as the injured worker finally accepted a water bottle from Maddie, Vi caught herself thinking—not for the first time—that maybe Caitlyn Kiramman wasn’t just kind. Maybe she was the sort who could change the way things worked, if only people would let her.

Vi watched, a flicker of something unguarded passing through her. Caitlyn wasn’t just issuing orders from on high—she was down in the dust, kneeling with the rest of them.

“Right,” Caitlyn said, rising again once the bleeding was managed. “Check every rope on that frame before you so much as lift another beam. If one fails, they all could.”

Grumbling moved through the workers, but they obeyed, scattering back with nervous determination.

Vi helped the man to his feet, slinging his arm over her shoulder until one of his friends came to take him the rest of the way. Only then did she turn back to Caitlyn, smirking faintly through the adrenaline. “Not bad, Cupcake. Didn’t think you had a commander’s voice in you.”

Caitlyn raised an eyebrow, brushing dust from her skirt. “And I didn’t think you had a hero’s dive in you. Seems we’re both full of surprises.”

Vi huffed a laugh, shaking her head. But the warmth in her eyes lingered longer than her grin, even after the noise of the site swallowed them again.

Caitlyn headed back to Piltover, hoping to grab a blueprint she had left in her office and returning back to Zaun to check on the workers’ progress. The climb between the cities was always jarring—the crisp, orderly air of Piltover giving way to the haze and grit of Zaun—but she had grown accustomed to the shift. What she hadn’t grown accustomed to was the stares. Piltover officials gave her polite nods, while in Zaun, people paused in their work to watch her pass, curiosity plain in their eyes.

She had taken the blueprint from her office, ready to head back to Zaun, when her mother had suddenly requested her presence.

Caitlyn paused in the doorway, blueprint clutched tight in her hand. It was rare for Cassandra Kiramman to summon her without warning, and rarer still when Caitlyn was already halfway out the door.

Cassandra's office reeked of perfection—the type of ambience that'll leave you questioning your whole existence once you leave the room. The soft taps of her fingertips against the table acted like a ticking time bomb—a countdown until she ridicules your whole being.

Caitlyn sat in a chair, feeling like a child about to be scolded for doing something she shouldn't have. Her mother had always been dramatic, dragging out the silence long enough for you to start sweating and scrambling to figure out what you were about to be scolded for this time.

"Caitlyn," Cassandra finally spoke, the rhythmic tapping of her fingers coming to a stop. "Have you heard what the councilors have been saying about you?"

Caitlyn arched a brow, arms folding. "Well, I doubt you summoned me here to share their praises. What is it this time—treason, poor posture, or the audacity to think for myself?"

“They’ve been seeing how much time you’re spending in Zaun.”

“Okay,” Caitlyn replied, brows lifting, her voice edged with sarcasm. “Did they expect me to work from home or something?”

Cassandra’s eyes narrowed, unimpressed. “Don’t play coy. You know what they’re implying. A Kiramman heir skulking about the Undercity, consorting with… undesirables. It raises questions—about your judgment, your loyalties, even your intentions.”

Caitlyn held her mother’s gaze, arms still folded across her chest. “My intention is to get the damn building finished. If that offends the Council, perhaps they should reconsider what their priorities are.”

“You think they’ll thank you for it? Piltover will doubt you, Zaun will use you, and in the end, you’ll have made enemies on both sides," Cassandra said coldly.

Caitlyn leaned forward, her voice lowering, steady and unshaken. “If that’s the cost of building something that actually lasts, then I’ll pay it. Better than living in a city of crumbling lies.”

The silence that followed was thick enough to choke on. Cassandra’s lips pressed into a thin line, her fingers resuming their measured tapping—slower now, heavier.

Finally, she said, “You sound more like your father every day.”

And Caitlyn couldn’t tell if it was meant as an insult or the faintest trace of respect.

“Me and Claggor’s marriage is supposed to bring out unity for both sides,” Caitlyn reminded.

“Symbolic unity,” Cassandra corrected smoothly, but Caitlyn pressed on.

“No, mother—actual unity. If Piltover cannot stomach the idea that I spend my time in Zaun, working with its people, prioritizing our union, then what exactly was the point of this marriage? A performance for the Council? An illusion of progress while nothing changes?”

Cassandra’s lips thinned, but Caitlyn didn’t falter. She leaned forward, voice steady, deliberate. “If my presence in Zaun is enough to unravel their precious trust, then this marriage is already useless. And so is the ‘unity’ they claim to want.”

The silence that followed was sharp, suffocating—only the faint ticking of Cassandra’s clock filled the space.

The echo of Cassandra’s office clung to Caitlyn like smoke. Her mother’s words replayed in her mind with every step she took down Piltover’s polished halls, her heels striking too sharp against marble.

By the time she descended into Zaun, the polished weight of Piltover had been replaced with grit, noise, and the pungent mix of oil and smoke. It should’ve been grounding. Instead, her chest felt tight, her pulse still restless.

“Hey, Caitlyn, what should we do about—"

Vi’s voice pulled her back before the spiral could tighten. She leaned against a railing near the worksite, arms crossed, a smirk tugging at her mouth. “You’re walking like you just chewed out the Council and won. Or lost. Hard to tell—you don't look like the type to lose."

Caitlyn exhaled through her nose, adjusting the cuffs of her sleeves. “I wouldn’t call it either. More of… a reminder that Piltover isn’t exactly thrilled with my priorities.”

Vi pushed off the railing, closing the distance with an easy stride. “Lemme guess. They don’t like you playing nice with the folks down here.”

“Something like that.” Caitlyn’s gaze flicked over the workers hauling fresh beams into place, their laughter cutting through the clang of tools. Her voice dropped. “My mother said Piltover is doubting my loyalty—when everything I’ve done has been for Piltover. And, apparently, Zaun will only use me.” She scoffed under her breath, sharp and humorless. “As if Piltover hasn’t been doing the same to me my whole life.”

Vi blinked at her, caught off guard by the edge in Caitlyn’s tone. For once, it wasn’t cool calculation—it was raw, stripped honesty.

Vi whistled low, scratching the back of her neck. “That’s cold. Even for your lot.”

“It shouldn’t surprise me.” Caitlyn’s tone stayed measured, but her fingers dug faintly into the rolled blueprint under her arm. “And yet—”

“—it does,” Vi finished for her. She tilted her head, studying Caitlyn with something softer than her smirk. “You’re not used to being doubted, huh? Not by your own people.”

Caitlyn’s throat worked, but she didn’t reply.

"Didn't know you could sulk, Cupcake," she teased, earning herself an eyeroll from Caitlyn.

Vi leaned her elbows against the railing, eyes on the city stretching below. “Me? I’m used to it. Been doubted my whole damn life. Every plan I made, every step I took—someone was always waiting for me to trip.” She glanced back at Caitlyn, grin crooked. “Guess I just stopped caring and kept walkin’.”

Caitlyn looked at her then—really looked—and the weight in her chest shifted, easing just enough to let out a quiet breath.

“You make it sound simple,” she murmured.

Vi shrugged, grin tugging wider. “Doesn’t mean it is. But hey—if you’ve gotta pick a side? I already know which one you’re on.”

The words hit Caitlyn harder than she expected. She didn’t answer—not yet—but the faintest curve touched her lips, a quiet acknowledgement Vi caught instantly.

“Cupcake,” Vi said, smirking, “your posh accent givin’ orders down here? Gotta admit—it’s kinda hot.”

Caitlyn rolled her eyes, but her laughter came easier this time, loosening the weight Cassandra had left behind.

She dusted dirt away from Vi's shoulder, her unexpected touch sending a wave of electricity across Vi's whole body.

"You look like you rolled in dirt," Caitlyn teased, her voice carrying a softer edge then earlier. Then, she pulled away as if getting electrocuted.

"Anyway," she cleared her throat, suddenly feeling conscious, "Back to work."

Vi blinked after her, still feeling the ghost of Caitlyn’s touch on her shoulder. It had been quick, barely there, but it left her skin burning all the same.

She trailed after her, watching the way Caitlyn straightened her cuffs again, slipping neatly back into the role of Piltover’s perfect heir. But Vi had seen the cracks now—the anger, the honesty, the slip of warmth when Caitlyn thought no one would notice.

And damn if it didn’t make her want to dig deeper.

“Y’know,” Vi said casually as they approached the half-stabilized scaffolding, “for someone who claims she’s got all of Piltover doubting her, you sure give orders like you own the place.”

Caitlyn glanced sideways at her, arching a brow. “Would you rather I fumbled?”

Vi snorted. “No. Just sayin’—it’s kinda funny. You walk in here, with your neat little accent and your boots that’ve probably never touched this much dust in their lives, and somehow everyone listens. Even me.”

Caitlyn allowed herself a faint smirk, though she didn’t look at her. “Especially you.”

That earned her a laugh from Vi—low, surprised, and warmer than it should’ve been.

For a moment, the clang of hammers and the shouts of workers faded into the background. There was just the two of them, standing shoulder to shoulder in the middle of chaos, sharing something that felt… unspoken.

Then Caitlyn cleared her throat again, shaking herself from it. “We should check the south frame next. I don’t trust the way it’s leaning.”

“Right,” Vi said, though her grin lingered, sly and curious. “South frame it is.”

The noise of hammering picked back up, the site settling into a rhythm again. Caitlyn stepped forward, blueprint under her arm, pointing out the next reinforcement line to a group of workers.

That’s when a voice cut through, sharp and unflinching.

“Easy to say all that when you’re standin’ on clean boots, Piltie."

The group stilled. One of the older workers—broad-shouldered, scar down his cheek—leaned on his shovel, staring her down. His tone wasn’t angry, but it carried years of distrust that silence couldn’t smother.

“You come down here with your papers and promises, but at the end of the day? You’ll climb back up to your estate. We’re the ones who stay when the beams rot and the pay dries up.”

Vi tensed instantly, stepping forward. “Watch your tone—”

Caitlyn lifted a hand, stopping her before the words could snap. Her gaze never left the man.

“You’re right,” Caitlyn said, her voice even. “I can walk away when this is finished. That’s the privilege I was born into. But I haven’t. And I won’t.”

The man’s eyes narrowed, testing her.

Caitlyn stepped closer, boots crunching against dust and grit. “If this structure fails, if wages are cut, if workers are cheated—it won’t be Piltover that suffers. It’ll be you. And that’s why I’m here. Because I don’t trust the Council to keep their word unless someone forces their hand.”

She unrolled her blueprint, kneeling right there in the dirt to flatten it over a crate. “This isn’t just Piltover’s project. It’s yours. So tell me—where would you reinforce first?”

The worker blinked, caught off guard by the gesture. His calloused hand hovered, hesitant, before he crouched down and jabbed at one corner of the sketch. “Here. Flooding’s bad when it rains. Weakens everything.”

Caitlyn studied the spot, then nodded once. “Then that’s where we start.”

The murmur that passed through the crew wasn’t quite trust yet, but it was close. The man gave her a long, searching look—then finally, grudgingly, dipped his head.

Vi watched the whole exchange, jaw slack with the smile she was fighting down. When Caitlyn rose, brushing dirt from her gloves, Vi leaned in close enough for only her to hear.

“Damn, Cupcake. You didn’t just shut him up—you won him over.”

Caitlyn’s lips curved, almost imperceptibly. “I wasn’t trying to win. I was trying to listen.”

Vi shook her head, chuckling under her breath. “And that’s exactly why you did.”

The tension in the air shifted, not gone, but loosened, like a knot pulled just wide enough to breathe.

Vi lingered beside her, arms crossed, smirking. “Well, look at you. Didn’t think that posh accent could handle being shouted at in Zaun.”

Caitlyn gave her a sidelong glance, lips tugging faintly. “And yet, somehow, I survived.”

“More than survived,” Vi said, tilting her head toward the men. “They’ll follow you now. Or at least… they’ll give you the benefit of the doubt. That’s not easy down here.”

Caitlyn’s gaze flicked over the site, softer now. “Maybe not. But if they’re willing to trust me with their work, the least I can do is return the favor.”

Vi’s grin tilted wider, warm in a way she didn’t bother hiding. “Careful, Cupcake. Keep that up and people might start thinking you’ve actually got a heart under all that Pilty steel.”

Caitlyn arched a brow, pretending to adjust the cuff of her sleeve. “Might?”

Vi barked out a laugh, the sound rolling easily between them. “There it is. Knew I’d get a rise outta you eventually.”

For a fleeting moment, with the clamor of the site fading into background noise, it was just the two of them standing close—Caitlyn’s composure brushing against Vi’s fire, balance found without either meaning to.

Then another worker shouted for Vi’s help hauling a beam, snapping the moment back into motion. Vi jerked her chin toward Caitlyn as she moved off. “Don’t go charming the whole crew while I’m gone, yeah? I’d hate to lose my spot as your favorite.”

"I barely tolerate you, Violet. What makes you think you're my favorite?"

Vi threw her a grin over her shoulder as she jogged toward the call. “Please. Everything would collapse without my help."

Caitlyn didn’t dignify it with a reply, but the faintest flush touched her cheeks as she turned back to the blueprint.

Caitlyn only allowed herself the smallest smile once Vi’s back was turned.

The sound of heavy footsteps on the stone path drew both their attention. Vi straightened, half-expecting another worker needing muscle, but what she saw made her blink.

Claggor, dressed in a sharp vest that didn’t quite hide the soot at his cuffs, stood at the edge of the site. His broad shoulders filled the space like he’d been born to it, but his eyes went straight to Caitlyn.

“Caitlyn,” he greeted, with the kind of formality that only made sense when an audience was watching. “I came to pick you up."

A ripple moved through the crew—some surprised, others whispering. Of course. Vi realized. A show for the public. The noble wife and the Zaun husband, arm in arm. A picture-perfect union meant to soothe everyone’s doubts.

Caitlyn’s lips curved into a polite smile, but her eyes flicked toward Vi in a flash of something warmer. “That’s kind of you, Claggor. Though unnecessary—I’m more than capable of finding my own way back.”

“Unnecessary maybe,” Claggor said, his tone steady but lined with good humor. “But your mother forced me to come here and I rather not come back empty-handed. She'd shred me."

Vi snorted under her breath, folding her arms. “Yeah, means you’re trying too hard.”

Caitlyn’s gaze darted her way—sharp at first, then softening. She turned back to Claggor with practiced ease. “Maybe Vi could join us tonight. Dinner at the estate. It’s been a while since the three of us sat down properly, hasn’t it?”

Claggor blinked, taken aback for only a moment before his face split into a grin. “Hell, yeah. Been too long since I’ve had a decent meal with my beloved sister."

Vi stiffened. “Wait—me? In your marble palace? Don’t think they let grease under the fingernails past the front door.”

“You’ll survive,” Caitlyn replied coolly, but there was an undertone there—a quiet insistence Vi couldn’t mistake. “Besides, you two have catching up to do. I'm sure Claggor would like company."

Claggor clapped Vi on the back, nearly knocking her forward. “Don’t make her ask twice. Come on. Food’s free, and you can tell me what kind of trouble you’ve been dragging Cait into.”

Vi grumbled, but her grin betrayed her. “Fine. But if one of your fancy forks has more prongs than I’ve got fingers, I’m walkin’ right back out.”

“Duly noted,” Caitlyn murmured, though Vi didn’t miss the faint smile tugging her lips.

By the time they reached the estate, the shift was almost comical. The heavy gates groaned open, spilling them into polished gardens lined with lanterns, guards snapping to attention as though the sight of soot on Claggor’s collar might bring the place crumbling down.

“Still hate this part,” Claggor muttered as he climbed out, straightening his vest. “Too clean. Feels like I’ll leave footprints just for breathin’.”

“Trust me,” Vi muttered, eyeing the marble steps. “You’re not the only one.”

Inside, the grand dining hall stretched wide and gleaming, the table already set with more silverware than Vi had seen in her life. She stopped at the threshold, squinting at the glittering array. “Nope. Too many weapons on the battlefield. I’ll stick with whatever looks like a spoon.”

Claggor chuckled, dragging out a chair and collapsing into it with no ceremony whatsoever. “Don’t overthink it, sis. You stab the food, you eat the food. Doesn’t matter what the fork looks like.”

Caitlyn shot him a flat look, though Vi caught the twitch at the corner of her mouth. “Try not to undo what little refinement my mother instilled in you, Claggor. She'd faint if you said that in front of her."

“Refinement?” he said with a grin, snagging a roll straight from the platter before the butler could serve it. “Guess that skipped me.”

Vi flopped into her own chair with a grin that mirrored his. “Oh, I dunno. Seems like you got the good parts. Didn’t think I’d see you in a vest, though.”

“Council likes it,” he shrugged, chewing noisily. “Makes them think I know what I’m doin’. Half the time, I don’t.”

“Same,” Vi said, smirking.

Caitlyn’s gaze flicked between them—their easy laughter, the way they fell back into rhythm like time had passed at all. Something in her chest tightened, though whether it was envy or relief, she couldn’t yet say.

She poured wine into their glasses, voice light but steady. “Well, at least tonight you’ll both look the part. Even if neither of you can manage proper table manners.”

Vi raised her glass, smirk curling sharp. “Guess that makes you the classy one, Cupcake. No surprise there.”

Claggor leaned back in his chair, expression sobering. “Council’s been sniffin’ around more lately. About us. About you.” His gaze slid to Caitlyn, voice dropping. “They don’t like how much time you spend here, y’know. Don’t like that I don’t look like a polished Pilty husband either.”

Caitlyn’s knife stilled against porcelain. “They’ll survive their disappointment.”

“Maybe. But disappointment’s how they start. Distrust is how they finish.” He shrugged, but the weight behind it was clear. “I just don’t want you caught in the middle.”

I'm always caught in the middle, Caitlyn thought to herself.

“She already is,” Vi muttered before she could stop herself.

Both Caitlyn and Claggor glanced at her. Vi leaned back, arms crossing. “Council wants her for Piltover, Zaun wants her for proof. Doesn’t matter how many speeches she makes or how many beams she fixes—they’ll still see her as theirs, not her own.”

Silence stretched across the table. The chandelier above flickered faintly, crystal catching gold light that felt far too heavy.

Caitlyn set her fork down with precision, but her gaze stayed steady. “If being ‘caught in the middle’ is what it takes, then so be it. Someone has to be willing to stand there.”

Vi stared at her, lips parting but no words coming. Claggor, after a beat, gave a slow nod. “...That's brave."

Caitlyn exhaled through her nose, a ghost of a smile tugging. “So I’ve been told.”

The tension cracked just enough for Claggor to grin again, lifting his glass. “Then here’s to unity. And to my sister, who somehow looks terrifying even while carving carrots.”

Vi clinked her glass against his with a crooked grin. “I’ll drink to that. Though for the record—she’s scarier with a rifle.”

Caitlyn rolled her eyes, but this time her smile lingered. "Wait until I actually shoot. You'll be terrified."

Claggor laughed, shaking his head in amusement. "Well, hey, you two have finally gotten closer."

Vi groaned immediately, slumping against the back of her chair. “Claggor—”

“Don’t ‘Claggor’ me, Vi. A few weeks ago you couldn’t even survive being in the same airspace as her.”

Vi dragged a hand down her face, muttering, “You’re never gonna let me live that down, are you?”

Claggor leaned forward on his elbows, grinning like he’d just won a bet. “Not a chance. You practically broke out in hives if she so much as looked at you. And now—”

“Now she’s practically always hovering near me,” Caitlyn finished smoothly, not missing a beat.

Vi sat bolt upright, staring at Caitlyn like she’d just committed treason. “I am not hovering!”

“Mm, of course not,” Caitlyn teased, lifting her glass for a slow, measured sip of red wine.

Vi rolled her eyes and scoffed. “Psh. I’m just helping you. Making sure you don’t build a company out of, I don’t know—hopes and dreams.”

Claggor arched a brow, fighting back a laugh. “You mean so the building doesn’t come crashing down?”

“Exactly!” Vi slapped her palm against the table with triumph. “Finally, someone gets it!”

