Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Caitlyn sat on the edge of the bed, spine perfectly straight as she pulled her hair into a loose ponytail, fingers swift and practiced. Early sunlight filtered through the penthouse windows, brushing gold against the silk sheets and the blouse she was wearing—buttoned but still wrinkled from where it had been tossed over a chair the night before. She didn’t bother smoothing it out. She’d be home, and dressed like a functioning adult, before anyone important laid eyes on her.

Behind her, buried in white sheets and a halo of red hair, Sarah stirred with a groan.

“Seriously? You’re ghosting before breakfast now?”

Caitlyn reached for her heels, her tone flat. “I’ve never stayed for breakfast.”

Sarah rolled over and propped herself up on one elbow, unbothered and far too smug for someone who’d been thoroughly ignored all morning.

“Yeah, but usually you pretend you might. You know, ‘Oh, I have an early meeting’ or ‘My assistant double-booked me.’ Something vaguely human.”

Caitlyn smirked faintly as she stepped into her shoes. “I’ve got a couple meetings. Nothing life-changing.”

Sarah raised a brow. “So you do have somewhere to be.”

“I always have somewhere to be,” Caitlyn replied, reaching for her blazer like she was suiting up for war. “I’m just selective about where I pretend to care.”

“You’re such a romantic,” Sarah drawled.

“I’m consistent. That’s practically sentimental,” Caitlyn said, smoothing the lapel with military precision.

Sarah clicked her tongue. “You know, at some point you’re gonna have to start sleeping with people you actually like.”

Caitlyn turned her head slightly, blue eyes cold and unreadable. “I don’t have the stamina for that kind of emotional labor.”

Sarah snorted. “God, you’re such a nightmare. No wonder Violet hates you.”

The name hit like a thrown glove, subtle, but pointed. Caitlyn’s jaw twitched, just slightly.

“Violet hates everything that isn’t her own reflection.”

“Which is exactly why you’re obsessed with her,” Sarah said, grinning now like a cat who knew exactly where the mouse was hiding. “Honestly, I don’t know why you don’t just sleep with her and get it over with.”

Caitlyn turned back toward the door without answering, fingers brushing the handle.

“Oh, come on,” Sarah groaned. “You’re really going to leave me hard and pining? Rude.”

“I don’t recall you pining,” Caitlyn replied, adjusting her watch.

“I can start,” Sarah said, sitting up fully now, the sheets slipping down her bare chest with theatrical ease. Her skin was sun kissed and smooth, her breasts full and unapologetically on display, like she knew exactly what effect they had and intended to weaponize it.

Caitlyn gave her a flat look, the kind she usually reserved for terrible coffee or boardroom nonsense. “You’re exhausting.”

Her eyes flicked downward, just for a beat too long.

Sarah smirked. “And yet, here you are. Looking.”

Caitlyn paused, her eyes lingering in a way that wasn’t entirely professional. They were objectively nice. Symmetrical. Slightly freckled from too many weekends in Napa. And rising, now, with a deliberately slow inhale that was absolutely not casual.

She checked her phone. Three meetings. Forty-five minutes. She could make it, if she skipped shower and didn’t mind walking in with bed hair and the kind of smug expression that would absolutely get on Violet’s nerves.

She didn't mind.

“I’m not late,” Caitlyn said aloud, more to herself than to Sarah.

“Exactly,” Sarah said, voice syrupy. “And I’m already awake. It would be a waste not to take advantage of that.”

“You make it sound like a favor.”

“It is a favor. To you. To the economy. To anyone who has to sit in a meeting with you today. You’re less terrifying when you’re properly relaxed.”

Caitlyn exhaled slowly. “I’ll give you ten minutes.”

Sarah grinned like she’d just won something. “Make it fifteen. That’s the sweet spot.”

“Fourteen,” Caitlyn said, shrugging out of her blazer. “You don’t deserve fifteen.”

Sarah was already sinking back into the pillows, dragging the sheets out of the way with a practiced flick, completely bare and unapologetic as she stretched out and parted her legs with a slow, deliberate ease.

“You always bargain like this in bed,” she drawled, eyes half-lidded, “or am I just special?”

Caitlyn kicked off her heels and shrugged out of her blouse in one fluid motion. She was already naked beneath it, unbothered, composed.

“You talk a lot for someone whose mouth could be better occupied.”

Sarah’s laugh was low and delighted. “You’re so mean. It’s kinda hot.”

Caitlyn was already crawling back onto the bed, over Sarah, cool and deliberate, her knees bracketing Sarah’s hips as she leaned in close. “Careful. This is how people end up thinking I’m nice.”