Caitlyn’s lips curved as she set her glass down with deliberate grace. “How generous of you, Vi. Making sure my work doesn’t collapse under the weight of my optimism.”

Chapter Text

The small incident that happened at the construction site spread across Piltover and Zaun—the witnesses painting Caitlyn as "dismissive" and "careless," making it seem like she had no regard for the well-being of her workers.

Zaun was spreading all types of fake news throughout the city—a few name-calling Caitlyn, calling her irresponsible, and a few claiming they had always known Caitlyn would finally show her true intentions someday.

Piltover wasn't making the situation much easier. A few citizens commented on posts that Zaunites released—spreading hate comments in hopes they’d clear Caitlyn's name. In retaliation, Piltover posted a lot of replies—some praising Caitlyn, saying Zaun didn't deserve her anyway, and a few even going as far as to say the injured man deserved it

It was chaos in the shape of defense.

Cassandra was absolutely fuming, heels sharp against the marbled floors as she power walked—yes, power walked; Cassandra Kiramman would never run. She made her way across the council building in hopes of finding her publicist.

"Delete this. Every single one, every trace of these posts. I want them gone."

Cassandra sighed. I'm going to have a full head of gray hair by the end of the year at this point, she thought.

Vander was just as stressed—his associates swarming his office with more news, more posts. Cassandra was blowing up his phone, telling him to control his people. And when Cassandra Kiramman tells you to do something, you do it—and you do it quick.

"Track these accounts—find out who they are. Delete all these posts, every single one that has Caitlyn's name." Vander moved quickly, acting with urgency. "Hurry up before Cassandra kicks my ass."

Everyone moved with a sense of urgency, trying to reverse the mistake—trying to get rid of the problem like it never happened. This marriage couldn't have any issues, any cracks; any type of problem would be seen as a weakness.

To everyone, the world was suddenly moving faster with the state of rush and adrenaline that was fueling everyone to fix the issue.

Not Caitlyn.

To Caitlyn, the world suddenly slowed. Her mind was blank as everyone worried—not for her, though. They weren't worried for her. They were worried for her status, fearing her popularity would come crashing down.

The lingering echo in her ears rang loudly—contrasting with the silence in her head as she struggled to think. Her leg bounced up and down, her fingertips tapping rhythmically against her lap. She tried evening out her breathing—inhaling and exhaling slowly to keep herself away from the growing panic that was trying to take over her.

It hit her with a hollow weight in her chest—that in a room full of people speaking her name, not one of them was truly speaking to her. Their frantic voices blurred together, a wall of noise that made her feel like she wasn’t even present, just a figure they were scrambling to protect like a fragile emblem on a pedestal.

Her name wasn’t Caitlyn anymore. It was Kiramman. A title. A symbol. Something to polish and preserve, not someone to care for.

And as the walls of chatter pressed closer, she realized with chilling clarity: if she crumbled under the weight of this moment, none of them would reach out to catch her—they’d only reach for the image she carried.

"What do we do?"

"Should we—"

"Maybe we should just—"

"Miss Kiramman, what should we—"

"Would you like for us to—"

"Stop," Caitlyn shouted, abruptly standing up, her voice booming over the relentless questions.

The room froze. Every set of eyes turned to her, wide and startled—some even afraid. The aides, the strategists, the publicist—they weren’t used to Caitlyn Kiramman raising her voice.

Her chest rose and fell sharply, breath uneven from the force of it, but her gaze was steady. For once, the chaos that had been swallowing her whole seemed to recoil.

“I said stop.” Her voice dropped lower this time, but the steel in it carried just as far. “All of you—just stop.”

No one dared speak. The silence was thick, the kind that made even Cassandra pause mid-step when she entered the room, her heels clicking slower now.

Caitlyn ran a hand through her hair, forcing herself to stand tall. “You’re not helping me—you’re helping my image,” she said, words clipped and precise. “You’re worried about what they’ll think of me tomorrow, not about what happened today. A man was hurt under my watch, and you’re scrambling to erase the headlines instead of acknowledging it.”

Her publicist swallowed nervously. “Miss Kiramman, perception is everything—if we don’t act swiftly—”

“Perception means nothing if it isn’t backed by truth.” Caitlyn’s jaw clenched. “If I let you sweep this under the rug, then Zaun will be right. They’ll be able to say I don’t care. That I only protect my reputation.”

Cassandra’s eyes narrowed slightly, sharp but unreadable. The faintest curve of her lips hinted at disapproval—or perhaps at a grudging respect.

Caitlyn turned fully to face the room. “We’re not deleting anything. Not one post. Not one headline. What we will do is tell the truth. I was there. I saw it. It was an accident, and the man is recovering. I’ll release a statement, and I’ll visit him myself. Publicly.”

The aides exchanged uneasy looks. A move like that was bold—vulnerable even.

But Caitlyn didn’t falter. “If they want to judge me, let them judge me on my actions, not my silence.”

For a long moment, no one moved. The tension hung thick in the air. Then Cassandra finally spoke, her voice low but carrying.

“Very well, Caitlyn. If this is the path you’ve chosen…” She tilted her head ever so slightly, eyes glinting. “Then make damn sure it works.”

Caitlyn gave a swift nod, collecting her things. "For now," she instructed, heading towards the door. "Leave it alone. Leave me alone."

Caitlyn stayed inside her office, continuing her work as usual. She couldn’t even leave to go home, even if she wanted to; a swarm of people was waiting for her outside, and she knew it.

She flipped through pages casually—too casually—but the continuous clicking of her pen betrayed her, each sharp snap echoing her rising anxiety. Her leg bounced beneath the desk, the rhythm uneven, restless. She told herself she was working, but her eyes barely registered the words on the page. Every headline she had read earlier seemed to bleed into the margins, each whisper of the city replaying in her mind.

The pen slipped from her fingers, clattering against the desk. Caitlyn pinched the bridge of her nose, forcing a long breath through her lungs. That was when the door creaked open, the sound careful, hesitant.

“Sprout?”

Her head shot up. Jayce leaned halfway into the room, a soft concern etched across his face. He didn’t wear the polished confidence he usually carried into council meetings—just a simple, worn expression of someone seeing his best friend crumble.

“I thought I’d find you here,” he said quietly, stepping inside. The door clicked shut behind him, muting the muffled voices still carrying from the hall. He moved to her desk but didn’t crowd her, giving her space. “You’ve been in here all day. Haven’t even gone home, have you?”

Caitlyn let out a breath that wasn’t quite a laugh. “Home’s not much safer than here, Jayce. At least in this room, I can pretend I’m working.”

He studied her for a moment, then pulled the chair across from her and sat, resting his forearms on his knees. His voice softened. “You don’t have to pretend with me, you know. Not now. Not ever.”

The words cracked something in her chest, and for the first time all day, she let her shoulders slump.

Jayce leaned forward, elbows balanced on his knees, his gaze steady but gentle. “You’ve been carrying the whole city on your shoulders since we were kids. I used to think you liked it—that it gave you some kind of… thrill. But now?” He shook his head, his tone softening even further. “Now I just see you breaking yourself to pieces for people who don’t even see you.”

Caitlyn’s throat tightened. She wanted to answer, but the words tangled, heavy and sharp.

Jayce waited. He always waited.

Finally, she managed a whisper. “It feels like I don’t exist anymore. Just… Kiramman. A title they polish and protect, not a person they actually care about.” Her hands curled against the desk. “If I fall apart, they don’t catch me—they catch the image.”

Jayce exhaled slowly, nodding as though he had expected nothing less from her. “Then let them worry about the image. You don’t have to be ‘Kiramman’ with me. You never have.”

Caitlyn glanced at his hand, the steady warmth of it, then back at his face—the same boy who had walked her home after lessons, who had patched her knees when she fell, who had laughed with her when the weight of the world wasn’t yet on their shoulders.

Her chest loosened just a little.

Jayce gave her a small, lopsided smile. “There she is. The Cait I grew up with. Not the council’s Cait. Not the city’s. Just my little sprout."

A shaky laugh escaped her before she could stop it. “Careful, Jayce. That almost sounded sappy.”

He smirked, leaning back in his chair. “Don’t flatter yourself. I’m just making sure my best friend remembers she’s human before she turns into a marble statue.”

Caitlyn rolled her eyes, but the corners of her lips curved despite the heaviness in her chest.

"Just promise me something, Sprout."

Caitlyn arched a brow. "What's that?"

"Don't make any public appearances," he said, his tone final. "At least not yet."

Caitlyn’s eyes narrowed slightly. “So I’m supposed to hide? Pretend I have nothing to say while they tear me apart?”

Jayce lifted a hand, not to silence her, but to slow her down. “Not hide. Wait. There’s a difference.” His tone was calm, but firm. “Right now, they don’t want the truth, Cait—they want a spectacle. If you walk out there, they’ll eat you alive before you get a word out.”

Her jaw tightened. “So what, I just sit here and let them believe the worst of me?”

“No,” Jayce said gently. “You sit here and let them burn themselves out. Then, when the noise dies down, you step out and give them something they can’t twist—your truth, in your own words. Not in theirs.”

Caitlyn leaned back, folding her arms. The logic was sound—typical Jayce. But her chest ached at the thought of silence. “You make it sound so simple.”

He smiled faintly, tired but warm. “Nothing about this is simple. But you’re not alone in it, Sprout. Not as long as I’m here.”

The nickname made her chest loosen again, even if she tried to disguise it with a scoff.

Caitlyn opened her mouth, ready to argue again, when the office door slammed open hard enough to rattle the frame.

“Cait?"

Both Caitlyn and Jayce jerked their heads toward the door. Vi stood there, shoulders squared, boots muddy from Zaun’s streets, her fists clenched like she’d fought the air the entire way up here.

Jayce blinked. “Uh, you can’t just—”

“Shut it, pretty boy.” Vi brushed past him, her eyes fixed on Caitlyn. “You okay?”

The words hit Caitlyn like a punch—they weren’t laced with politics, strategy, or caution. Just blunt concern.

Caitlyn’s lips parted, but no sound came.

Vi stepped closer, ignoring the papers scattered across Caitlyn’s desk, ignoring Jayce’s frown. “I’ve been hearing all the crap they’re saying about you. Half the city’s lost their damn minds, and the other half doesn’t know which way’s up. And you—” she tilted her head, eyes scanning Caitlyn with that unflinching, street-born sharpness—“you look like you haven’t slept in days.”

Jayce cleared his throat, a touch defensive. “I was already talking to her about—”

“Yeah? Well, now I’m talking to her.” Vi didn’t even look at him, her focus locked on Caitlyn. “So tell me, Cupcake—what do you want to do about all this?”

The question hung in the air. Not “what should you do,” not “what’s best for your image.”

What do you want?

Caitlyn stared at her, the noise of the city, of her family, of the council—all of it shrinking to the background. For the first time that day, someone had asked her what she wanted, not what the Kiramman name demanded.

Her chest rose with a shaky inhale.

"I just," she hesitated for a beat, clearing her throat and resting against the backrest of her seat. "I need a fucking break."

The words hung between them, raw and stripped bare. For a second, it almost sounded childish—petulant—but the look on Caitlyn’s face turned it into something else entirely. A confession. A plea.

Vi blinked, then huffed a small laugh, the kind that wasn’t mocking but almost… relieved. “Finally. Something honest.” She leaned against the desk, folding her arms. “So take one. Screw the city. Screw the headlines. You’ve earned a damn break, Cupcake.”

Jayce let out a long breath and leaned back in his chair. The stiffness in his shoulders eased, replaced by something quieter, almost weary. “She’s right,” he admitted at last, his voice low.

Vi blinked, surprised. “Huh. Didn’t think you had it in you.”

Jayce gave her a flat look, but there was no bite to it. His attention shifted back to Caitlyn. “You’ve done nothing but fight for this city, Cait. Every single day, since we were kids. If anyone deserves to step away for a night… it’s you.”

Caitlyn’s lips parted, caught off guard. 

“Let us handle the noise,” Jayce continued. “You don’t have to burn yourself out proving you care. We already know you do.”

Vi leaned forward, smirking faintly, but her tone was softer when she added, “Guess the golden boy’s not so bad after all.”

Caitlyn gave a shaky laugh, her chest loosening just enough to let the sound out. The tension in the room shifted, no longer pressing in on her like a cage.

For the first time all day, she felt like maybe—just maybe—she could breathe.

"Remember this, Caitlyn," Jayce reminded, his hand resting over hers. "You're human. You deserve a break—you deserve to feel."

Vi's jaw clenched at the sight of Jayce's hand on Caitlyn's and the way Caitlyn's expression finally softened around Jayce—wait, is Caitlyn secretly in love with Jayce? Were they a thing before her and Claggor were arranged to be wed? Vi's brow arched, arms crossed and eyes narrowed at the thought.

Caitlyn didn’t pull her hand away. She didn’t lean into it either—just let it rest there, like the weight of it was grounding her after a storm.

But to Vi, it was a storm of its own.

Her jaw worked, teeth clenched behind her smirk as she cocked her head. “Huh. Didn’t realize I was interrupting a moment.”

Caitlyn’s eyes flicked up instantly, catching the sharp edge in Vi’s tone. “Violet."

"So.. were you two a thing before you were forced to marry Claggor or what?" Vi asked, not unkind, but definitely carried a sharp and protective tone—which was only natural. It was second nature for Vi—the need to protect her loved ones.

"We're strictly friends—"

"Best friends!" Jayce corrected, almost offended.

"—yes, best friends. We've known each other for more than a decade. Plus, he's head over heels for a fellow councilor of his."

Vi’s brow arched higher. “Head over heels, huh?” Her tone was skeptical, but there was a flicker of relief in her eyes that she couldn’t quite hide.

Jayce sat back, crossing his arms with exaggerated offense. “Don’t sound so surprised. I’m perfectly capable of falling in love with someone who isn’t Caitlyn.”

“Sure,” Vi drawled, smirk tugging at her lips. “I’ll believe it when I see it.”

Caitlyn pinched the bridge of her nose, though a small smile betrayed her exasperation. “Vi, I assure you, Jayce and I have never been anything but what you see right now. Nothing more, nothing less.” She leaned forward, meeting Vi’s gaze firmly. “If there’s one thing you should know by now, it’s that I don’t waste my time with half-truths.”

The sharpness in Vi’s stance wavered. She shifted her weight, arms loosening across her chest. For all her protectiveness, Vi wasn’t built to distrust Caitlyn—not when Caitlyn was looking at her like that, steady and unwavering.

"Plus, he's like a brother to me, we've grown up together. I'd never see myself with... him."

That's because you're devastatingly gay, Cait, she reminded herself.

Jayce, sensing the edge of the storm passing, leaned back with a smug grin. “See? Crisis averted. Now, if you’re both done interrogating me about my non-existent love life—”

"That's because you're horrible at confessing your feelings."

“Shut it, pretty boy."

Caitlyn sighed, shaking her head—but her chest felt lighter than it had all day.

"Caitlyn!"

Well, nevermind. 

Cassandra’s voice cracked like a whip, slicing through the room. She strode in, every line of her posture honed and commanding, her heels striking the marble floor like gunshots. Her gaze swept over the scene—Jayce leaning forward with a hand over Caitlyn’s, Vi practically draped across the desk with arms folded, Caitlyn caught square in the middle, pale but steady.

The silence that followed was suffocating.

Cassandra’s eyes narrowed on Vi. “And what,” she said slowly, venom threaded through each syllable, “is she doing here?”

Vi straightened, her jaw tight. “Checking in on Caitlyn. You know, the actual person? Not just your precious Kiramman name.”

Cassandra’s lips curved into a cold, razor-thin smile. “You presume to speak on matters you don’t understand. This is a political disaster, and the last thing my daughter needs is distractions.”

Vi’s fists clenched at her sides. “Funny. From where I’m standing, the only disaster is a room full of people worrying about their image while Caitlyn’s sitting here about to break.”

Cassandra’s chin lifted, eyes flashing. “Watch your tone, Lanes. You’re in Piltover’s council hall."

“Doesn’t matter where we are,” Vi shot back without missing a beat. She took a step forward, planting herself firmly between Caitlyn and Cassandra. “You can throw all the fancy titles you want around, but you don’t get to act like you’re protecting her when all you care about is what the city thinks."

Caitlyn’s breath caught, her eyes darting between the two women—her mother, all steel and expectations, and Vi, fire and fists, standing her ground like she’d fight the whole council if she had to.

Jayce lifted his hands slightly, as if to ease the tension, but one look from Vi kept him quiet. This wasn’t his fight—not right now.

Cassandra’s gaze hardened. “Step aside. This is between me and my daughter.”

Vi didn’t move. Her voice lowered, steadier, but no less sharp. “No. You’ve had your say, 
Mrs Kiramman. For once, maybe listen to what Caitlyn actually wants instead of deciding for her.”

For a moment, the air itself seemed to bristle with the weight of Cassandra’s glare. Caitlyn could feel her mother’s disappointment pressing against her like a cage, and Vi’s defiance standing tall like a shield.

And then—every eye turned to Caitlyn.

Caitlyn gulped, hands curling at her sides. “Mother,” she finally muttered, voice low but steady, “I’m stepping back for a few days.”

The words dropped like stones into the room.

Cassandra’s head snapped toward her, disbelief flashing in her eyes. “Excuse me?”

Caitlyn’s throat tightened, but she forced the words out. “I need space. Away from the headlines, away from the noise. Just… a break.”

The silence that followed was taut, dangerous. Cassandra’s heels clicked as she took two deliberate steps closer. “Caitlyn, this is not the time for childish indulgence. You are a Kiramman. You do not step back—you step forward.” Her voice sharpened to a blade’s edge. “Do you understand what weakness looks like in the eyes of Piltover? What Zaun will do with it?”

“And do you understand the toll this has given me, Mother?” Caitlyn’s voice rang louder than she intended, the words escaping before she could temper them. But she didn’t back down—her hands curled into fists at her sides, her spine straightening as if every inch of her was daring Cassandra to dismiss her again.

Cassandra’s eyes narrowed, her lips parting as if to retort—but Caitlyn pressed on.

"Do you understand how it feels to be in a room full of people who sees me but never just sees me?" Her voice trembled, but remained firm. She wasn't backing down now. "I work so hard to please every single person who seems to think they have the right to hold their expectations over my head—and what do I get in return?"

Cassandra's lips remained pressed into a thin line, her arms loosely crossed.

"I get half-assed congratulations, sometimes—barely—a pat on the back.” Caitlyn’s breath hitched, but she forced herself to meet her mother’s gaze head-on. “But the second I falter, the second something happens beyond my control, the city tears me apart like I’m nothing. And you—” her voice cracked, sharp and raw, “you only care about how fast we can erase the mess instead of asking if I’m okay.”

The words struck the air like a gunshot.

"Well, Mother, you don't need to ask me, I'll just tell you—I'm not okay," she shouts, lips trembling as her composure slowly cracked. "I'm fucking exhausted and this shitty city keeps weighing my last name over my head."

"I do everything—everything you want me to do, everything you expect me to do. I break myself trying to hold up this family name, trying to carry a city that doesn’t even care if I collapse under it. And you call it duty. You call it strength." Her voice cracked, her hand shakily running through her hair. 

The silence that followed was suffocating. Cassandra’s lips pressed into that perfect line of control, but her eyes softened—confusion, or shock, or both.

Behind her, Vi shifted—not forward, not to speak, but just enough that Caitlyn felt it. The warmth of her presence at her back, the silent promise of I’m here. Caitlyn’s hand, still curled into a fist, brushed against Vi’s at her side—Vi didn’t grab it, didn’t make a show of it, but let their knuckles rest together, steady as stone.

Caitlyn’s chest rose and fell in sharp, uneven bursts. Her voice shook, but her words cut like steel.

“The city can burn into the ground for all I care. I’m taking a well-deserved break—don’t contact me, don’t speak to me. I’m done until this city gets their shit together.”

The silence that followed was deafening. Even the air seemed to pull taut, waiting for Cassandra to strike.

But Caitlyn didn’t falter. Her fists uncurled, shoulders still trembling, and for the first time in years she wasn’t speaking as Piltover’s heir, or as a council member’s daughter—she was speaking as herself.

Behind her, Vi’s presence loomed steady, solid as bedrock. Caitlyn’s hand brushed against hers again, and this time Vi let their fingers thread together, grounding her in silence. No speeches, no defense—just wordless, immovable support.

Cassandra’s lips parted, but for once no sharp command or reprimand came. 

But Caitlyn turned on her heel before her mother could speak, her steps firm, each one hammering her choice into the floor.

And Vi went with her, hand still in hers.

The heavy doors shut behind them with a resounding thud, cutting off Cassandra’s cold silence. The corridor outside felt too wide, too empty, and Caitlyn’s legs carried her forward on instinct alone. Each step was stiff, her breaths shallow, her composure clinging to her like wet silk ready to tear apart.

She didn’t realize she’d stopped until Vi’s hand brushed hers—gentle, careful. Caitlyn’s knuckles were still trembling, her fists locked tight like she hadn’t left the fight yet. Vi didn’t try to pry them open. She just slid her rough hand against Caitlyn’s until Caitlyn gave in and loosened, fingers lacing with hers.

She turned, shaky, her lips parting to speak—but the words caught in her throat. Her composure cracked like glass, and before she could piece it back together, Vi’s arms were around her.

It wasn’t careful, it wasn’t delicate—it was firm, encompassing, like Vi was holding her together by sheer will alone. Caitlyn folded into it without resistance, her forehead pressing hard against Vi’s shoulder.

Only then did Caitlyn exhale, the sound shaking, almost a sob. She turned to Vi, eyes bright and wet, her voice cracking on the edges of something raw: "Gods, Vi, I—” She swallowed. “I don’t even know who I was in there. I’ve never spoken to her like that. Never.”

Vi’s eyes softened, searching Caitlyn’s face. She didn’t fill the silence with platitudes, didn’t tell her it would all be okay. She just tugged Caitlyn gently forward until her forehead rested against Vi’s shoulder.

“You were you,” Vi murmured finally, low, steady. “Maybe for the first time in front of her.”

Caitlyn’s breath hitched, a laugh breaking through the sob in her throat. It was messy, cracked, but real. She closed her eyes, letting herself sink into Vi’s warmth, letting the adrenaline drain at last.

For the first time in days, maybe weeks, Caitlyn felt like she could breathe.

Vi's hand gently caressed Caitlyn's hair, her touch light but grounding—keeping Caitlyn reminded that she was there for her. She wasn't alone.

“I’ll call Sevika,” Vi murmured, her voice low, almost careful. “We need to get you home.”

Caitlyn let out a shaky exhale against Vi’s chest, the word home pulling at something deep inside her. It wasn’t the Kiramman estate she thought of in that moment, nor the rigid walls of Piltover’s council halls.

“I don’t want to see anyone,” Caitlyn whispered, the exhaustion thick in her throat.

“You won’t,” Vi promised, her thumb brushing lightly against the back of Caitlyn’s head. “Just me. Is that okay?"

Caitlyn closed her eyes, nodding, leaning into the warmth of Vi’s shoulder, and for the first time since the chaos began, the crushing weight in her chest eased enough to let her draw a full breath.

"We can go to my penthouse," she suggests, finally pulling away from Vi. "Far from the Kiramman estate."

Vi chuckled lightly, tucking Caitlyn's hair out of her face. "How far?"

"Fifty-minute drive."

"You really made sure to keep a healthy distance, huh?" Vi teased, taking her phone out. "I'll call Sev to pick is up, do you want me to grab any of your things for you?"

Caitlyn shook her head. "I rather you not, I'm sure my mother would have plenty to say and I don't want you to deal with her," she said, letting a dry chuckle escape her lips. "I'll tell Jayce to gather my things."

Cassandra remained still, arms crossed, her gaze locked on the space her daughter had just occupied.

Jayce lingered in the doorway, his jaw set. For once, he didn’t bother with diplomacy. “You know you’re pushing her past her limits, right?”

Cassandra’s eyes flicked to him, sharp as always, but not without a shadow of weariness. “Limits,” she said softly, “are a luxury a Kiramman cannot afford.”

Jayce stepped further in, his voice low but firm. “How about your daughter? Can't you afford limits for your own daughter? She’s Caitlyn, not just some title. And right now, she needs her mother—not the council, not the city. You.”

That struck something in Cassandra’s face—barely there, but it was a crack in her polished mask. Her lips pressed together, and when she finally spoke, her tone carried less steel. “You think I don’t know that? That I don’t see the weight she’s carrying? I do. Every day.”

Jayce’s shoulders eased, but only slightly. “You don't really make it seem like you do. Right now all she hears is the councilwoman, not her mother.”

For the first time, Cassandra’s gaze slipped, softening as if she were caught between two selves—one bound to duty, the other aching with concern. 

"Auntie Cass, you know me and Caitlyn have basically grown up together," he reminds, "I've seen how hard she works—how much pressure she puts on herself. It's just.. gotten to a point now where it's too heavy for her to hold on her own."

“I cannot allow the city to see weakness,” she murmured, quieter now. “But perhaps… perhaps I’ve let that blind me to what my own daughter sees.”

Jayce’s tone gentled. “She doesn’t need you to fix everything. She just needs to know you’re in her corner.”

Chapter Text

Caitlyn Kiramman never broke.

She never cried when scraping her knee as a child—but that was probably because she very rarely fell.

She never cried when faced with the toughest of tasks; she’d meet them with her chin lifted, shoulders squared. And if she did feel like crying, she buried herself in endless work until the feeling dulled. When that failed, she cried silently in the comfort of her bed—never sobbing, only letting tears slip until she wiped them away and forced herself to sleep.

Most importantly, she never cried in front of anyone. She rarely even cried alone.

“Vulnerability is a weakness, Caitlyn.”

She had been told to swallow it all, to deal with it. Every emotion, every tear, was weakness.

But here, sitting beside Vi, warmth seeped through her like sunlight breaking through frost. Vi had stood up for her—even against Cassandra Kiramman. Reckless. Brave.

Here, with Vi, she felt seen.

Caitlyn blinked rapidly, as if that simple act could chase away the sting in her eyes. Her throat tightened, but she forced her lips into a thin line, fighting the urge to falter. She was Caitlyn Kiramman—she did not break.

But Vi’s hand lingered on hers, calloused thumb tracing over her knuckles in small, grounding circles. The gesture was steady, unhurried, as if Vi had all the time in the world just to remind her she wasn’t alone.

And for once, Caitlyn didn’t want to pull away.

The dam she’d spent years fortifying began to tremble. Her chest ached, not from weakness, but from the weight of finally being allowed to feel. She drew in a shaky breath, and before she could stop herself, a single tear slipped free.

Vi noticed, of course she did—but she didn’t tease, didn’t point it out. She just shifted closer, shoulder brushing Caitlyn’s, giving her silent permission to fall apart if she needed to.

It was terrifying. It was freeing.

Because here, with Vi, she could finally allow herself to break.

“It’s okay, Cait. You’re allowed to cry,” Vi murmured, her voice lower—softer than Caitlyn had ever heard it.

Her hand rose slowly, hesitating for the briefest second, before brushing a stray lock of hair behind Caitlyn’s ear. The touch was careful, reverent. For a heartbeat, Caitlyn thought Vi would wipe the tear from her cheek—but she didn’t.

Instead, she let it be.

Their eyes met—cerulean locked with powder blue—and something in Caitlyn’s chest cracked wide open.

“You don’t have to wipe away your tears,” Vi said, her hand falling back to rest lightly over Caitlyn’s own. “It’s not a weakness. And it’s not you breaking, either.”

Caitlyn’s breath caught. The words pressed against every rule she’d been raised with, every shield she’d ever built, and yet—coming from Vi—they didn’t feel like rebellion. They felt like the truth.

“It's you finally allowing yourself to feel.”

Caitlyn let out a trembling laugh—half a sob, half disbelief—and pressed the heel of her hand against her eyes. “You make it sound so simple,” she whispered.

Vi’s lips curved in the faintest smile, not mocking, just steady. “That’s ‘cause it is. You don’t have to carry it all alone, Cait. Not with me here.”

For a moment, Caitlyn hesitated, torn between habit and want. Then, slowly—hesitantly—she leaned sideways, resting her head against Vi’s shoulder. Vi shifted without a word, making room for her, strong arm wrapping loosely around her back.

And just like that, the fight drained out of Caitlyn. The tears she’d been holding back for years slipped free, quiet but unrestrained, dampening the fabric of Vi’s shirt.

Vi didn’t say anything else. She just held her, steady and unshaken, as if she’d been waiting for this moment all along.

For the first time, Caitlyn realized that breaking didn’t mean falling apart. Not here. Not with Vi.

It meant being held.

Sevika sat at the wheel, one hand loose on the controls, the other draped casually over the armrest. She didn’t look back, didn’t say a word, but her presence filled the car like smoke—unignorable, sharp-edged.

“You okay?” Vi asked quietly, her voice pitched just for Caitlyn.

“…I could be better,” Caitlyn murmured, eyes half-lidded as she watched the city blur past the window. “But thank you for being here.”

Vi’s lips curved in the faintest smile, and she reached down to lace her fingers through Caitlyn’s hand. Caitlyn squeezed back, soft but deliberate.

The car rolled to a smooth stop in front of Caitlyn’s penthouse. The building loomed above them, glass and stone gleaming in the wash of streetlights.

Sevika cut the engine, leaning back in her seat with a grunt. 

In the back, Caitlyn didn’t move right away. Her head still rested on Vi’s shoulder, her hand comfortably twined with Vi’s. The thought of stepping out into the cold air, into the silence of her penthouse, felt heavier than usual.

Vi tilted her head toward her. “Home sweet home,” she murmured, trying to keep it light.

Caitlyn hummed softly in acknowledgment, but she didn’t lift her head. “Just… another minute.”

Vi’s chest tightened at that—at the quiet plea buried in Caitlyn’s voice. She nodded, squeezing her hand. “Take all the time you need.”

Sevika, still in the driver’s seat, raised a brow in the rearview mirror. “You two planning to pay rent back there, or should I start charging by the hour?”

Caitlyn let out a quiet, breathy laugh, pulling back at last. She straightened her posture, smoothing her sleeve like she hadn’t just been nestled against Vi the whole ride. “Thank you for the ride, Sevika,” she said, tone polite but touched with wryness.

Sevika smirked. “Sure. Have a great night, Kiramman.”

Vi barked out a laugh and clapped Sevika on the shoulder as she opened the door. “Appreciate it, Sev. Try not to crash the car on the way back.”

“Not unless you’re in it,” Sevika shot back, smirking as she watched them step out.

Inside the lobby, the glass doors closed behind them, muting the noise of the city. Caitlyn exhaled slowly, the air trembling in her chest. Her hand brushed Vi’s again, lingering there, as though unwilling to let the contact break now that Sevika wasn’t watching.

“Do you want to come up?” Caitlyn asked at last, her voice softer than the marble halls around them.

Vi’s answer came without hesitation. “Yeah. If you want me to.”

Caitlyn met her eyes, the faintest smile curving her lips. “I do.”

The elevator doors slid open to reveal Caitlyn’s penthouse, bathed in the quiet glow of warm lamplight. Everything was immaculate—polished floors, sleek furniture, the kind of elegance that screamed Kiramman wealth.

But right now, it felt less like a home and more like a glass box.

Caitlyn stepped inside first, her heels clicking softly against the marble before she slipped them off by the door. Vi followed, hands shoved awkwardly into her pockets as her eyes swept over the pristine space. 

“Tea?” Caitlyn asked automatically, the offer more of a reflex than a genuine thought.

Vi shook her head gently. “Only if you actually want one. Don’t go fussing over me.”

That earned her a small, tired smile. Caitlyn set her gloves on the console table, then lingered there, her back half-turned, as though gathering herself. Her reflection in the glass wall was faint, but Vi caught the way her shoulders sagged, the fight bleeding out of her now that they were alone.

“Cait,” Vi said softly, stepping closer.

Caitlyn turned her head slightly, eyes catching Vi’s. For a moment, the shields threatened to slide back into place—the practiced composure, the perfect poise. But then Vi’s hand found hers again, warm and steady, and Caitlyn let out a breath she didn’t realize she’d been holding.

Without another word, she let herself lean into Vi, forehead brushing her shoulder, her weight pressing gently against her. Vi’s arms came around her instantly, strong and protective, holding her like she was something precious instead of breakable.

For a long while, they just stood there in the soft silence of the penthouse, the city lights glowing faintly through the floor-to-ceiling windows.

“You don’t have to be strong all the time, y’know,” Vi murmured into her hair.

Caitlyn’s voice was muffled against her shoulder, tinged with exhaustion and something far more vulnerable. “I don’t know how to be anything else.”

Vi held her tighter. “Then let me be strong for you. Just this once.”

Caitlyn’s chest trembled with a quiet, broken laugh—half-sob, half-relief. She closed her eyes and finally, finally let herself melt into the embrace.

Caitlyn excused herself, wanting to change into something much more comfortable and less suffocating—she also wanted to wash off the mascara that ran down her cheeks from the earlier waterworks.

Vi had set the steaming cup down on the coffee table. Caitlyn’s hair was down now, and she’d changed into soft pajamas—simple, loose, and warm. She looked… lighter. Softer.

“You made tea?” Caitlyn asked, a note of surprise in her voice as she approached the couch.

Vi shrugged, a little sheepish. “Figured you could use it. Don’t get used to it, though. I don’t usually play guest chef.”

Caitlyn sat beside her, wrapping her hands around the porcelain cup, letting the steam rise to her face. “Well,” she said, her lips curving faintly, “for someone who’s never been here before, you’ve made yourself at home rather quickly.”

Vi smirked, stretching an arm along the back of the couch. “What can I say? Guess I’ve got a talent for invading fancy spaces.”

“Thank you, Vi,” Caitlyn murmured, almost shy. “I’ve never…”

She trailed off, staring down into the tea as though the swirling steam might finish her thought for her.

Vi tilted her head, watching her carefully. “Never what?”

Caitlyn’s fingers tightened just slightly around the cup. Her lips parted, then pressed together again before she finally met Vi’s gaze. Her voice was quiet, fragile in a way Vi had never heard before. “Never let anyone see me like this.”

The admission hung heavy in the room, a truth laid bare between them.

Vi’s chest tightened, but she didn’t make a joke or try to lighten it. She just reached out, her hand brushing over Caitlyn’s knee—warm, steady, grounding. “Then I’ll treat it like the gift it is.”

Caitlyn blinked, caught off guard. “A gift?”

“Yeah,” Vi said simply. “You, trusting me enough to let your guard down. That’s not a weakness, Cait. That’s… you letting me in.”

The words struck deeper than Caitlyn expected. For a long moment, she could only look at Vi—the unruly hair, the tired but unwavering eyes, the softness hidden beneath the rough edges.

“Hey, we’ve definitely upgraded,” Vi teased, trying to lighten the situation. “From death glares to friendship?”

Caitlyn met her eyes for a moment before nodding. “Friends,” she repeated, almost testing the word on her tongue.

Vi smirked, leaning back into the couch cushions. “Careful, cupcake. Call me that too often, and I’ll start expecting you to share your secrets.”

Caitlyn huffed a soft laugh, shaking her head. “You already know more than most.”

“Yeah,” Vi said, quieter now, her gaze flicking down to Caitlyn’s hands curled around the cup. “Guess I do.”

Silence settled, but not the uncomfortable kind. Just the kind where the city hummed faintly through the windows and the warmth of the tea lingered between them.

Then, almost unconsciously, Caitlyn let her head tip against Vi’s shoulder again. It wasn’t the trembling collapse from earlier—it was something softer, deliberate. Choosing comfort.

Vi went still for a beat, then let her arm curl gently around Caitlyn’s shoulders, fingers brushing the fabric of her pajama sleeve.

The tea had long gone cold, untouched on the table. The city lights outside painted faint gold across the glass, but neither of them looked beyond the windows anymore.

Caitlyn still leaned against Vi, her voice soft and steady now that the tears had slowed. “My mother once told me I was born to lead,” she said quietly. “That I didn’t have the luxury of mistakes. Can you imagine? Being ten years old and already told your whole life is planned out for you?”

Vi let out a low whistle. “Ten? When I was ten, I was getting into fistfights over stale bread.”

Caitlyn gave a small, wry laugh. “I was memorizing dinner etiquette. Forks and knives and which glass to pick up first.”

Vi chuckled, shaking her head. “Guess we both learned how to fight—just in different arenas.”

For a moment, Caitlyn studied her hands, her voice dipping. “I used to practice crying quietly. I didn’t want anyone to hear. But the walls in our house carried sound too well. So I stopped.” She inhaled slowly. “I stopped crying altogether.”

Vi’s chest ached at that. She tilted her head, pressing her cheek briefly to Caitlyn’s hair. “Damn, Cait. No kid should have to learn that.”

“Perhaps,” Caitlyn murmured. “But it made me… efficient. Composed.” She hesitated. “Lonely.”

The word slipped out like an admission she’d never dared speak before.

Vi didn’t rush to fill the silence. Instead, she reached for it gently. “Y’know… I used to tell Powder bedtime stories. Stupid ones, about adventures we’d never have. Made half of it up on the spot. She always believed them, though. Always looked at me like I was the strongest person in the world.”

Her voice wavered for the first time. “And then one day, I wasn’t.”

Caitlyn lifted her head just enough to meet her gaze. “Vi…”

But Vi shook her head lightly, offering a half-smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes. “Not sayin’ it to drag myself down. Just… it’s hard, carryin’ all that. The weight of being strong for someone else, all the damn time.” She glanced down at Caitlyn, her thumb brushing her hand again. “Guess you know that feeling better than anyone.”

Caitlyn’s breath caught. It wasn’t pity she felt—it was recognition. “Yes,” she whispered. “I do.”

For a long moment, they simply looked at one another. Blue and cerulean, two mirrors reflecting different kinds of ache, and the fragile relief of finally being understood.

Vi broke the silence with a crooked grin. “So what do we do, huh? Two people who don’t know how to stop carrying the world on their shoulders?”

“We let the world burn, perhaps,” Caitlyn joked, laughing despite herself. “Let them collapse, let them realise how much they need us. I’d love to hear them beg for us to return.”

Vi chuckled, low and rough, at Caitlyn’s words. “Now that’s a picture,” she said, shaking her head. “Cupcake Kiramman watching Piltover burn with a glass of wine in her hand.”

Caitlyn smirked faintly, but the expression faltered just as quickly. “I don’t really mean it,” she admitted, voice softer. “I just… sometimes wish I could stop. Step away. Be nobody for a while.”

“I get that,” Vi said with a small nod, meeting Caitlyn’s eyes. “I always just imagined—wished—for a world that could finally stand on its own without needing me.”

Caitlyn tilted her head, silently urging her to go on.

“Zaun… we had to build from the dirt all the way up to the skies.” A bitter laugh slipped from her lips. “My whole world reset the moment my parents died.”

Caitlyn’s brows drew together, her fingers brushing over Vi’s where they rested on the couch. “I’m sorry,” she murmured. “I can’t imagine losing so much so young.”

Vi shrugged, though there was no ease in the gesture. Her gaze drifted somewhere far away. “You don’t really ‘imagine’ it. You just… survive it. One day at a time.” A softer, hollow laugh followed. “Sometimes I think I’ve been running ever since. Running to build something better, running to keep people safe, running so I don’t have to stop and feel it all.”

Caitlyn’s chest tightened. “And yet you stayed. You fought for Zaun.”

Vi’s eyes flicked back to hers, and for a moment the hardness softened. “Somebody had to.”

She hesitated, shoulders dropping as her voice grew quieter. “I was just an angry kid, forced to watch my world collapse. Then there was Powder—so small, so fragile—I just…” Her words trailed off with a sigh.