Sarah grinned, both hands sliding down to grip Caitlyn’s ass with no shame, fingers pressing in like she owned the moment. “Please. I’ve seen you at a board meeting. There’s no risk of that.”

Caitlyn smirked, bending down until her mouth hovered just above Sarah’s.

“Good. I’d hate to ruin my reputation before 9 a.m.”

x-x-x

Violet had already spilled coffee on her third shirt.

Not the first. Not the backup. The third, and, of course, it was the one made of vintage silk she had flown in from Milan. Limited run. Now soaked and ruined like some kind of personal attack from the universe.

She stood in the middle of her penthouse kitchen, barefoot on the cold marble floors, holding her mug like it had personally betrayed her. For a moment, she just stared down at the mess with the quiet fury of someone weighing the pros and cons of setting her entire building on fire.

She didn’t. Barely.

With a long, hissed sigh, she set the mug down and padded toward her bedroom with the kind of restrained elegance only rage could fuel. Her steps were quick, efficient, and absolutely deadly. Within seconds, she was tearing through her walk-in closet like a well dressed natural disaster.

Twenty minutes. That’s how long she had before the “requested presence” meeting across town.

Some kind of initiative. Joint collaboration. “Visibility,” whatever that meant. It was one of those meetings where everyone pretended something mattered. Violet didn’t know why it required both her family’s company and the Kirammans’ to be in the same room, but she hadn’t bothered asking either. That’s what assistants were for. And if no one could give her a straight answer, well—whatever. She’d show up, look hot, and leave early.

That was her contribution.

She finally pulled on a crisp cropped button-down and an oversized navy blazer that looked like it had cost five digits, because it had. A single chunky necklace, subtle hoops, undone hair that fell in soft waves like she hadn’t spent thirty minutes yelling at it earlier. She completed the look with high-waisted trousers and tinted sunglasses she didn’t plan to take off indoors.

She checked herself in the mirror. Sharp, slightly intimidating, unbothered. Perfect.

The only thing not perfect?

She’d be in the same room as Caitlyn Kiramman.

Violet groaned dramatically and tilted her head back. “Ugh. Of course.”

Caitlyn, with her precise ponytail and immaculate blouses. With that annoyingly crisp British accent she’d somehow kept despite growing up in the exact same overpriced California zip code as Violet. Violet was pretty sure it wasn’t even real anymore.

Like, sure, Caitlyn was born in London or whatever, but who the hell holds onto an accent that perfectly unless it’s on purpose? It had to be a performance. An accessory. Something she polished every morning next to her cufflinks just to sound smarter than everyone else. Superior. Icy. Untouchable.

And Caitlyn always walked into a room like she owned it and silently judged everything inside it, including, especially, Violet.

Violet paused in front of the mirror, tilted her chin up, and slipped into her best impression, posh and clipped:

“ Violet, do try to behave like a professional for once.”

She snorted. Then added, even snobbier:

“ You’re embarrassing yourself and the firm.”

Violet adjusted her sunglasses, grabbed her phone, and muttered, “If she tries to correct my tone again today, I swear I’ll flip the entire conference table.”

The elevator in her building opened with a soft ding as she stepped in, nonchalant, checking her reflection in the mirrored walls.

She didn’t know what the meeting was about.

She didn’t care.

She just hoped Caitlyn wore something ridiculous so she could pretend not to stare.

x-x-x

Caitlyn’s car was quiet. Violet’s was chaos.

Caitlyn’s sleek black Maserati cut through the early morning traffic like it had a personal grudge against inefficiency. Her posture was perfect: hands at ten and two, chin slightly lifted, sunglasses shielding her eyes despite the fog hanging low over San Francisco. She hadn’t changed.

Same high waisted trousers. Same blouse, still slightly wrinkled from the night before. Her navy blazer draped over the passenger seat, half-folded over a discarded pair of heels. There was a red mark near her collarbone she hadn’t noticed until she was already backing out of Sarah’s driveway.

She hadn't gone home. There hadn’t been time.

But she still looked… composed. Crisp enough that no one would guess. Or maybe they would. Violet would.

She pressed harder on the gas.

She didn’t care.

She absolutely cared.

Across town, Violet’s Aston Martin roared as she took a left on a yellow that was really more of a red.

The volume in her car was just short of deafening, music blasting, AC on full blast, windows halfway down because she liked the drama of it. Her hair was a mess, whipped around by the wind, and she hadn’t actually eaten, unless three sips of coffee and wearing the rest of it counted. Three spills. Three shirts. A personal record. Her assistant had already texted twice..