Caitlyn slipped her hand into Vi’s, giving it a gentle squeeze, urging her to continue.

“Anger fueled me,” Vi admitted, voice low and raw. “Anger at Piltover. I thought, while they were up here clinking their tea glasses, my people were down there struggling to breathe. I was angry for losing my parents, angry I couldn’t give Powder a better life.”

She drew in a shaky breath, pressing her lips together before finishing. “Then Vander found us—and found Mylo and Claggor too. He raised us while trying to raise Zaun. I felt like I owed him everything. Like I had to pay him back.”

Vi’s voice grew rough, the words pulling something heavy out of her. “I thought if I kept fighting, if I carried more weight than the rest, maybe it’d make things easier for them. For Vander. For Powder. But…” She swallowed hard, eyes flicking away. “No matter how hard I tried, it wasn’t enough. I couldn’t stop it all from falling apart.”

Her hand twitched like she wanted to pull away, but Caitlyn held on firmly, her thumb stroking slow reassurance across Vi’s skin.

“Vi,” Caitlyn said softly, “you were just a child. You weren’t supposed to fix everything.”

Vi gave a short, bitter laugh. “Try tellin’ that to the voices in my head. They still remind me every day what I couldn’t save.”

Caitlyn squeezed her hand, leaning in so her shoulder brushed Vi’s. “And yet, despite all that, you’re still here. You’re still fighting. For Powder. For Zaun.”

"Even after everything,” Caitlyn continued, voice low and searching. “You have good heart.”

Vi blinked, as though the words didn’t quite compute. Her jaw flexed, shoulders tensing like she wanted to argue—but Caitlyn’s gaze held steady, unwavering in its quiet conviction.

“A good heart,” Vi echoed finally, voice hoarse. “You don’t know half the shit I’ve done, Cait.”

“Maybe not,” Caitlyn admitted, her thumb still tracing slow circles against Vi’s hand. “But I’ve seen enough. The way you fight for the people you love. The way you put yourself in harm’s way for others without hesitation. That is not the mark of someone hardened or cruel, Vi. That is someone who still carries compassion, no matter how much the world tries to strip it away.”

Vi let out a shaky breath, eyes darting away. “Compassion doesn’t bring people back. Doesn't undo the mistakes.”

“No,” Caitlyn said softly, leaning closer until her temple brushed Vi’s. “But it’s what makes you keep going. And it’s why you’ll never be alone in it—not anymore.”

Her words hung there, tender and steady, until Vi finally exhaled, some of the iron in her frame loosening.

“You know… I wasn’t much better,” she confessed. “I wasn’t angry. I was… afraid. Afraid of disappointing my family, of stepping out of line, of being seen as weak.” She paused, voice quiet. “So I built walls. Perfect posture. Perfect daughter. Perfect soldier. And with every brick I laid, I lost more of myself.”

Vi tilted her head, studying her. “And who’s left behind those walls now?”

Caitlyn’s eyes lifted to hers, steady despite the trembling in her chest. “Me. Just me. And I think you’re the first person I’ve let close enough to see it.”

Something unspoken passed between them then, a raw thread binding anger and fear, past and present, into something they could share.

Vi exhaled slowly, some of the tension leaving her shoulders. “Guess that makes us two broken kids trying to hold up worlds that were never ours to carry.”

Caitlyn’s lips curved, a small, sad smile. “Maybe. But at least now we’re not carrying them alone.”

The night stretched on, the city outside falling into a rare hush. The warm glow of the lamps painted soft shadows across Caitlyn’s sitting room, the faint crackle of the fireplace filling the silence between them.

Neither had spoken much after Caitlyn’s tears had ebbed. They didn’t need to. Vi stayed sitting nearby, her presence enough, her hands resting loose over her knees. Every so often, Caitlyn’s gaze drifted toward her, quiet gratitude softening her features.

Finally, Caitlyn broke the silence with a faint sigh. “It’s late. You should head home before Powder starts to worry.”

Vi gave a small hum, leaning back against the couch. “She probably already is. Kid could never sleep right if she knew I was still out.”

Caitlyn managed a small smile at that. “She’s lucky to have you.”

Vi snorted lightly, though there was no real humor in it. “Don’t know if she’d call it ‘lucky,’ but… I do what I can.”

For a moment, they sat in the gentle quiet again, the heaviness of the evening settling into something more bearable. Then Vi pushed herself up with a stretch, pulling her jacket over her shoulders.

Caitlyn rose as well, following her to the door. “Thank you, Vi,” she said quietly, sincerity threading every word. “For listening. For… staying.”

Vi gave her a look—steady, no teasing in it this time. “Always, Cait. Don’t carry it all by yourself.”

At the threshold, she shifted awkwardly, scratching at the back of her neck. “I’ll check in tomorrow. Make sure you’re still holding it together.”

A faint chuckle escaped Caitlyn. “I’ll try not to disappoint.”

That earned her the smallest grin from Vi before she stepped out into the night. “Goodnight, Cait.”

“Goodnight, Vi.”

The door shut softly, leaving Caitlyn in the quiet. But for the first time that day, the silence didn’t feel quite so heavy.

The drive back to Zaun was quieter than usual. Normally, the hum of the undercity made her feel awake, alive—but tonight, all she felt was heavy.

She hadn’t expected Caitlyn to cry. Hell, she hadn’t expected Caitlyn to let her see it. That image clung to her—the sharp, unshakable Caitlyn letting the cracks show, just for a moment.

By the time she came home, the lights inside were still on.

Of course.

Vi pushed the door open, careful not to make too much noise. Powder was at the table, fiddling with some half-finished gadget, blueprints spread everywhere. Her head snapped up the second Vi stepped in.

“You’re late,” Powder said, not accusing, just matter-of-fact.

“Yeah.” Vi shrugged out of her jacket, hanging it over a chair. “Got caught up.”

Powder narrowed her eyes, studying her. “Caught up with Caitlyn?”

Vi smirked faintly, rubbing the back of her neck. “You don’t miss a thing, do you?”

“I've seen the posts.” Powder leaned back, arms crossed, though there was no real heat in her voice. “I’m glad you were there with her. I was about to come too—but our old man needed my awesome coding skills to delete the posts.”

Vi hesitated. She wanted to brush it off, crack a joke, but Powder’s gaze was too sharp. She sighed, dropping into the chair across from her sister. “She’s… dealing with a lot. And for once, she actually let me see it. It just—” she stopped, searching for the words, “—makes me realize how much weight she carries, y’know?”

Powder’s smirk faded. “She okay?”

“She’s… not,” Vi admitted, voice low. “She’s got this whole world on her shoulders. The Council, her family, Piltover… all of it. And for once she didn’t try to pretend she was fine. She actually let herself…” Vi trailed off, shaking her head. “She cried. Right there. With me.”

Powder blinked, the weight of those words settling in. “That’s… big. For her.”

“Yeah.” Vi slumped back in her chair, staring at the ceiling. “And it messed me up a little, Powder. ‘Cause I saw how much she’s been holding in. And all I wanted to do was… take it away. Make it easier for her.”

Powder’s expression softened, curiosity giving way to quiet understanding. “ She’s kinda like you.”

Vi blinked, caught off guard. “What?”

“You carry it too. All the time. For me, for Zaun. For everyone.” Powder’s voice was gentle, but her words landed heavier than she probably realized.

Vi leaned back, exhaling slowly. “Yeah, maybe. But it’s different.”

Powder studied her carefully. “You care about her.”

“I do.”

Powder barked a laugh. “Damn, sis, you’ve come a long way. From not surviving a second with her in the same room to actually caring about her. You're practically besties now!”

“I know.” Vi rubbed the back of her neck. “And it makes me think—what the hell do we even do tomorrow? She’s not gonna get a chance to breathe if things keep piling on.”

Powder tapped her fingers against the table, frowning. “We can’t exactly fix her problems. But maybe we can… make it easier. Keep some of the noise off her back.”

“Yeah,” Vi agreed, nodding. “Be there when she needs it. That’s all we can do.”

Silence lingered for a moment, not uncomfortable but heavy with thought.

Powder finally picked up a spring and flicked it between her fingers. “Guess tomorrow’s gonna be another long day.”

Vi gave a short laugh. “When isn’t it?”

The two sisters sat together in the dim light, the weight of the situation pressing in—but for now, neither felt alone in it.

Chapter Text

Vi moved around her office, swiftly gathering files and signing contracts. A glass of alcohol was abandoned on her desk—it was nine in the morning, and she wanted to stay sober, for now.

She had twenty-seven tabs opened on her computer, the steady clicking of her mouse rhythmic. Her sleeves were rolled up, tattoos peeking out as she scrolled through dozens and dozens of posts. She refreshed her page over and over again, watching as each post disappeared from her feed.

She watched as their publicists worked together, getting rid of the posts. And though Caitlyn requested none of the posts be taken down, Vi didn’t want them up—she didn’t want fake news posted onto social media, seen by thousands of people.

Not only did Vi dislike the thought of people absolutely grilling Caitlyn on social media—Caitlyn’s parents also hated the thought of their last name getting dragged through the dirt.

So, Caitlyn remained inside, working from home for the time being. Vi had told her to keep her phone off and stay away from social media—which Caitlyn was more than happy to follow. She kept herself busy in her home office, eyes fixed on screens, shuffling through endless emails and joining one meeting after another.

It wasn’t unusual for Caitlyn to work herself to the bone. She’d always been like that. But lately, there was something different about it—something quieter, heavier.

Vi worried for her. Of course she did. Who wouldn’t?

Caitlyn wasn’t built for sitting still, but she was also the type to drown herself in work when she didn’t want to feel anything. And Vi could see it happening, piece by piece. The dark circles under her eyes. The way she’d flinch at every new notification. The silence in her voice when Vi asked how she was doing.

Vi hated watching it from a distance. Hated feeling like all she could do was send messages, drop off groceries, and hope Caitlyn would let her in a little more each day.

But Vi wasn’t the kind of person to just stand by. If Caitlyn was going to keep the world out, then Vi was going to keep knocking until the door opened.

Suddenly, while Vi was drowning in her thoughts, her office door burst open, and Powder skipped inside with a box of cupcakes balanced in her arms. She plopped down on a chair, legs swinging.

“What’re you up to?” Vi asked, wary but smiling despite herself.

“I got ya coffee.” Powder set a cup down on the desk, nudging it toward her with a finger. “And I’m gonna go annoy Caitlyn.”

Vi shook her head in amusement. “Don’t give her a headache—poor Cait’s already got a lot on her mind.”

Rolling her eyes, Powder stood with the cupcakes in hand. “I won’t! I’m just gonna make sure she isn’t going crazy.”

“Anyway,” she sing-songed, “what are you up to?”

Vi didn’t tear her gaze from the computer, fingers continuing to tap steadily across the keyboard. “Stuff.”

“Whatever, sis.” Powder raised a brow, unconvinced. “Keep up your mysterious work—just make sure you’re not watching something inappropriate while on the cloc—”

“Powder!”

Powder laughed, hands raised in mock surrender. “Relax, I was kidding!”

Before leaving, she poked her head back through the door and shouted, “Good luck defending Cupcake’s name and honor!”

Vi’s ears burned pink, caught off guard as her sister’s giggles echoed down the hallway. Still, she shook her head, a reluctant smile tugging at her lips.

Unlike Vi, Powder never held a grudge against Piltover after their parents’ deaths. She’d been too young then—clueless and innocent, unaware why her big sister had been sobbing uncontrollably. Too young to understand the explosion, too young to remember how it even happened. All she remembered was hearing Vi’s screams.

She remembered hugging her sister tight as she cried, holding on because she’d never seen Vi break like that before.

Vi had been protective ever since. Powder knew how much her sister blamed herself, how much pressure she put on her own shoulders to give Powder a good life. But Powder never blamed her. Instead, she stayed, holding her, even when Vi was silently suffering—trying to keep everything together while falling apart inside.

Most of all, Powder knew Vi carried more than she ever admitted. The weight of their past, of every mistake, every scar—Vi wore it like armor. But Powder also knew her sister’s heart. Beneath the rough edges, the tattoos, the fists—Vi was soft when it came to the people she loved. 

Powder sometimes worried that Vi took on too much, like she had to fight every single battle alone. That same stubbornness that once got her into trouble now kept her glued to her desk, jaw clenched, eyes burning from staring at the screen too long.

So, Powder did what she could. She brought cupcakes. She brought coffee. She cracked jokes, poked fun, teased her mercilessly—anything to remind her sister she wasn’t alone.

And if Vi ever caught her staring too long, eyes a little too serious, Powder always covered it up with a grin and a smart remark. Because she knew—Vi didn’t need pity. She needed someone to make the storm feel a little lighter.

Caitlyn’s the type to miss breakfast, staying in her office until she finishes everything—and if she doesn’t, she brings the work home to finish in her office. Her life is a never-ending cycle of bitter coffee, papers, emails, missed meals, and absolutely no breaks. She’s used to the rush—the stress of everything. She’s absolutely incapable of just relaxing—she stress-cleans, answers unread emails, and rearranges her whole kitchen—basically, she does everything but relax.

She’s used to being busy, schedules being filled, having no time for herself, and always using her hands to do something—anything.

Jayce had to beg Caitlyn to eat during high school when all she wanted to do was stay inside the library and study. She also had to be physically restrained from attending classes when she was sick—she always ended up at the nurse, book in hand, still refusing to go home and miss a few hours of class.

So now, having no other choice but to stay home was absolute torture for Caitlyn. She had already changed every single curtain in her house, replaced her bedsheets, drunk two cups of tea, and rearranged her cupboards.

She rummaged through her desk, finding old files and disregarded notes. She also managed to find her lost cardigan that had been missing for three months.

Finally—after successfully rearranging her entire penthouse—Caitlyn sank onto the couch, a cup of freshly brewed tea warming her hands. The quiet felt sharp, like the calm after a storm she hadn’t actually weathered.

Half an hour later, the silence was interrupted by the insistent ringing of her doorbell. 

“Caaait,” Powder called, leaning close to the door. “I know you’re in there! Don’t make me climb the balcony—Vi said I’m not allowed to do that!”

A faint shuffle came from the other side, followed by the click of the lock. The door opened to reveal Caitlyn, hair slightly tousled, cardigan slipping off one shoulder.

“Powder,” she sighed, though there was the faintest hint of amusement in her voice. “You could’ve waited patiently.”

“Patience is for boring people,” Powder said cheerfully, brushing past her and holding up the cupcake box. “Brought sweets and caffeine. I’m a hero.”

Caitlyn closed the door behind her, shaking her head but smiling despite herself. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

“You’re losing it,” Powder said matter-of-factly, setting the box on the counter. “Vi said you’ve been holed up here rearranging your cupboards like a mad scientist.”

Caitlyn raised a brow, crossing her arms. “I was being productive.”

“Yeah, sure.” Powder grinned, pulling a cupcake from the box and waving it teasingly. “Productive people don’t replace their curtains three times in a week.”

Caitlyn huffed, clearly trying not to smile. “You’ve been talking to Vi too much.”

“Someone has to keep an eye on you two.” Powder plopped onto the couch, unwrapping a cupcake. “Vi’s driving herself insane over work, and you’re over here stress-organizing furniture. I’m just doing my civil duty as the fun one.”

That finally made Caitlyn laugh—a quiet, melodic sound that made the room feel lighter. She sank onto the couch beside Powder, accepting the cupcake offered her way.

“Fine,” she said softly. “You win.”

Powder smirked. “I usually do.”

They sat in comfortable silence for a while, the soft hum of the city filling the background. Powder was already halfway through her second cupcake, crumbs on her fingers, when she caught Caitlyn staring off toward the window.

The sunlight framed her face in a way that made her look peaceful—but the tension in her shoulders said otherwise.

“You’re thinking too hard,” Powder said, mouth full.

Caitlyn blinked, pulled from her thoughts. “Am I that obvious?”

Powder shrugged, licking frosting off her thumb. “You’ve got that look. The one Vi gets before she decides to pick a fight with someone twice her size.”

That earned her a quiet laugh, but it faded quickly. Caitlyn leaned back, eyes distant. “It’s strange,” she murmured. “Being here. Doing nothing. I’m used to working, to solving problems, to keeping things moving. Now I just… sit.”

“Sounds like torture,” Powder said lightly, but her tone softened.

“It is,” Caitlyn admitted, almost whispering. “I feel like if I stop for too long, everything will fall apart. Or maybe I’ll fall apart.”

Powder studied her for a moment, fingers stilling on the cupcake wrapper. She wasn’t used to seeing Caitlyn like this—tired, restless, vulnerable. It reminded her a little too much of Vi when she thought no one was looking.

“Then don’t stop,” Powder said finally. “Just… switch gears. You don’t have to work, but do something that makes you feel alive again.”

Caitlyn tilted her head, curious. “And what would that be, according to you?”

Powder grinned. “Eat more cupcakes. Paint something. Break one of your fancy teacups just to see what it feels like. I dunno—live a little.”

Caitlyn chuckled softly, shaking her head. “You really are Vi’s sister.”

“Yup.” Powder smirked. “But don’t worry. I’m the fun one.”

Caitlyn looked at her for a moment, and something gentle flickered behind her eyes—gratitude, maybe. She reached out and nudged the cupcake box closer to Powder.

“Stay for tea?”

Powder’s grin widened. “Only if I can pick the playlist.”

Caitlyn rolled her eyes, but her smile stayed this time. “Deal.”

And for the first time in days, the penthouse didn’t feel so unbearably quiet.

The soft hum of music filled the penthouse a few minutes later—something light, upbeat, with Powder drumming her fingers along to the rhythm while Caitlyn poured tea. The air felt warmer somehow, easier.

Powder leaned back against the couch, content, frosting smudged on her cheek. “See? Told you cupcakes fix everything.”

Caitlyn smiled into her cup. “I’m starting to believe you.”

“Good,” Powder said, reaching for her phone. She snapped a quick photo of the cupcake box on the table beside Caitlyn’s teacup and typed out a message.

Powder:

mission accomplished. she’s smiling again.

She hit send before Caitlyn could notice.

Back in her office, Vi’s phone buzzed against the desk. She glanced at it mid-meeting, saw Powder’s text, and felt the tension in her shoulders ease just a little.

Vi:

that's good.

Then, after a pause, another.

Vi:

keep her company.

Vi set the phone down, a small, tired smile tugging at her lips. For the first time that day, she stopped refreshing her screen.

Across the city, Caitlyn and Powder were laughing about something ridiculous, the sound bright and unguarded.

And for now, that was enough.

Vi sat in her office surrounded by stacks of files and the low hum of conversation. The faint scent of coffee and ink clung to the air. Claggor sat across from her, half-eaten sandwich forgotten beside his notes, while Vander stood by the window with his arms crossed, gaze fixed on the city below.

“So,” Claggor started carefully, tapping his pen against the table. “Half the posts are gone. The rest are spreading through smaller accounts. The publicists are doing what they can, but…”

“But it’s still a mess,” Vi finished flatly, scrolling through the latest updates on her tablet. Her jaw tightened. “They’re twisting everything—every quote, every old photo. Cait doesn’t deserve this.”

Vander turned to face her, his tone calm but firm. “You can’t fight the entire city, kid. Not like this.”

“I’m not trying to fight the city,” Vi muttered, tossing the tablet onto her desk. “I just don’t want her getting dragged through the dirt for something she didn’t even do.”

Claggor hesitated before speaking again. “You told Caitlyn to stay offline, right?”

“Yeah,” Vi said, rubbing the back of her neck. “Powder’s with her now. She’ll keep her distracted for a while.”

Vander let out a low chuckle. “That one’s got a gift for chaos. Caitlyn won’t know what hit her.”

That earned the faintest smile from Vi, though it didn’t last long. She leaned forward, elbows on the desk. “What would you do?” she asked quietly. “If this was your family?”

Vander’s brows drew together. He took a slow breath before answering. “I’d remind myself what matters. The noise will fade—people always move on to the next thing. But if you burn yourself out chasing every lie, you’ll have nothing left to protect the ones you care about.”

Vi nodded slowly, but her fingers still drummed restlessly on the desk. “I know,” she murmured. “I just—can’t sit here and do nothing.”

The knock on the office door was soft but deliberate.

When it opened, Tobias Kiramman stepped in—immaculate as ever, a calm presence that immediately settled the room. He carried a folder under one arm, a faint tiredness in his expression that only someone who’d been up all night worrying could wear.

“Morning,” Vander greeted, straightening from his seat.

“Morning,” Tobias replied, offering a polite nod before his eyes landed on Vi. “You look like you haven’t slept.”

Vi gave a humorless grin. “Haven’t had much reason to.”

He moved closer to the desk, surveying the scattered reports and open tabs on her computer screen. “I can see that. How bad is it?”

Claggor answered from his corner, not looking away from his monitor. “We’ve slowed the spread, but the rumor’s still climbing. People are digging up old clips now.”

Tobias sighed quietly, setting the folder down. “Of course they are.” He folded his arms, posture controlled but weary. “How’s Caitlyn?”

“She’s home,” Vi said. “Tried to get her to disconnect for a few days. Powder’s keeping her company now, so she’s not alone.”

“That’s good,” Tobias murmured. “Though knowing my daughter, she’s probably reorganized half the house by now.”

Vander chuckled. “You know her well.”

“I should hope so,” Tobias said dryly, then turned serious again. “Listen. We can’t smother this kind of thing by force. If we start deleting too much, people will think we’re hiding something.”

Vi frowned, leaning forward on her desk. “So what? We just let them drag her name through the mud?”

“Not let,” Tobias corrected gently. “Redirect. We focus on the truth. Remind them who Caitlyn is without engaging the noise directly.”

Claggor nodded. “Something real, like the scholarship program she started last year.”

“Exactly.” Tobias gestured lightly to him. “Bring that back into the light. Community projects, partnerships, anything that shows her character. Let the story rewrite itself through action, not defense.”

Vi rubbed her temples, thinking. “I can reach out to her PR contact and keep it clean—no overproduction, no fluff.”

“Good,” Tobias said. “But she stays off-camera for now. She doesn’t owe anyone an explanation until she’s ready.”

Vander folded his arms, glancing at him. “You’ve handled this kind of mess before, haven’t you?”

Tobias gave a faint smile. “Unfortunately. Piltover eats its own when the headlines run dry.” He looked back to Vi. “But Caitlyn’s strong. She always has been. She just… forgets she’s allowed to rest.”

Vi huffed softly. “Yeah. She’s got that habit.”

Tobias’ gaze softened, the faintest warmth cutting through his stern expression. “And so do you.”

That caught Vi off guard. She blinked, unsure whether to laugh or deflect. “Guess I’m a bad influence.”

He shook his head. “Just make sure you don’t burn out trying to protect her.”

There was a pause—quiet, mutual understanding passing between them.

Then Tobias straightened, collecting his folder. “I’ll check in again tomorrow. Keep me updated on anything new.”

“Will do,” Vi said.

Before leaving, he stopped at the door. “And Vi—thank you. For looking after her.”

Vi met his eyes and nodded once, a hint of a smile tugging at her mouth. “Always.”

The door closed behind him, leaving the faint scent of polished wood and espresso in the air. Vi exhaled, long and slow, before turning back to her screen.

“Alright,” she muttered, cracking her knuckles. “Let’s get back to work.”

The penthouse was spotless—too spotless.

Caitlyn stood by the window, arms crossed, watching the city shimmer beneath the early afternoon light. Behind her, the faint sound of humming came from the kitchen. Powder had taken over the space entirely, moving around like she owned the place—barefoot, hair a little messy, a pink pastry box already open on the counter.

“Do you ever sit down?” Powder called out, without turning around.

“I prefer standing,” Caitlyn replied evenly, still staring out the window.

“Yeah, because sitting means thinking, and thinking means spiraling.” Powder opened a cupboard, found a mug, and poured coffee like she’d done it a hundred times before. “Come on, Cupcake. You’re making me anxious just standing there.”

Caitlyn turned slightly, arching a brow at the nickname. “You’ve been spending too much time around your sister.”

“She’s a terrible influence,” Powder agreed, bringing over a mug. “Drink.”

Caitlyn accepted it with a small sigh. “You really don’t have to take care of me, Powder.”

“Who said I’m taking care of you?” Powder grinned, hopping up onto the counter and swinging her legs. “I’m hiding from Vi. She’s being all serious at the office again. Vander, Claggor, even your dad are there—big grown-up talk about media and damage control.”

Caitlyn blinked. “My father’s there?”

“Yup. Apparently showed up early this morning,” Powder said between bites of a cupcake. “Vi said he looked… calm. Too calm. You know, like the kind of calm people get when they’re secretly panicking.”

Caitlyn huffed a quiet laugh despite herself. “That sounds like him.”

“Yeah, well, Vi looked worse,” Powder went on, leaning back on her hands. “Haven’t seen her this wound up since she punched that paparazzi last year.”

Caitlyn’s expression softened, guilt flickering through her eyes. “She worries too much.”

“Yeah,” Powder said, studying her. “And so do you.”

That drew Caitlyn’s gaze upward, the hint of a smile tugging at her lips. “You really do talk like her sometimes.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment.” Powder nudged the cupcake box toward her. “Eat more. You look like you haven’t had breakfast.”

“I’m fine.”

“You’re lying.”

Caitlyn gave her a long, unimpressed look before finally reaching for a cupcake. “You’re awfully persistent.”

“Yeah, that’s the thing about sisters of stubborn idiots,” Powder said with a grin. “We learn how to handle them.”

Caitlyn bit into the cupcake and shook her head. “You’re impossible.”

“Yup,” Powder said cheerfully. “But I’m also right.”

For a while, silence settled between them—comfortable, light. Powder leaned her chin on her knees, watching Caitlyn slowly relax, tension draining from her shoulders as she nursed her coffee.

“You know,” Powder said softly, after a moment, “Vi’s just trying to protect you. She’s terrible at saying it, but she really hates seeing people talk about you like that.”

Caitlyn’s gaze fell to her cup. “I know. And I hate that she feels like she has to fix it for me.”

“She doesn’t have to,” Powder said gently. “But she wants to. That’s Vi.”

Caitlyn smiled faintly. “Always trying to carry everything.”

“Yeah,” Powder said. “Guess that makes two of you.”

The line hung between them for a moment—simple, true. Then Powder reached for another cupcake and changed the subject like nothing happened.

“Anyway, I was thinking we could bake something later. Or, like, mess up your perfect kitchen. You know, for therapy reasons.”

Caitlyn chuckled under her breath. “You just want to make a mess.”

“Exactly.”

And for the first time that day, Caitlyn didn’t feel the weight of the headlines pressing down on her chest. Powder filled the space with noise, laughter, warmth—the kind of peace that didn’t ask for silence.

Days went by quickly; afternoons of Powder coming with different bakery items, mornings where Vi would arrive with bags of groceries—ensuring Caitlyn had enough food and that she'd eat, nights that Caitlyn spent alone, either working or re-reading her favorite book over a cup of tea.

The routine had a strange kind of comfort to it. The noise outside—the rumors, the headlines, the endless commentary—felt distant inside the walls of the penthouse. Powder’s laughter filled the afternoons, Vi’s quiet presence grounded the mornings, and the nights belonged to Caitlyn alone.

She’d grown used to the silence. Sometimes she’d let the city lights blur through the glass as she sat curled up in her armchair, fingers brushing over familiar pages. Other nights, she stared at her phone, thumb hovering over Vi’s name without pressing it.

And every morning, Vi came. Groceries on the counter, soft hair still damp from her shower, sleeves rolled to her elbows like she had a war to fight. She never stayed long—there was always something waiting for her outside—but she always made sure Caitlyn ate before she left.

“You should let me do that,” Caitlyn had said once, halfway through unpacking the bags.

Vi just shook her head, a small smile pulling at her lips. “Nope. Don't trust you enough to let you touch anything in the kitchen.”

Powder, meanwhile, made it her mission to drag Caitlyn out of her own head every afternoon—movie marathons, baking attempts that usually ended in disaster, aimless chatter that left Caitlyn smiling more often than she realized.

But when the nights returned, so did the quiet. And beneath that quiet, a restlessness began to build. The world outside kept moving, and Caitlyn could feel it pulling at her—softly, steadily, like a tide she couldn’t ignore forever.

It's been a week—a week too long. Caitlyn wasn't used to taking such a long break—and most of all, she could not handle staying still, staying silent for too long.

She was bored—restless, too. She felt like she was on house arrest, banned from leaving. 

And yet, she couldn't do anything about it. She could technically leave, who's stopping her? But something in her was stopping her from leaving.

Maybe it was the weight of it all. The noise waiting outside her door. The eyes, the whispers, the expectations. The moment she stepped out, it wouldn’t just be Caitlyn anymore—it would be her, with everything attached to her name. The questions, the stares, the pity.

Inside the penthouse, everything was muted. Contained. Powder’s chatter, Vi’s quiet presence, the city humming from a distance—it was easier to breathe here. But lately, that same quiet had started to feel less like comfort and more like a cage.

She sat on the couch, curled up in one corner with her knees pulled close, absently tracing patterns on the fabric. 

She could leave. She wanted to leave. But wanting and doing were different things, and something in her chest kept tightening whenever she imagined stepping outside.

It wasn’t fear exactly. Just… the weight of being seen.

Her gaze drifted to the door as if it might open on its own. It didn’t. Of course it didn’t.

Caitlyn exhaled slowly, leaning her head back against the cushion. 

Her phone buzzed against the armrest. She flinched at the sound—it was ridiculous how loud it felt in the quiet. Picking it up, she saw Vi’s name on the screen.

Vi:

hey, cait 

you okay? 

Warmth spread across Caitlyn's face, a small smile tugging on her lips. She leaned against the soft cushions of her couch before typing back a reply.

Caitlyn:

I’m alright.

Why’d you ask?

Another buzz came almost immediately, like Vi had been waiting with her thumbs already hovering over the screen.

Vi:

just checking in

you’ve been quiet all day

Caitlyn bit the inside of her cheek, a soft breath escaping her. She stared at the message longer than she probably needed to.

Vi always checked in. She never pushed, never forced her way in—but she always showed up, even if it was just through a few words on a screen.

Caitlyn:

I’ve just been… thinking.

Vi:

that sounds dangerous 

have you eaten yet?

Another message popped up before Caitlyn could even process the first two.

Vi:

you want me to come by?

Caitlyn’s thumbs hovered over the keyboard, hesitating. She could hear Vi’s voice in her head—teasing but warm, a little rough around the edges in that way only Vi could be.

She leaned further into the couch, tucking her legs beneath her. The idea of Vi walking through her door, filling the room with her loud energy and steady presence, made the penthouse feel a little less like a cage.

Caitlyn:

You don’t have to.

Vi’s reply came fast.

Vi:

didn’t say i had to

i want to.

The corners of Caitlyn’s lips curved into a soft smile. She could practically picture Vi saying it with that infuriating mix of stubbornness and quiet care.

Caitlyn:

Okay, fine.

Vi:

good.

I’ll bring food.

something that isn’t tea and air, yeah?

Caitlyn let out a soft laugh, the sound surprising even her.

The screen dimmed as she set her phone down beside her. The silence that followed wasn’t as sharp anymore—it was gentler, like the city had exhaled with her. Vi was coming. And for the first time that day, that thought didn’t make her chest tighten. It made it a little easier to breathe.

Vi placed her phone back inside her pocket, the faintest hint of a smile still tugging at her lips. She reached for the scattered mess on her desk—papers, folders, half-scribbled notes—and started shoving them into her bag with practiced efficiency.

The office had quieted down for the night. Most people were already gone, lights dimmed in the hallways, leaving only the hum of the city outside the window. It was the kind of quiet that usually made her restless. But tonight, it felt like something else—like momentum.

She slung her jacket over one shoulder, checked twice to make sure she hadn’t forgotten her keys, and zipped her bag shut with a firm tug.

Her boots echoed softly against the floor as she made her way toward the door. 

And maybe she’d never say it out loud, not like this, but the truth sat steady in her chest: as long as Caitlyn was in that penthouse, wrapped up in silence that didn’t quite fit her… Vi was going to keep showing up.

Always.

Chapter Text

The hallway was quiet at this hour, save for the steady rhythm of her footsteps. Vi adjusted her grip on the bags, the paper crinkling softly against her jacket. She didn’t bother announcing herself—she never really had to.

By the time she reached Caitlyn’s door, the faint hum of the city below was a distant whisper. She shifted the bags to one arm and pressed the doorbell with her knuckle.

A beat passed. Then another.

She could practically picture Caitlyn inside, curled up somewhere with a book or still glued to her desk, pretending she wasn’t exhausted. Typical.

Vi huffed a small laugh through her nose. “C’mon, Cupcake. Don’t make me break down your door.”

A soft click broke through the silence, and the door opened. Caitlyn stood there in her cardigan, hair slightly mussed, a hint of surprise flickering in her eyes.

“Hi,” Vi said casually, as if she wasn’t carrying half a grocery store.

Caitlyn’s brows arched, but the corner of her lips softened. “You’re ridiculous.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Vi grinned, stepping past her into the warmth of the penthouse. “But you’re eating properly today. No negotiations.”

Caitlyn shook her head but didn’t argue. She never really did when Vi said things like that. And as Vi set the bags down on the kitchen counter, the quiet inside didn’t feel quite so sharp anymore.

“How’s the… situation?” Caitlyn asked, leaning casually against the counter, though Vi could see the worry tucked beneath the small furrow in her brow.

Vi shrugged, rolling her sleeves higher as she began unpacking the bags. “We’re handling it, I guess. Not exactly a walk in the park, but nothing we can’t deal with.”

Caitlyn watched her move around the kitchen with a strange sort of ease—like she’d done this a hundred times before. Maybe she had, in some way. Vi wasn’t the type to sit still when something went wrong; she needed to do things. And right now, that meant putting vegetables on the counter like she was declaring war on them.

“Powder and Claggor are going through posts as they come in,” Vi continued, reaching for a knife. “Vander’s talking to the press, making sure they don’t twist things even more. Tobias dropped by earlier too.”

Caitlyn’s expression flickered at the mention of her father, but she said nothing.

“He just wanted to make sure you’re holding up,” Vi added, softer this time.

That earned a quiet exhale from Caitlyn, her gaze dropping to the countertop. “He’s probably worried I’ll do something reckless.”

“Nah,” Vi smirked faintly, pulling out a cutting board. “That’s my job.”

Caitlyn rolled her eyes, but there was a hint of a smile she couldn’t quite hide. “I suppose it is.”

“Seriously though,” Vi said, pausing to glance at her, “you don’t have to carry this all alone. We’ve got it covered out there. You just…” she gestured vaguely with the knife, “…do your bookworm thing. Breathe a little.”

Caitlyn tilted her head, soft amusement lacing her voice. “Bookworm thing?”

“You know what I mean.” Vi smirked, turning back to the counter. “Stay safe. Stay out of trouble. Let me handle the rest for a while.”

The words settled between them—not heavy, but steady. And for a moment, the noise outside didn’t matter. It was just the two of them, the scent of fresh groceries filling the kitchen, and Vi’s quiet promise tucked between every casual word.

“So,” Vi drawled, opening cupboards in search of a cutting board. “What's the life of a prisoner like?”

Caitlyn rolled her eyes. “Not fun. I’m bored, restless, trapped.”

Vi let out a low chuckle, the sound warm and teasing. “Bored, restless, trapped,” she repeated, glancing at her over her shoulder. “Sounds dramatic, Cupcake. You make it sound like I locked you up in a tower.”

Caitlyn crossed her arms loosely, leaning against the counter. “It feels like that,” she muttered, though the hint of a smile tugged at her lips. “I’ve read everything, reorganized everything, even cleaned the grout between my kitchen tiles.”

Vi barked out a laugh, finally pulling out the cutting board from the wrong cupboard. “Wow. You really are losing it.”

“Exactly,” Caitlyn deadpanned. “I don’t think I’ve ever had this much… nothing to do.”

“Yeah, well,” Vi said, setting the board down with a soft thud. “Maybe that’s the point. You’re always running around, carrying way too much on your shoulders. Now you get to just… not.”

Caitlyn raised a brow. “Not? You make it sound so easy.”

“It’s not,” Vi admitted, glancing at her again. Her voice wasn’t teasing this time—it was steady, honest. “But you don’t have to do it alone, Cait. That’s kinda why I’m here.”

For a heartbeat, the air between them quieted. Caitlyn’s fingers tightened against her arms, something soft and unspoken flickering in her gaze.

“...You’re infuriating, you know that?” Caitlyn finally said, her tone light again but her voice quieter.

“Yeah,” Vi grinned, turning back to the vegetables. “But I bring food. So that makes me tolerable.”

Caitlyn’s laugh was small, but real. The kind that loosened the weight sitting in her chest. And for the first time in a while, it felt like the walls of the penthouse weren’t just holding her in—they were keeping something warm inside.

“You and Powder really are sisters,” Caitlyn murmured. “Food and sarcasm.”

Vi’s grin widened at that. “Damn right we are. Food and sarcasm solve everything.”

She grabbed a tomato from the bag, spinning the knife between her fingers with easy, practiced motion. Caitlyn made a quiet sound of disapproval, the kind that was more fond than scolding.

“Don’t cut yourself,” Caitlyn warned, stepping a little closer without even seeming to notice she had. "Be careful."

Vi smirked at the comment. “Please. I’ve survived worse than a salad.”

“That’s not reassuring.”

Vi shrugged one shoulder. “It wasn’t meant to be.”

The warm kitchen light hit Caitlyn just right—soft golden edges against her hair, cardigan slipping slightly off her shoulder. Vi felt something tug low in her chest, that familiar flutter she always tried to play off like it was nothing. She turned her attention back to the cutting board before Caitlyn could notice.

“So what’s on the royal menu tonight?” Caitlyn asked, her tone lighter now.

“Pasta,” Vi answered easily. “The real kind. Not that instant crap you keep in your cupboards like it’s a food group.”

Caitlyn gasped in mock offense. “I like my instant crap.”

“Yeah, yeah. And I like making sure you eat like a human being.”

“Bossy.”

“Someone’s gotta keep you alive,” Vi muttered, a half-smile tugging at her lips.

Caitlyn moved around the counter then, quiet and graceful, reaching for glasses from the cabinet. She didn’t need to ask if Vi wanted water—she just poured it. Vi didn’t need to ask if Caitlyn would help either; she started handing over ingredients without a word.

They fell into an easy rhythm—soft clinks of glass, the chop of a knife, the low hum of the city outside. It wasn’t the kind of silence that pressed down; it was the kind that let Vi breathe.

“Y’know,” Vi said after a moment, not looking up, “you don’t look half bad like this.”

“Like what?” Caitlyn asked, suspicious but amused.

Vi tilted her head, smirk curving lazy and warm. “All domestic. Sweater, messy hair, letting me boss you around in your own kitchen. Definitely a different look from your cold boss bitch act.”

Caitlyn gave her the most unimpressed look, but her ears betrayed her—just the slightest pink. “Boss—what? You’re insufferable.”

“Yeah,” Vi said, cutting through another tomato with a grin. “But I make a damn good dinner.”

Caitlyn chuckled, shaking her head in amusement. Vi’s always had that smooth, effortless charm—the kind that slipped into the room like it always belonged there.

Which made Caitlyn think, all of a sudden—was Vi seeing anyone?

She didn’t doubt that Vi wasn’t into men. No judgment, of course, but her gay-dar had practically short-circuited the first time she saw Vi’s hair.

And also because Vi’s carabiners jingled aggressively every time she walked throughout the hallway—you could basically hear her from a mile away. 