She ignored it.

One hand on the wheel, the other tossing her sunglasses onto the dash, Violet didn’t even pretend to check the speed limit. She was already five minutes behind and somehow didn’t care. Her lip gloss was smudged. She was blasting Arctic Monkeys. The GPS kept trying to redirect her onto something “faster,” but she ignored it in favor of cutting through streets she grew up flying down in her dad’s old convertible.

A notification buzzed on her phone.

[Dad]

Don't forget the meeting’s at the Kiramman building.

Try to behave.

Sent by her father. Immediately ignored.

“She still has that stupid accent, right?” Violet muttered to no one. “Like she didn’t go to middle school here. It’s fake. It’s all fake.”

She revved the engine harder than necessary. “Whatever. If she starts something, I’ll finish it.”

Caitlyn turned onto Market Street, one hand resting lightly on the wheel, the other adjusting her hair in the mirror. Her blouse was now open just enough to hint at recklessness. The mark on her collarbone peeked out, faint and fading.

She didn’t cover it.

If Violet noticed, so be it.

Let her wonder.

x-x-x

Violet pulled into the underground garage of the Kiramman building with the grace of someone who had definitely gotten a few speeding tickets and never once regretted it. Her Aston Martin slid into the reserved spot like it had done it a hundred times before. It probably had.

She killed the engine, tossed her gum wrapper into the passenger seat, and reached for her sunglasses again, purely for the effect, not the sun.

Then she saw it.

That sleek, polished black Maserati easing down the ramp two rows over.

Of course.

Caitlyn Kiramman. Right on cue.

Violet leaned back in her seat, grinning. “Perfect timing, Your Majesty.”

The Maserati came to a smooth, deliberate stop: polished, quiet, obnoxiously perfect. Violet didn’t move. Just watched.

She stayed leaned back in the driver’s seat of her Aston Martin, lip gloss freshly reapplied, sunglasses perched low on her nose, her entire body radiating wait-for-it energy.

Then Caitlyn stepped out.

Same tailored trousers. Same silk blouse. Navy blue, crisp collar, slightly undone at the top.

Violet’s eyes narrowed.

She recognized that outfit, not because Caitlyn wore it often (she didn’t), but because she’d seen it the night before. On Instagram. A rooftop bar, golden hour lighting, Caitlyn’s glass raised in a toast and that infuriating little smirk on her face. That exact blouse. That exact angle. Violet had watched the story. Pretended she hadn’t. Swiped past like it didn’t matter.

But now here it was. Tangible proof.

Caitlyn hadn’t gone home.

She’d come straight from some sleek, overpriced night out to this godforsaken meeting like it was just another item on her calendar. Still composed. Still perfect. Still smug.

Violet finally opened her car door.

The sound cracked through the underground garage, sharp against concrete. Caitlyn’s head turned immediately, like she’d been waiting for her.

Of course she had.

Their eyes met.

Violet stepped out with deliberate ease, stretching like a cat wrapped in couture. Caitlyn didn’t flinch. She simply locked her car, turned to face her fully, and let Violet take in the whole picture, immaculate blouse, sharp heels, flawless skin.

And then Violet saw it.

Right above Caitlyn’s collar.

Faint. Pink. Unmistakable.

A mark.

Violet’s smile stayed intact, cool as ever, but something in her stomach twisted tight. Unexpected. Unwelcome. Messy, she thought.

She didn’t expect messy from Caitlyn.

And she hated how much she suddenly wanted to know exactly who had left it there.

Outside the elevator, their assistants were already stationed—each one a perfect reflection of the chaos they were paid to manage.

Lux, Caitlyn’s assistant, stood poised in a dove-grey pantsuit that looked like it had been steamed three seconds ago. Her tablet was clutched neatly in both hands, brows furrowed with calm urgency. Not a hair out of place in her sleek bun, but her foot tapped once, precise, sharp—on the polished floor.

“Miss Kiramman,” she said the instant Caitlyn stepped out, “just so you’re aware, your schedule for the rest of the morning has been cleared. Everything’s been canceled by upper management.”

Caitlyn arched an eyebrow, already bracing. “My parents.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Lux confirmed. “I wasn’t given a reason.”

Caitlyn exhaled, long and controlled. “Of course not.”

Lux hesitated, then glanced quickly at Caitlyn’s collarbone before speaking again. “Also... I have concealer in my bag. If you want it.”

Caitlyn paused, blinking. “What?”

“The, um—mark,” Lux said delicately, gesturing toward her own neck with two fingers like it was a military signal. “Just in case.”