That line of thought lingered, quiet but persistent. Caitlyn poured water into the glass a little too slowly, trying to keep her expression neutral as Vi moved around her kitchen like she owned the place.

And before she could use her head to think—her mouth moved first.

“Are you seeing anyone?”

Vi faced her, head turning quickly. Her brows arched—and the fact that she was holding a knife didn't help. 

She cleared her throat. “Nah, too busy for that. Why?”

Caitlyn hadn’t really thought this through. The question had just… slipped out. And now Vi was standing there, knife in hand, one brow raised, looking equal parts caught off guard and amused.

She forced herself to sound casual, setting the glass down on the counter. “Just curious,” Caitlyn said, hoping the tiny waver in her voice wasn’t as obvious as it felt. “You never talk about dating, that’s all.”

Vi turned back to the tomatoes, but Caitlyn didn’t miss the slight curve tugging at the corner of her mouth. “Yeah, well. Not a lot to talk about.”

“That’s hard to believe,” Caitlyn replied, tilting her head, watching her. “You’ve got that whole… roguish charm thing going for you. I’m sure someone’s lining up.”

Vi snorted, shaking her head. “Roguish charm, huh? That what we’re calling it?”

Caitlyn smirked. “Don’t act like you don’t know.”

Vi didn’t look up this time, but her ears turned faintly pink—a quiet little tell that Caitlyn filed away without meaning to. “Yeah, well. Doesn’t really matter anyway. I’m not exactly looking.”

Something about the way she said it—soft, honest, not defensive—made Caitlyn lean against the counter a little closer, fingers idly tracing the rim of her glass. “Because you’re too busy,” she echoed. “Or because…?”

Vi paused mid-chop, the knife hovering above the board. A small breath left her, almost like a laugh, but quieter. “You really don’t hold back, huh?”

Caitlyn raised both brows, feigning innocence. “It’s just conversation.”

“Right,” Vi muttered, shaking her head—but she wasn’t annoyed. She was thinking, her thumb idly drumming against the handle of the knife. “I guess I just… never really vibed with the whole dating scene. It’s messy.”

“Messy can be fun,” Caitlyn offered.

“Yeah, if you’re into that,” Vi said, finally setting the knife down. “Me? I’ve always liked things a little more… clear.”

Caitlyn’s gaze softened. She didn’t push—but she didn’t let it go either. “And what’s ‘clear’ for you?”

Vi leaned her weight against the counter, crossing her arms loosely over her chest. “I’ve dated a few women,” she said simply, as if it wasn’t something she had to explain. “Not really the type to play pretend or dance around it.”

The confession wasn’t whispered or shy. It just was. Easy. Honest.

And it hit Caitlyn—not like a shock, but like something she’d already known, just waiting for Vi to say it out loud.

She let out a soft laugh, shaking her head. “Yeah. I figured.”

Vi squinted playfully. “Oh yeah? And what gave me away?”

“Your sunny personality, perhaps.”

Vi let out a sharp, amused laugh, hand covering her mouth for half a second. “Oh my god.”

Caitlyn shrugged, fighting her own grin. “I’m just saying. Subtlety has never been your strong suit.”

“Good,” Vi shot back, smirking again. “I’m not into subtle.”

The air between them felt different now—not tense, but charged. Caitlyn’s pulse picked up without her permission, fingers curling loosely around her glass.

Vi cleared her throat again, rolling up her sleeves higher. “The last time I dated was when Powder set me up with some girl.”

Caitlyn tilted her head at that, interest sparking immediately. “Oh?” she said, feigning casual, though the way her fingers tightened around her glass betrayed her. “Powder set you up? That already sounds like a disaster.”

Vi barked out a laugh, remembering. “Yeah, well. She thought she was being helpful. I thought she was being annoying. Turns out we were both right.”

“What happened?”

Vi rested the knife down again, leaning against the counter with a crooked grin. “She was nice. Pretty. The kind of girl who had her life all figured out. But she also—” Vi gestured vaguely with one hand, “—wanted to, like, plan our wedding after the second date. I panicked and faked a work emergency.”

Caitlyn snorted into her water, trying to hide her laugh behind the rim of her glass. “That’s awful.”

“It was self-defense,” Vi shot back, pointing at her with mock severity. “I’m not built for that kind of commitment talk over overpriced pasta.”

Caitlyn was still laughing, shoulders shaking softly. “I can’t imagine you on a formal date,” she teased.

Vi gave her a look, feigning offense. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“You’re just… you,” Caitlyn said with a little shrug, eyes glinting. “You’d probably end up climbing out a bathroom window.”

“...I have definitely climbed out of a bathroom window,” Vi confessed.

That sent Caitlyn over the edge—she laughed, loud and unrestrained, the kind of laugh that warmed the whole room. Vi tried not to stare, but she always did when Caitlyn laughed like that. It was too easy to.

Vi smirked, then let the silence stretch just long enough for it to feel a little… loaded. Then, casually but deliberately, she asked, “What about you?”

Caitlyn blinked. “What about me?”

“You know,” Vi said, leaning her hip against the counter, arms crossing. “Before Claggor. You don’t exactly talk about your love life either.”

Caitlyn stiffened—barely, but Vi caught it. That soft shift in posture. The way her fingers tightened on the glass just slightly.

“Ah,” Caitlyn said lightly, but her tone wavered, a fraction too careful. “I didn’t really… date much.”

Vi arched a brow, not buying it. “C’mon, Cupcake. You? Pretty, rich, terrifyingly smart? Don’t tell me there wasn’t a loooonnggg line?”

Caitlyn gave her a pointed look, but Vi only grinned wider.

“There were… people,” Caitlyn finally admitted, gaze flicking somewhere past Vi’s shoulder. “But I wasn’t exactly the ideal match in my mother’s eyes. Expectations. You know how that goes.”

Vi’s smirk faltered into something softer, more understanding. “Yeah. I get that.”

“It’s not that I didn’t want to,” Caitlyn added, voice quieting. “I just… never really had the space to choose for myself. Not properly.”

Vi tilted her head, studying her. “But you did date someone.”

“Mm.” Caitlyn gave a small, wry smile. “A few people. Never serious. Never… real, I suppose. It was always on someone else’s terms.”

Vi’s grin softened, fading into something quieter, less performative. She set the knife down completely this time, the clink against the cutting board barely louder than the hum of the city outside.

“And Claggor?” Vi asked, her tone gentle—almost careful.

Caitlyn blinked, like she hadn’t expected the question. “That was… different,” she said after a moment. Her voice wasn’t brittle, but it was deliberate—like she was stepping through a memory that still had edges. “He was kind. Steady. He made sense in a way nothing else did at the time.”

Vi leaned her hip against the counter, arms folded loosely across her chest. “Made sense,” she echoed, like she was testing the words.

Caitlyn let out a quiet laugh—thin, a little tired. “You know how it is when everyone’s expecting you to make the right choices? Claggor was the right choice. Safe. Predictable. Someone they approved of.”

“And you?” Vi asked softly. “Did you approve?”

That stilled Caitlyn. Just for a second. Her hand tightened around the glass.

She tilted her head down, not quite meeting Vi’s gaze. “At the time… I convinced myself I did.”

Vi didn’t push. She just hummed low in her throat—a sound that wasn’t quite agreement but wasn’t judgment either.

Caitlyn’s voice softened again, almost a whisper. “He deserves someone who'll love him. That's not me—all of this, is just responsibility."

The honesty of it punched a small ache into Vi’s chest. She exhaled through her nose, rubbing her thumb along the edge of the counter. “I don’t think anyone would blame you for not fitting into a box someone else built.”

Caitlyn finally looked up, and the faint shimmer in her eyes wasn’t from the kitchen lights. Vi held her gaze, steady and unflinching, but warm.

“I spent so much of my life trying to be the version of myself that people expected,” Caitlyn admitted quietly. “I didn’t even realize how much I’d been… editing myself. Until him. Until after.”

“Yeah,” Vi murmured, the corner of her mouth tilting. “Boxes suck.”

That startled a soft laugh out of Caitlyn—small, but real. “Elegant way to put it.”

Vi shrugged, her grin returning, easy but gentler than before. “I’m a poet like that.”

Caitlyn leaned against the counter too now, their shoulders almost—almost—close enough to brush. The space between them was warm, buzzing, something neither of them acknowledged out loud.

“You ever wish you’d done things differently?” Vi asked, softer this time.

Caitlyn let out a long breath, as if she’d been waiting for that question without knowing it. “Yeah,” she said simply. “All the time.”

The air between them stilled, not uncomfortable—just thick with everything they weren’t saying. Vi’s pulse thrummed under her skin, steady but a little too loud.

She tilted her head, a lopsided smirk tugging at her lips to soften the weight of it. “Well, lucky for you, I’m here to ruin your good taste in men.”

Caitlyn barked out a laugh, covering her mouth too late. “God, you’re insufferable.”

“Yeah,” Vi said, grinning. “But at least I don’t come with a box.”

The laughter lingered, threading through the warmth of the kitchen light. But beneath it, something quieter bloomed between them—an understanding, a shared history in different shapes, and the slow, inevitable gravity that kept pulling them closer.

Caitlyn leaned against the edge of the counter, watching as Vi set down two plates like it was some grand event.

Vi dusted her hands off on a dish towel, the smug grin on her face impossible to miss. “Well, look at that. Didn’t even burn it.”

Caitlyn arched a brow. “I’ll be the judge of that.”

“Careful,” Vi warned, pointing at her with the serving fork. “You insult the chef, you might not get dessert.”

Caitlyn bit back a laugh, settling onto the stool at the kitchen island. Vi followed, dropping onto the stool beside her—close enough that Caitlyn could feel the brush of Vi’s shoulder when she leaned in to hand over a fork.

The first bite was warm and rich, perfectly seasoned in that chaotic, “Vi doesn’t follow recipes” sort of way. Caitlyn blinked, a surprised sound escaping before she could stop it.

Vi’s grin widened immediately. “That good, huh?”

“I—” Caitlyn covered her mouth with her hand, laughing softly. “I wasn’t expecting it to actually taste this good.”

“Wow. Rude.”

“It’s a compliment,” Caitlyn said quickly, but the smile tugging at her lips ruined any attempt at sounding serious. “I just didn’t think you could cook like this.”

“Pfft. Please.” Vi leaned back, fork twirling a bit of pasta like she’d done this a thousand times. “Surviving Zaun means learning two things: how to throw a punch and how to make a decent meal out of nothing. I’m basically a domestic goddess.”

Caitlyn snorted into her fork. “You did not just call yourself that.”

Vi’s eyes glinted, mischievous. “What? You disagree?”

“I didn’t say that,” Caitlyn murmured, cheeks warming before she realized how that sounded.

Vi caught it—of course she did. Her grin turned a shade softer, less teasing but more something else. “You like it,” she said lightly.

Caitlyn focused very intently on her pasta. “I like the food.”

“Uh-huh.”

The dishes sat drying on the rack, the smell of garlic and basil still clinging to the air. Caitlyn had insisted on doing the cleanup, but Vi stayed leaned against the counter anyway, her sleeves pushed up, mug in hand.

The city outside glittered through the glass wall, its distant hum threading through the silence. But Vi’s head wasn’t here—not really.

“You ever been down there?” Vi asked suddenly, eyes on the skyline rather than Caitlyn. “Before your big project?”

“Zaun?” Caitlyn tilted her head, drying her hands with a towel. “A few times. Official visits. I never… stayed long.”

Vi let out a short breath—half laugh, half sigh. “Yeah. Most topsiders don’t.”

Caitlyn watched her carefully now. Vi’s usual grin had dimmed into something quieter, the kind that didn’t quite reach her eyes. She set the mug down on the counter, rubbing the back of her neck like the words were heavy in her throat.

“It’s loud,” Vi started, slow, picking through memories like broken glass. “And messy. Smells like smoke and steel and damp concrete. There’s always something burning—trash, machines, both, I guess. But it’s alive, you know? Everything down there fights to keep breathing.”

Caitlyn leaned against the opposite counter, letting the silence hold Vi’s words.

“When I was a kid, I used to think that was normal. That everyone grew up with rust in their lungs and gunfire echoing through the streets. That everyone learned how to run before they learned how to read.” Vi gave a quiet, humorless laugh. “Turns out that’s not really a ‘universal experience.’”

Her fingers tapped against the ceramic mug—restless. “We didn’t have safety nets. Or warm kitchens. Or, hell, half-decent lighting. You just… learned to take a hit and keep walking.”

Caitlyn opened her mouth, but Vi wasn’t done.

“But it wasn’t all shit, either,” Vi added quickly, like she wanted to be fair. “There were good parts. The noise felt like home sometimes. We’d climb rooftops just to see the shimmer of Piltover from below. Like we were close enough to touch something we were never meant to have.”

Something flickered across her face then—not bitterness. Just… longing.

Caitlyn’s chest ached in a way she couldn’t quite name. “That’s where you grew up,” she said softly. Not as a question.

“Yeah.” Vi huffed out a breath. “Zaun raised me. Bruised me up real good too. But it’s still home.”

Caitlyn stepped closer—not enough to crowd her, just enough that Vi could feel the steady warmth of her presence.

“You talk about it like it’s still a part of you,” Caitlyn said.

Vi looked at her then, really looked. “It is. Can’t cut out the rust without losing the steel too, y’know?”

Caitlyn’s lips parted, but the words tangled somewhere in her throat.

And Vi… Vi wasn’t usually the one to let herself get this exposed. But standing here—in a warm kitchen, the city outside a soft blur, Caitlyn’s gaze steady on hers—she didn’t feel like she had to put the armor back on just yet.

She gave a half-smile. “Sorry. Got all deep on you.”

“Don’t be,” Caitlyn murmured. “I like hearing you talk about where you came from.”

That pulled something warm and dangerous in Vi’s chest, something that made her pulse trip over itself. She didn’t say anything right away. Just leaned back against the counter, letting the quiet stretch between them like a heartbeat.

Zaun had never felt so far away—and so close all at once.

“It’s funny,” Vi went on quietly, “I used to look up at Piltover and think it was perfect. Untouchable. Like some fairytale place where everyone had enough. But being here…” She gestured loosely around the penthouse. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen people so good at pretending everything’s fine.”

Caitlyn’s throat tightened a little. She didn’t disagree.

“You learned to fight down there,” Caitlyn said softly. “And up here, it’s a different kind of fight.”

Vi glanced at her then, really looked, and the weight behind Caitlyn’s voice didn’t go unnoticed. “Yeah,” she said. “Different battlefield. Same bruises.”

Caitlyn’s lips quirked at that, a quiet, knowing smile.

Silence followed—not empty, but thick with understanding.

Vi leaned her elbows against the counter, shoulders relaxed for once. “When you grow up where I did, you learn early what matters. Who you can trust. Who you can’t. And what you’ll fight for.”

Caitlyn tilted her head. “And what do you fight for now?”

Vi didn’t answer right away. She stared out the glass, the city’s shimmer reflected in her eyes. “My people,” she said finally. “Powder. Zaun. The ones who never got the choice to leave. And… maybe the things I didn’t think I’d get to have.”

Her voice had softened at the end, almost hesitant, as if she’d said too much. Caitlyn caught it anyway.

“What kind of things?” she asked quietly.

Vi’s jaw worked, like she was trying to decide if she wanted to let this one out. “Peace,” she said at last. “A place that doesn’t feel like a temporary stop. Waking up and not thinking about what I gotta fix or fight next.”

Then, after a beat, her gaze flicked to Caitlyn—quick, almost too quick. “Someone who gets it, maybe.”

The air shifted—slow, deliberate. Caitlyn didn’t look away. Neither did Vi.

She tried to play it off, tipping her mug toward Caitlyn. “Heavy stuff, huh? Must be the carbs talkin’.”

Caitlyn’s smile was small, soft. “Or maybe it’s just you being honest for once.”

“Rude,” Vi muttered, but the smirk on her lips didn’t quite hide how her ears were going pink again.

“True,” Caitlyn countered easily.

Then, Caitlyn’s hand suddenly found Vi’s—warm, steady, slipping into hers like it belonged there. Vi’s breath caught, sharp and quiet, her pulse skipping a beat at the contact.

“You know,” Caitlyn murmured, giving Vi’s palm a gentle squeeze, “that’s why I’m here. To give Zaun the peace it deserves. And that’s why Claggor’s working so hard to learn to be a leader.”

Vi stared at their joined hands, her rough knuckles against Caitlyn’s soft skin—a contrast that somehow made too much sense.

“Peace, huh,” Vi said softly, almost to herself. “That’s a hell of a dream.”

“It doesn’t have to be just a dream.” Caitlyn’s voice carried that quiet kind of conviction—the kind that made people listen. “It won’t be easy. But it’s not impossible.”

Vi’s chest tightened, a strange warmth curling just beneath her ribs. She’d heard promises before—heard pretty words dressed up like hope. But Caitlyn wasn’t just saying it. She meant it.

“You really believe that?” Vi asked, her thumb brushing—barely, accidentally—against Caitlyn’s.

Caitlyn smiled faintly. “I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t.”

For a moment, Vi didn’t say anything. She just let herself feel it—the weight of Caitlyn’s hand, the steady warmth of her touch, and the way her heartbeat was starting to sync with someone else’s for the first time in a long time.

“Guess I’m glad you’re here then,” Vi muttered, voice rougher than she intended.

Caitlyn’s smile widened just enough to soften the edges of the room. “Yeah,” she whispered. “Me too.”

And Vi didn’t pull her hand away. Not this time.

Vi leaned her head back against the couch, staring at the ceiling for a moment before letting out a low exhale. “Y’know, I almost forgot how damn quiet it is up here. Feels weird not hearing someone arguing in the streets or throwing a wrench at something.”

Caitlyn huffed a small laugh, her thumb still resting against Vi’s hand. “It’s a different kind of noise here. Controlled. Predictable.”

“Boring,” Vi said without missing a beat. “No wonder you’ve been going stir-crazy.”

Caitlyn gave her a look but didn’t deny it. “You’re not wrong.”

Vi turned to face her more fully, one arm draped lazily over the back of the couch. “So,” she started, a little more careful now, “have they given you any idea when you can get back to work?”

The way Caitlyn’s expression softened told Vi the answer before Caitlyn even spoke. “Not yet,” she admitted, voice quiet but steady. “The council wants to keep me here until the investigation clears. Which means a lot of waiting. A lot of not doing anything.”

Vi watched the small crease form between her brows—the one that only showed when Caitlyn was trying too hard to pretend she wasn’t frustrated. She shifted closer, their knees brushing lightly.

“You hate waiting,” Vi said, not really a question.

“I do,” Caitlyn sighed. “Every day, I keep thinking about what’s happening out there. About what I could be doing instead of sitting here reorganizing my books for the tenth time.”

“Hey.” Vi reached out, giving her hand a squeeze. “You’re not out of the fight. You’re just… benched. Temporarily.”

Caitlyn huffed. “That doesn’t make it any easier.”

“I know.” Vi’s voice softened, losing the teasing edge for something steadier. “But you’ll get back. And when you do, you’ll pick up right where you left off—probably scare the shit outta half the council while you’re at it.”

That pulled a small laugh out of Caitlyn despite herself. “I don’t scare them.”

“Cupcake,” Vi said, grinning. “You terrify them. In a classy, polite, terrifying kinda way.”

Caitlyn rolled her eyes, but the corners of her mouth curved upward. The tension in her shoulders eased—just a little. “I just… I want to help. Not sit here and wait for someone to tell me I can.”

“What exactly did your parents tell you not to do?” Vi asked, eyes glinting with curiosity. “Are you not allowed to be seen by the public or…?”

Caitlyn blinked, caught off guard. “Why?”

Vi tilted her head, a hint of mischief slipping into her grin. “Wanna tour around Zaun?”

Caitlyn’s brows shot up. “You’re joking.”

Vi leaned against the counter, crossing her arms, grin still in place. “Do I look like I’m joking?”

“Yes,” Caitlyn deadpanned, but there was already the faintest spark of intrigue in her voice.

Vi chuckled, pushing off the counter to stand a little closer. “Relax, Cupcake. I’m not talking about throwing you in the middle of the Undercity with a neon sign over your head. I’m talking… quiet. Low profile. Just you and me.”

Caitlyn hesitated, fingers lightly tapping the rim of her glass. “That’s… not exactly in the list of approved activities.”

“Yeah, well,” Vi said with a shrug, “you’ve been stuck here for weeks. You’re itching to get out, and I happen to know all the good corners of Zaun that won’t get us mobbed.”

She said it so casually, like sneaking a high-profile figure out of the penthouse wasn’t a big deal.

Caitlyn sighed, but her lips curved upward despite herself. “You’re impossible.”

Vi smirked. “And yet, here you are, considering it.”

“I’m not—” Caitlyn stopped mid-protest, because the truth was obvious. She was considering it. The thought of stepping outside—of seeing Zaun not from a report, or a drone, or a carefully filtered newsfeed—made something flutter in her chest.

“I’ll keep you safe,” Vi added, softer this time. “Promise.”

That made Caitlyn look at her—really look at her. There was a steadiness in Vi’s eyes, that same quiet fire she always carried when she talked about her city. And Caitlyn felt that familiar pull again, like the gravity between them had shifted just a little closer.

“You know,” Caitlyn murmured, “if anyone finds out about this, it’ll be hell.”

Vi grinned. “Good thing I’m good at getting out of hell.”

Caitlyn exhaled a laugh, shaking her head. “You’re reckless.”

“Yeah,” Vi said, stepping back with a mock salute. “But I’m also fun.”

Caitlyn lingered on that grin a second too long before rolling her eyes again, though the corner of her lips betrayed her. “Fun,” she repeated, as if testing the word on her tongue. “That’s one way to describe a terrible idea.”

“Correction,” Vi said, pointing at her with the handle of the wooden spoon. “It’s an excellent idea. You’re just too responsible to admit it.”

“Someone has to be,” Caitlyn shot back, but her voice had softened.

“Yeah,” Vi said with a small smile. “And someone has to be stupid enough to drag you out once in a while.”

Caitlyn’s laugh was quiet this time, warm in a way Vi wanted to hold onto. She set her empty glass down, fingertips tracing the edge absentmindedly. “If my parents catch wind of this, it’ll be the end of me.”

“Nah,” Vi said, leaning a little closer across the counter. “I’ll cover for you.”

Caitlyn arched an elegant brow. “Oh? And what exactly will you say when they ask where I am?”

“I dunno,” Vi said with a careless shrug. “Maybe something like, ‘Caitlyn finally snapped and went on an adventure with a devastatingly charming redhead.’”

Caitlyn snorted, the sound slipping out before she could stop it. “Devastatingly charming? You really think highly of yourself.”

“Someone has to,” Vi shot back with a grin.

The air between them softened again—less like playful banter now, more like something gentle and real weaving itself through their words.

Caitlyn leaned back against the counter, her gaze drifting to the window where the city lights shimmered faintly. “I do want to see it, you know. Zaun. Not just the sanitized version they feed me in reports.”

Vi’s voice gentled, losing the teasing edge. “Then let me show you.”

That pulled Caitlyn’s attention right back to her. Vi wasn’t joking this time—not even a little. She stood there, steady and unguarded, like the idea wasn’t just about sneaking out. It was about trust.

And Caitlyn felt that trust settle somewhere in her chest. Heavy. Warm. A little terrifying.

She let out a slow breath. “We’ll need a plan.”

Vi’s grin came back, brighter this time. “Oh, I’ve got plenty of those.”

Caitlyn tilted her head, amused. “Why am I not surprised?”

“Because deep down,” Vi said, pushing her hands into her pockets, “you already knew you were gonna say yes.”

Caitlyn didn’t deny it. Not this time. Instead, she whispered, almost like a secret, “Yeah. Maybe I did.”

“Good,” Vi grinned. “I’ll help the princess escape her tower tomorrow night.”

For a heartbeat, neither of them said anything. The playful edge softened into something quieter, something that made Caitlyn’s breath catch just slightly.

Then she shook her head, a small, helpless smile tugging at her lips. “Tomorrow night,” she said finally.

Vi’s grin widened, triumphant but warm. “Tomorrow night.”

Chapter Text

Sneaking into Zaun like a cat-burglar on a Saturday night was not definitely not part of Caitlyn's night routine.

And yet, here she was—hood pulled low over her head, expensive boots carefully stepping around puddles on a dimly lit staircase that definitely wasn’t meant for civilians. The cold metal railing was damp beneath her hand, and the air grew thicker the farther down they went, carrying with it a mix of oil, smoke, and the faint hum of machinery.

She hadn’t really expected to say yes to Vi’s suggestion to leave. But she did. And even though every part of her knew she shouldn’t, a small, reckless part of her couldn’t help but feel excited.

She spent the entire day pacing in circles, torn between backing out and giving in to the temptation of sneaking into Zaun.

In the end, that reckless part of her—paired with Vi’s terrible influence—won.

“Are you sure about this?” Caitlyn whispered, her breath visible in the cool night air.

Vi grinned, hands buried in her jacket pockets, hair a mess beneath the faint glow of the streetlights. “Nope,” she said easily. “That’s what makes it fun.”

Caitlyn shot her a look that was more fond than disapproving. She should say no. She should listen to her parents’ very clear instructions not to be seen in public while the investigation was ongoing.

But then Vi smirked at her, that infuriating, reckless, infectious smirk—and suddenly, saying no didn’t feel like an option.

“Come on,” Vi murmured, tilting her head toward the lift shaft at the far end of the street. “I know a way down.”

Caitlyn followed without another word.

They moved through the back alleys like shadows, Vi always a step ahead—confident, easy, like she belonged here. And she did. The city had carved her out of its concrete and smoke.

At the edge of a maintenance platform, Vi crouched, prying open a rusted gate. It screeched faintly, making Caitlyn wince at the noise.

Vi glanced back at her with a grin. “What? Gotta love that authentic Zaun charm.”

“You call it charm,” Caitlyn muttered, adjusting her cardigan like it might shield her from the chill.

“Hey,” Vi said, stepping closer until Caitlyn could feel her warmth in the dark. “You cold?”

“I’m fine,” Caitlyn cut in quickly, ignoring the way her pulse jumped.

Vi’s grin only widened. “Sure you are, Cupcake.” And despite Caitlyn’s protests, she still shrugged off her jacket and draped it over Caitlyn’s shoulders anyway.

Regardless of the cold, heat still managed to crawl up Caitlyn's neck.

Caitlyn stiffened at the feeling of the jacket settling around her. It was warm—so warm it felt almost alive, like Vi herself had wrapped her up. The faint scent of oil and something sweet clung to the fabric, curling into her lungs before she could stop it.

Vi’s fingers brushed the back of her neck as she adjusted the collar, and Caitlyn swore her breath hitched loud enough to give her away.

“There,” Vi murmured, voice low and unbearably close. “Can’t have you freezing before we even get there.”

Caitlyn stared straight ahead, refusing to meet her eyes. But the corner of Vi’s mouth lifted anyway.

The lift they found wasn’t exactly regulation-approved. A steel platform, patched wires, a lever that looked like it had seen better centuries. Vi yanked the lever, and the platform lurched downward with a mechanical groan. Caitlyn clutched the railing, knuckles white.

“Relax,” Vi said, leaning casually against the opposite rail. “She’s old, but she’s reliable. Kinda like me.”

Caitlyn exhaled a shaky laugh. “That’s not reassuring.”

They descended past the glittering edge of Piltover, down into Zaun’s restless heartbeat. The air grew heavier, thicker, the scent of smoke and oil pressing against them. Lights flickered below—neon, wild, and alive.

When the platform landed with a solid thud, Vi hopped off first, turning back with her hand out. “Welcome to the undercity, topside.”

Caitlyn eyed the offered hand. She didn’t need it; but she took it anyway.

The moment their palms touched, something electric thrummed up her arm. Vi squeezed once before letting go, pretending like she didn’t feel it too.

Zaun was nothing like Piltover. The streets were narrow and chaotic, lined with glowing signage and tangled pipes that snaked overhead like metal vines. The sounds were louder here—shouting, laughter, machinery, music bleeding from every corner.

And yet, it wasn’t… frightening. Not with Vi walking beside her like she owned the place.

“Stick close,” Vi said, voice low. “Zaun’s safe if you know how to move. And you’ve got me, so…” She shrugged.

Caitlyn glanced at her. “Is that supposed to make me feel better?”

“Yep,” Vi replied, grin flashing in the neon light. “It should.”

They wove through the crowd, past vendors hawking cheap food and street performers spinning flames. A group of kids darted through the alleys barefoot, laughing as if the world couldn’t touch them.

Vi slowed near a narrow bridge overlooking the shimmer of water far below. “Used to sit here,” she said softly. “Back when Powder and I thought Piltover was some kind of dream. Shiny and perfect.”

Caitlyn leaned against the railing, shoulder brushing Vi’s. “And now?”

Vi’s smile tilted, softer this time. “Now I know it’s just a different kind of mess.”

The wind carried the sounds of Zaun around them—gritty, alive. Caitlyn breathed it in, and for once, it didn’t feel like she was suffocating under expectations.

“This place is…” She paused, searching for the right word.

“Loud? Dirty? Smells like motor oil?” Vi offered.

Caitlyn laughed, shaking her head. “It's real.”

Vi turned to her then, really looked at her—not as Piltover’s golden daughter, not as a business partner, but as Caitlyn. Just Caitlyn. And for a moment, everything else blurred.

“You’re not so bad at this sneaking thing,” Vi said finally, her grin slipping back into place.

“I learn fast,” Caitlyn replied, meeting her gaze steadily. A hint of something playful danced in her eyes. “And this isn’t my first time sneaking away.”

Vi raised a brow, clearly intrigued. “Oh yeah? Should I be worried about how experienced you are at breaking rules, Cupcake?”

Caitlyn’s lips twitched, fighting back a smile. “Just make sure we don't get caught.”

The lights below painted their faces in shifting colors—green, pink, gold—and Caitlyn thought she’d never felt more out of place, or more alive.

“Come on,” Vi said, nudging her shoulder lightly. “I wanna show you something.”

Caitlyn followed without hesitation.

The deeper they went into Zaun, the louder it became. The streets were still alive—vendors calling out over the hum of the crowd, neon lights buzzing, kids darting between narrow alleys like the night was theirs to own.

Caitlyn kept her hood up, careful not to draw attention. She wasn’t supposed to be here. This place—and the people who lived in it—were the reason she’d been told to stay behind closed doors in the first place.

But Vi’s jacket smelled good. Comforting. Her hood carried the faintest trace of lavender, probably from the shampoo she used. It was subtle, but it lingered close—close enough to make Caitlyn’s chest feel a little too warm for someone sneaking through streets she shouldn't be seen in.

“You’re staring,” Vi’s voice came low and amused beside her. 

Caitlyn blinked, snapping out of her reverie. “I’m not,” she whispered back, though the way she tilted her head to look at the crowded stalls betrayed her.

Vi chuckled softly, hands shoved into her pockets. “You are. You’ve got that look on your face—like a tourist who just discovered sugar.”

Caitlyn shot her a sideways glare. “I do not look like a tourist.”

“Uh-huh,” Vi drawled, grinning as she leaned closer. “Sure, Cupcake. You practically screamed ‘I’m not from around here’ the second we stepped in.”

“Maybe that’s because I’m not,” Caitlyn retorted, though the corner of her mouth twitched upward.

Vi hummed. “Good thing you’ve got a local guide then.”

Caitlyn rolled her eyes but didn’t pull away when their shoulders brushed. The warmth of Vi’s presence against the restless hum of Zaun anchored her—made the chaos feel less overwhelming, almost familiar.

“This way,” Vi said, her voice quieter now.

Caitlyn followed without a word. The noise of the streets faded behind them, replaced by the occasional drip of water from the pipes overhead. Her boots echoed against the cracked pavement, the sound oddly steady alongside Vi’s.

They stopped in front of a narrow building wedged between two larger ones, its brick walls weathered and chipped but stubbornly standing. The small set of steps leading to the front door were uneven, and the window frames were scratched up.

“This is it,” Vi said.

Caitlyn’s brows knit gently. “Your home?”

“Yeah.” Vi’s voice was rough around the edges, not sad exactly—but layered, careful. “Where Powder and I grew up. Before… everything.”

Caitlyn turned her gaze toward the door again. It wasn’t much—worn wood, chipped paint, a handle that looked like it had seen better days. But there was something about the place that felt steady, like it had stood its ground through every storm thrown at it.

Her eyes drifted lower, catching faint traces of marker ink on the wall—a small doodle of monkeys, half-faded but still clinging on. It made the place feel less like a hiding spot and more like a home.

Vi crouched down, brushing her fingers against the stone steps. “We used to sit right here. Mom would yell at us for staying out too late, and Powder would make up the worst excuses. She was so bad at lying.” A quiet laugh escaped her, soft and warm.

Caitlyn lowered her hood, the cool night air brushing against her hair. She stepped closer, careful, like she was being let into something fragile. “It’s… smaller than I imagined,” she said softly.

“Yeah.” Vi leaned against the railing, looking at the building like it was both a memory and a scar. “But it was home. We didn’t have much, but we had each other. That was enough.”

For a moment, neither of them spoke. Caitlyn could feel the weight of Vi’s memories hanging in the quiet—heavy, but not suffocating. She could almost picture little Vi and Powder on those steps, laughing too loud for the neighbors, dreaming too big for the Undercity.

Without really thinking, Caitlyn reached out, fingers brushing Vi’s hand. Vi stiffened just slightly—then relaxed, letting Caitlyn’s touch linger.

“You don’t have to say anything,” Vi murmured, eyes still on the house. “Just… wanted you to see it.”

“I’m glad you showed me.” Caitlyn’s voice was barely above a whisper. "You deserved so much more, Violet."

Vi glanced at her then, really looked at her. The streetlight above them cast a soft gold over Caitlyn’s face, catching on her hair, making her eyes look impossibly bright.

And Vi’s chest ached in a way she couldn’t name.

They didn’t go inside. Vi’s old house loomed quietly behind them, like a piece of the past watching from the shadows.

“C’mon,” Vi said after a beat, nodding toward the edge of the street. “There’s a spot just around the corner.”

Caitlyn followed as Vi led her a few meters away to a small, half-collapsed staircase behind a closed-up shop. The steps overlooked a narrow canal where the faint glow of neon signs reflected off the water. It wasn’t glamorous, but it was quiet—tucked away from the noise.

Vi dropped down onto the steps like she’d done it a thousand times before, elbows resting loosely on her knees. Caitlyn hesitated for half a second before sitting beside her, their shoulders just barely brushing.

For a while, neither of them spoke. The sound of the Undercity hummed faintly around them—distant chatter, the low rumble of passing vehicles, the hiss of pipes overhead.

Vi exhaled slowly, leaning back against the railing. “We used to sit here after sneaking out. Powder would talk about making things that could change the world. I’d… just listen.”

Caitlyn turned her head slightly, watching her. There was a softness in Vi’s voice she didn’t always let through—a quiet kind of vulnerability, like a memory worn smooth over time.

“She was always the smart one,” Vi added, a small smile tugging at the corner of her mouth. “Vander tried to keep us out of trouble, but Zaun has a way of… getting under your skin. You either learn to fight it or you grow around it.”

Caitlyn rested her hands on her lap, fingers fidgeting with the edge of her sleeve. “You grew around it,” she said quietly.

Vi huffed out a laugh. “I punched it a few times first. Then I grew around it.”

That earned a soft chuckle from Caitlyn. She tilted her head, looking out over the canal. “It’s strange. I’ve spent so much time hearing about Zaun from other people. Politicians. Soldiers. My parents. But seeing it like this… with you… it feels different.”

Vi glanced at her out of the corner of her eye. “Not so scary anymore?”

“No,” Caitlyn admitted. “Just real.”

The word hung between them, steady and gentle.

Vi’s boot nudged a small rock near her foot, sending it skittering down the step. “I used to think if I ever got out of here, I’d never look back. But… this place is in my blood. No matter where I go, it’s still home.”

Caitlyn turned fully to face her then, her voice softening. “That’s why you fight so hard for it.”

“Yeah.” Vi’s gaze dropped to the water, shoulders tensing just slightly. “Someone has to.”

Caitlyn’s expression gentled. She reached out without thinking, her hand settling over Vi’s. “It doesn’t always have to be you who fights,” she murmured. 

Vi froze at the touch, the warmth of Caitlyn’s hand cutting through the chill in the air. For a second, the world around them—the distant hum of Zaun, the water lapping quietly—faded into the background.

Their shoulders brushed again—not accidental this time. Caitlyn didn’t pull away, and neither did Vi.

The silence that followed wasn’t uncomfortable. It was warm. Full. Their shoulders brushed again—this time deliberate. Caitlyn didn’t move away, and Vi didn’t pretend not to notice.

“You really love this place,” Caitlyn murmured.

“I do,” Vi admitted. “Even when it’s messy. Especially then.”

Caitlyn drew in a slow breath, letting the hum of the Undercity settle around them. It didn’t feel foreign anymore. It felt alive. It felt real.

And Vi—sitting beside her with that quiet, steady kind of fire—made it feel almost safe.

“Hey,” Vi said after a long moment, her voice low. “Thanks for coming with me.”

Caitlyn glanced at her. “You make it sound like I had a choice.”

Vi smirked, the familiar spark returning to her eyes. “You didn’t. I’m very persuasive.”

Caitlyn laughed softly, shaking her head. “Yeah. You are.” She didn’t look away this time. She let her gaze linger—on the curve of Vi’s grin, the scar along her jaw, the way her eyes softened in a way they didn’t for anyone else.

The hum of Zaun wrapped around them like a pulse, alive and close.

Vi cleared her throat, looking away for the first time, like the weight of that moment had snuck up on her too. “C’mon,” she said, voice rougher now. “There’s a rooftop near here. Best view in the whole damn place,” Vi said, offering her hand without looking directly at her—like it was the most natural thing in the world.

Caitlyn stared at the outstretched hand for a beat. Then she took it.

The night was loud again as they moved, but it didn’t feel chaotic anymore. With Vi leading, the narrow alleys and rusted staircases felt less like danger and more like discovery. Caitlyn’s boots clicked against the metal steps as Vi guided her through a maze of fire escapes and crooked pipes, climbing higher and higher.

“Watch your head,” Vi called softly over her shoulder. She ducked beneath a hanging cable and vaulted over a low railing in one fluid movement, the kind that made Caitlyn think she’d been climbing these streets since she could walk. She probably did.

Caitlyn didn’t vault. She climbed—more careful, more deliberate—but when she landed on the other side, Vi’s grin was waiting for her. “Not bad, Cupcake. You’re learning.”

“I’m not here to impress you,” Caitlyn said, brushing a strand of hair from her cheek.

“Too late,” Vi teased, walking backward a few steps just to watch the way Caitlyn’s mouth twitched at the corners.

They passed through a gap between two buildings so narrow Caitlyn’s shoulder brushed against brick. The air smelled of oil, damp concrete, and something sweet from a nearby stall. Vi climbed a short ladder next, metal groaning beneath her weight, and disappeared over the ledge.

When Caitlyn followed, Vi’s hand appeared from above, fingers curling over the edge like an anchor. She didn’t have to take it—but she did.

Her hands brushed against Vi’s calloused palm, and for a moment, the city noise faded to a dull hum. Vi pulled her up with ease, stepping back just enough to let Caitlyn steady herself on the rooftop landing.

“See? Told you I wouldn’t let you fall,” Vi said lightly.

Caitlyn arched her brow. “I wasn’t worried.”

The next section was steeper—a fire escape that zigzagged up the side of an old factory. The metal steps clanged softly under their feet, each breath puffing into the chill air. Neon light from the streets below cast shifting colors on the iron rails, painting Vi’s silhouette in pinks and greens.

Halfway up, Caitlyn muttered, “You make this look too easy.”

Vi glanced down at her, grin sharp and bright. “That’s ‘cause it is.”

“Not everyone’s built like a ninja,” Caitlyn shot back, but there was no edge to it—just warmth.

They reached the final ladder—taller, narrower, the metal cold beneath their hands. Vi climbed first, boots ringing softly with each step, and Caitlyn followed, glancing through the gaps at the city stretching out beneath them.

Zaun looked different from up here. Less chaotic. The neon lights bled into one another like veins of color in the dark. The noise below dulled into a steady hum, like the entire city was breathing.

At the top, Vi swung herself onto the roof and crouched down, offering her hand a third time without hesitation. Caitlyn took it.

Vi’s grip tightened, pulling her over the ledge in one smooth motion, and suddenly the world opened wide around them.

The rooftop stretched out beneath a starless sky, flat and quiet except for the wind cutting between broken pipes and cracked vents. From here, the Undercity glowed—neon signs bleeding pink and blue across rusted metal, steam billowing from vents like slow-moving clouds.

“Damn,” Caitlyn whispered, the sound stolen by the wind. “It’s… beautiful.”

Vi didn’t answer right away. She wasn’t looking at the view.

She was looking at Caitlyn.

The soft glow of Zaun’s lights painted her features in gold and blue, catching in her hair, in the curve of her jaw. Vi exhaled quietly, a sound that wasn’t quite a sigh. “Yeah,” she murmured. “It is.”

Caitlyn caught her gaze, and for a heartbeat, neither of them moved. The wind threaded through Vi’s hair. The hum of the city rose beneath them like a pulse.

Then Vi looked away with a soft huff and walked toward the edge of the roof, kicking at a loose bit of concrete. “This was my spot,” she said, voice steady again. “When I needed to get away. Thought I’d show you.”

Caitlyn followed slowly, her boots crunching against grit. “You came up here a lot?”

“Yeah.” Vi leaned against the railing, looking out over the city like it belonged to her. “World’s quieter up here. Like Zaun finally shuts up long enough to let you breathe.”

Caitlyn stepped up beside her, shoulders almost brushing. “I can see why.”

Caitlyn looked down again, with the quiet weight of someone who wanted to understand. “I’ve spent years looking down at Zaun. Literally. It’s always been… somewhere else. Somewhere dangerous. But up here, it doesn’t feel like that.”

Vi’s brow lifted slightly. “That so?”

Caitlyn nodded. “It feels alive.”

Vi didn’t say anything at first. She just studied her—really studied her—like she was trying to figure out if Caitlyn meant it.

The wind shifted, bringing up the sharp, sweet smell of fumes from the streets below. Caitlyn didn’t flinch. She just breathed it in, quiet and steady.

“Guess I never thought I’d hear someone from topside say that,” Vi said finally.

“They’ve just never bothered to look,” Caitlyn replied softly.

Vi’s lips curved, not into her usual grin but something smaller, gentler. “You’re not like them.”

Caitlyn felt heat bloom low in her chest at the way Vi said it—not as an accusation, but like a fact she hadn’t expected to find true.

“Good. I don’t want to be,” she murmured.

The wind carried a low hum from the streets below—vendors still shouting, pipes hissing, laughter echoing through the alleys. From up here, Zaun didn’t sound like a threat. It sounded like a heartbeat.

Caitlyn shifted a little closer to the edge, her shoulder brushing Vi’s arm. “What was it like?” she asked softly.

Vi glanced at her. “What was what like?”

“Growing up here,” Caitlyn said. Her voice wasn’t clinical like it used to be when talking about Zaun in reports and meetings. It was… quiet. Curious. Like she wanted to understand, not judge.

Vi leaned against the railing, gaze sweeping over the city. “Loud,” she said first. “Always loud. Pipes clanging at all hours, people yelling over each other, fights breaking out over scraps. Some nights we’d have to climb up just to get a break from it.”

Caitlyn tilted her head. “You and Powder?”

“Yeah.” Vi’s mouth curved faintly, but it didn’t quite reach her eyes. “She’d talk about building things—machines that could fix everything down here. And me…” She huffed a soft laugh. “I just tried to keep us alive long enough for her to do it.”

Caitlyn’s fingers tightened slightly against the metal railing. “That’s a lot for a kid.”

Vi shrugged one shoulder. “Zaun doesn’t wait for you to grow up. It just… throws you in.”

There was no bitterness in her tone. Just quiet truth.

Caitlyn’s gaze followed Vi’s line of sight down toward the lower stacks, where the lights thinned and the shadows thickened. “What about the people?” she asked.

Vi blinked at her. “What about them?”

“You talk about the city like it’s alive,” Caitlyn said, a small smile tugging at the corner of her lips. “Like it’s a person. So… who makes it that way?”

For a heartbeat, Vi didn’t answer. She just breathed in the sharp, chemical-tinged air like it was a language only she could read.

“The people,” Vi said finally. “They build it. Break it. Patch it together again. They’re rough as hell, sure, but they’re loyal. You don’t survive down here alone.”

Caitlyn turned to look at her fully. “Sounds a lot like you.”

Vi let out a quiet laugh through her nose. “Yeah, well, Zaun raised me.”

They stood there in silence for a moment, the neon light shifting across their faces in pinks and greens. Caitlyn’s hair moved slightly in the wind, a lock catching on her lip. Without really thinking, Vi reached up to tuck it behind her ear. The touch was quick, almost careless—but Caitlyn’s breath still hitched.

“I used to climb rooftops like this all the time,” Vi said, softer now. “Not ‘cause I liked the view. Just… it was the only place I could think straight." Then, she chuckled. "But I guess I did also enjoy the adrenaline rush it gave me."

Caitlyn’s voice dropped to match her. “And now?”

Vi exhaled slowly. “Now, it’s different. Especially with you."

Caitlyn searched her face. “Because of me?”

Vi’s lips twitched—not quite a grin, but close. “Yeah. Kinda ruins the whole brooding loner thing when you’re around, Cupcake.”

Caitlyn laughed quietly, warmth threading through the sound. “Good.”

Vi leaned back on her hands, eyes fixed on the skyline. Caitlyn stood beside her, close enough that their shoulders pressed together fully now. No one was watching. No expectations, no rules—just the city breathing around them.

Zaun looked almost peaceful from up here.

Or maybe it was just Vi.

Caitlyn rested her hands against the railing, fingers cold.

“People don’t like me here,” she said suddenly, breaking the quiet.

Vi turned, one brow lifting. “Yeah,” she said lightly. “I noticed the glares.”

Caitlyn exhaled through her nose. “I don’t blame them.”

Vi studied her for a moment, shoulders tense in that easy, practiced way she carried herself. “This about the accident?”

Caitlyn didn’t answer right away. Her gaze had drifted toward the lower stacks—toward the site where it happened. She remembered the shouts, the looks, the way the air thickened with resentment she couldn’t talk her way out of.

Vi leaned against the railing beside her, close enough that Caitlyn could feel her warmth in the cold. “They don’t see a person, Cupcake. They see Piltover.”

Caitlyn’s throat tightened. “Someone got hurt.”

“Yeah,” Vi said softly, her gaze fixed on the streets far below. “But that wasn’t your fault. It wasn’t anyone’s fault. Accidents happen.”

Caitlyn pressed her lips together. “They don’t believe that.”

“They don’t,” Vi admitted, her voice low and roughened by the wind. “That’s because they’re not used to it—someone from topside treating Zaunites with human decency?” She let out a quiet, humorless laugh, the sound carrying into the night. “Practically unheard of.”

Her hands tightened around the railing, knuckles pale against the rusted metal. “They’ve spent their whole lives waiting for someone from up there to hurt them. So when something goes wrong…” She exhaled slowly. “It’s easier to blame the outsider.”

Caitlyn glanced at her, brows knitting. “That’s… a pretty grim view of things.”

“It’s not grim, it’s real,” Vi said simply. “Most topsiders only come down here with two things in mind: control or cleanup. They don’t talk to people. They talk at them. And people here—they learned not to expect better.”

The words lodged somewhere deep in Caitlyn’s chest. “I don't want to be like that.”

Vi leaned forward slightly, forearms resting on the railing, eyes fixed on the tangle of lights below. “Yeah, you're not like that. And that’s exactly why they don’t know what to do with you. You show up, act like they matter, and it… throws people off.”

There was no teasing in her voice now. Just quiet truth.

Caitlyn stared down at the glowing veins of Zaun beneath them, the city moving and breathing like a single, restless creature. “I just wanted to help,” she whispered.

Vi’s shoulder brushed hers—light, grounding. “I know. But down here? Good intentions don’t mean much on their own. They’ve heard too many promises that ended in ash.”

Caitlyn’s breath caught in her chest. The way Vi said it wasn’t loud or dramatic. It was quiet—like the truth. And for some reason, that made it hit harder.

“Zaun’s messy, Cait,” Vi added after a beat. “People down here got hurt too many times. But if you stick around long enough… maybe they’ll stop seeing Piltover and start seeing you.”

Caitlyn didn’t say anything right away. She just looked out over the sprawl of Zaun beneath them—at the tangled lights, the crooked streets, the stubborn life that pulsed through it all.

“Maybe,” she whispered.

Vi nudged her shoulder lightly. “Hey. One step at a time, yeah?”

Caitlyn looked at her, and the corner of her mouth lifted just barely. “Yeah.” She huffed a laugh—quiet, breathy. “You have a terrible way of making me feel better.”

Vi’s mouth curved, slow and lazy, the kind of smile that felt like heat against skin. “Wasn’t trying to make you feel better.” She shifted closer, close enough that Caitlyn could see the faint scar running along her upper lip. “Just telling you how it is.”

Caitlyn didn’t step back. She should’ve. But the railing dug lightly into the back of her thigh, and Vi’s warmth was a living thing between them. The air felt thinner now, charged.

“Sometimes,” Vi went on, voice dropping lower, “it’s easier to hate a face than admit the world’s just a mess.”

Their eyes met—Caitlyn’s steady, Vi’s searching.

Neither looked away.

Caitlyn swallowed. “And which one am I, then? The face… or the mess?”

Vi let out a soft huff of laughter, shrugging. “Haven’t decided yet.”

But she didn’t move away.

“You look different in this light,” Vi said, voice low and soft. She reached up and gently tugged Caitlyn’s hood back, letting it slip off with a quiet brush of fabric. Loose strands of Caitlyn’s hair caught the rooftop glow, framing her face like it was made for the night.

Vi’s fingers lingered near her jaw, bare skin warm against the cold. She didn’t pull away right away—like touching Caitlyn was something she wasn’t quite ready to stop.

Caitlyn blinked at her, surprised by how careful Vi’s touch was. “Different how?” she asked, her voice a little breathless.

Vi tilted her head, eyes flicking over Caitlyn’s face as if memorizing every detail. “Less polished. More… you.”

Caitlyn let out a quiet, shaky laugh. “I didn’t realize there was a difference.”

“There is,” Vi murmured. “When you’re not hiding behind fancy coats and meetings, you look…” She trailed off, the corner of her mouth twitching, like she wasn’t used to saying things like this out loud. “…soft. Real.”

The way she said it made Caitlyn’s chest tighten. No one talked to her like that—not like she was something real instead of someone’s expectation.

“I could say the same about you,” Caitlyn whispered. “You’re quieter up here. Softer.”

Vi huffed out a laugh, but it didn’t have its usual bite. “Guess that’s what happens when it’s just us.”

Her hand brushed along Caitlyn’s jaw, thumb tracing the edge of her chin, slow and unhurried. It wasn’t rough or teasing—just warm. Close.

Caitlyn’s breath caught, pulse fluttering at the base of her throat. Vi was standing so close now she could feel the heat of her body against the cold night air.

Almost without thinking, Caitlyn lifted her hand too, fingers hesitating for a heartbeat before resting gently against Vi’s cheek. Her skin was warm, solid beneath her touch.

Vi leaned in just slightly, like gravity had tilted between them. Their noses were a breath apart, the air between them turning warm and electric. Caitlyn didn’t move. Didn’t want to.

But then something flickered behind Vi’s eyes. Guilt. The kind that cuts deep. She felt the cold press of Caitlyn’s wedding band against her skin, the metal biting like a reminder she couldn’t ignore.

Her breath hitched, and just like that, the spell cracked. She leaned back—slow but sure—carving space where there hadn’t been any a moment ago. The night air rushed in between them, sharp and sobering.

Reality came crashing down, heavy and unforgiving, crushing whatever reckless thought she’d had about almost kissing her brother’s wife.

Caitlyn blinked, as if the weight of her ring dragged her back to where she was supposed to be. She couldn’t do this. Not to Claggor, not to her parents. Not to everything she’d promised herself she’d uphold.

But gods, how she ached to pull Vi back. To feel that warmth again. To close the space Vi had forced between them.

Her fingers twitched at her side, the urge lingering like a quiet, dangerous whisper.

Vi let out a shaky breath. “Fuck.” Her voice was rougher now, stripped bare. “You’re… his.”

The words didn’t cut—they sank. Heavy. Final. Caitlyn blinked, her chest tightening as the weight of them settled in.

Vi dragged a hand down her face, fingers digging into her skin like she could claw the feeling out of herself. “I shouldn’t have—” She let out a short, broken laugh. “God, Cait… I’m so sorry. I don’t know what the hell I was thinking.”

“Vi,” Caitlyn breathed, the name slipping out before she could stop it. Her hand hovered near Vi’s wrist, close enough to feel the heat of her skin, but she couldn’t bring herself to close the gap.

Vi’s jaw clenched. Her shoulders were rigid, like every muscle in her body was fighting to stay in place. “He’s my brother,” she whispered, voice frayed and trembling at the edges. “And you’re—” She shook her head slowly, like even saying it would make it too real. “I can’t.”

The wind slipped between them, cool and steady, but it didn’t touch the ache settling in Caitlyn’s chest. She curled her fingers into her palm, trying to hold on to the warmth of Vi’s touch that was already fading.

“You didn’t do anything wrong,” Caitlyn murmured, her voice cracking.

Vi’s laugh came out quiet and cracked. “Everything about this is wrong, Cait."

She turned away, palms pressing hard against the railing, like the rusted metal was the only thing keeping her from unraveling. Her breath came uneven, shoulders shaking just enough for Caitlyn to notice.

“This is so fucked,” she whispered. “I can’t— I shouldn’t feel this way.”

“Vi—” Caitlyn’s voice faltered, because she didn’t know what to say. What could she say?

Vi let out a breath that almost sounded like a sob strangled into silence. “What the hell am I doing?” Her voice broke, raw and soft. “He’s my brother, Cait. And you’re his wife. I shouldn't be feeling this way towards my brother's fucking wife."

Caitlyn stepped closer—careful, like approaching something fragile that might shatter if she breathed too loud. “I don’t know what we're doing,” she admitted. Her voice wasn’t steady either.

The air between them buzzed, electric and aching. When Vi finally looked at her again, really looked, Caitlyn felt it like a touch. Vi saw the way Caitlyn’s lips parted, the way she hadn’t pulled back, the way her eyes still held something she couldn’t hide.

Vi’s breath caught. God, no.

“Cait…” Her name left Vi’s lips like a prayer she wished she didn’t mean.

Caitlyn straightened instinctively, like she could feel the weight pressing down between them.

“You didn’t pull away,” Vi whispered, the words fragile.

Caitlyn froze. “Vi—”

“You didn’t,” Vi said again, voice softer now, unraveling. “You looked at me like I wasn’t wrong for wanting you. And I shouldn’t—fuck—I shouldn’t want this.”

The silence that followed ached. It wasn’t empty; it throbbed between heartbeats.

Caitlyn swallowed. “You’re not wrong.”

The words fell like a confession she could never take back. Vi stilled, breath catching like it hurt to breathe.

They stood in the quiet, the rooftop lights catching the curve of Caitlyn’s jaw, the guilt carving itself deep into Vi’s features. Zaun hummed below them, alive and distant, while everything between them felt too close, too sharp.

Vi’s gaze dropped to Caitlyn’s lips—just for a second—but it was enough to make Caitlyn’s chest tighten with a desperate, helpless longing.

Then Vi shook her head. The moment splintered. “You’re not just anyone,” she whispered hoarsely. “You’re his. You’re married.”

The way she said it was heavy with loyalty and shame, not claim. It burned.

“I don't love him.” Caitlyn whispered back.

Vi’s throat worked as she forced out the words. “It.. it doesn't matter. You're still married."

Caitlyn’s breath stuttered. She hadn’t realized how close she’d leaned into Vi until the distance between them stretched like a wound.

Vi raked a hand through her hair, restless and small. “If it were anyone else… I’d be kissing you right now.”

Caitlyn’s heart clenched painfully.

“But it’s not anyone else,” Vi went on, meeting her eyes. And in that moment, her honesty hurt more than any lie could. “It’s you. And I can’t be the one to break everything."

The ache in Caitlyn’s chest turned sharp, pressing up against the back of her ribs. She wanted to say I’m not happy. She wanted to say I didn’t choose this. But the words tangled on her tongue, choking on everything she’d buried for too long.

So she just stood there, wrapped in the silence between them, wanting her and hating herself for it.

Vi dragged in a shaky breath, like she needed the air just to keep herself from falling apart. Her hands were still braced against the railing, knuckles white, every line of her body pulled tight as if holding herself back took everything she had.

Caitlyn watched her—every shudder of breath, every muscle that tensed and refused to give. And it hurt. It hurt because she wanted to reach for her. To close the distance. To say please don’t walk away.

“Vi…” she whispered again, softer this time. It wasn’t a plea. It was a quiet ache shaped into her name.

Vi closed her eyes. The wind tugged at her hair, catching the edges of a moment they both couldn’t keep. “Don’t,” she rasped. “Don’t make this harder.”

Caitlyn’s fingers twitched at her sides, useless. “I’m not trying to.”

“Yeah, you are,” Vi said, and there was no bite in it—just exhaustion. The kind that sank into her bones. She let out a hollow laugh that cracked halfway through. “You’re looking at me like you want me to stay.”

Caitlyn’s throat tightened. Because I do.

She didn’t say it. She couldn’t.

Vi finally turned to face her, and the guilt on her face was almost unbearable. It was carved into every inch of her—etched deep like something she’d carry long after this night was gone. “I can’t do that to him,” she whispered, voice breaking at the edges. “I can’t do that to you.”

Caitlyn’s gaze searched hers, desperate and quiet. “Then what are we supposed to do?”

Vi stared at her like she didn’t have an answer. Because she didn’t.

The rooftop lights caught the shine in Caitlyn’s eyes—not quite tears, but close. Her hands hung uselessly at her sides, nails digging into her palms like pain might ground her.

Vi’s voice came low, hoarse. “We pretend this never happened.”

The words cut deeper than she expected. Caitlyn blinked, chest tightening, the air between them suddenly colder. “And can you?” she asked, barely audible. “Pretend?”

I don't want to pretend, Caitlyn thought to herself. I'm tired of pretending.

Vi flinched—not from the wind, not from the question, but from the truth inside it.

“No,” she admitted. Her voice cracked. “But I have to.”

Caitlyn’s breath hitched, a quiet sound swallowed by the night. She took half a step forward before she caught herself. And Vi saw it—the way she wanted to close the distance but didn’t.

For a heartbeat, they just stood there, suspended in a space that didn’t belong to either of them.

Vi finally tore her gaze away, shoulders shaking as she exhaled. “I’m sorry,” she whispered. It wasn’t a simple apology. It was layered—with guilt, with longing, with everything she couldn’t say.

Caitlyn wanted to scream don’t apologize for wanting me. But she only nodded, small and quiet, because if she spoke, she wasn’t sure she’d stop.

Vi stepped back first. And with every inch of distance she put between them, Caitlyn felt something inside her unravel, thread by thread.

"We should go," Vi murmured, voice hoarse. "I should bring you back."

The night carried on like nothing had happened, but the rooftop would never feel the same again. Neither would they.