Caitlyn gave the faintest shake of her head. “No. Leave it.”

Behind her, Sett let out a low whistle, all casual swagger in a half-wrinkled charcoal jacket and scuffed boots that looked expensive only if you knew the brand. A thick silver chain rested just above his collarbone, catching the light.

“Damn, Kiramman,” he said, grin lazy. “Didn’t have you pegged as the ‘souvenir’ type.”

As Violet stepped into the elevator, and Sett casually handed her a cold brew without looking up from his phone.

“You’re late, dude” he muttered.

“I already had coffee,” she replied, grabbing it anyway.

“Yeah, and that one was cursed. This one’s got cinnamon.”

“I told you to stop talking before noon,” Violet shot back, sipping it anyway.

“I thought we agreed on eleven thirty.”

Across from them, Lux gave a single, pointed look to both women, the kind of look perfected by assistants, kindergarten teachers, and women who had built their entire personality around doing other people’s jobs better.

“You’re both late,” she said flatly, though her eyes lingered a beat longer on Caitlyn, who stood like she'd arrived precisely when she meant to.

Caitlyn didn’t flinch. “Noted,” she said, cool as ever.

Lux turned on her heel, tablet in hand, and led the way down the executive corridor with brisk, purposeful strides. Her heels echoed sharply against the marble—precise, unbothered, deadly.

Caitlyn and Violet followed side by side, keeping just far enough behind to talk without being overhead. Sett trailed them, thumbs tapping at his phone, fully checked out.

The hallway was oppressively quiet—the kind of silence that buzzed in Violet’s ears.

She shifted half a step out of sync with Caitlyn, just for the satisfaction of it. “This feels like a trap.”

Caitlyn didn’t look at her. “Everything with our parents is a setup.”

Violet tilted her head. “Think they finally found a way to sell us off?”

“If they had, it would've come with a press release and matching outfits.”

A beat passed.

Violet gave a small, humorless chuckle. “Still time for that.”

Caitlyn let out a soft breath. “If this ends with some kind of joint campaign or corporate ambassador crap, I’m walking.”

“No you won’t.”

“Try me.”

Another silence stretched between them as the frosted doors to the boardroom came into view. The tension between them didn’t break, it just got quieter. Sharper. The kind that wrapped around your ribs and made it hard to breathe too deeply.

Behind the glass, four silhouettes waited.All four sat in a single, unified line. 

Felicia Lanes sat like she was filming a political ad, back straight, pearls at her throat, every gesture deliberate and refined. She didn’t fidget. She didn’t blink. Her hands were folded in her lap like she was preparing to judge a national debate.

Beside her, Vander leaned back slightly in his chair, rings flashing on his fingers, expression unreadable. He looked like he always did before delivering bad news: calm, quiet, slightly amused in a way that made Violet’s stomach twist.

Tobias sat with his usual military-grade posture, jaw clenched tight, one hand resting over a leather portfolio. Beside him, Cassandra looked effortlessly composed, legs crossed, tablet balanced on one knee, eyes fixed on the door like she’d calculated their arrival to the second and was now silently deducting points.

Lux stopped at the door, turned with mechanical precision, and gave a small nod. “They’re ready for you.”

Neither Caitlyn nor Violet moved.

Violet tilted her head toward her, voice low. “Any clue what this is about?”

Caitlyn looked at the doors, then back at her. “If it were a merger, they’d be smiling. If it were a scandal, there’d be lawyers.”

“So...?”

“Something worse,” Caitlyn muttered. “Family involvement.”

The double doors opened with a quiet whoosh of air-conditioning and high expectations.

Violet stepped in first, her boots clicking a little too confidently across the polished floor, just shy of defiant. Caitlyn followed, posture impeccable, every step measured. She looked like control incarnate. Just… maybe not here.

“Girls,” Felicia said smoothly, offering a cool nod. “Finally.”

“Morning,” Tobias added without looking up, flipping through something on his tablet like this was just another board meeting.

Vander offered a brief chin lift to Violet. “You’re late.”

Violet slid into the chair across from him without a care. “Good to see you too, Dad.”

Caitlyn hesitated for half a second before taking her seat beside Violet, straight-backed and composed. She could feel Cassandra’s eyes on her before she even looked.

And sure enough, there it was.

That flicker of disapproval.

Not spoken. Not written across her face. Just present. Lingering.

Caitlyn’s blouse was still the same one from last night, crisp but slightly lived-in, collar open just enough for that faint mark on her skin to remain visible.

Cassandra’s gaze caught on it for a second. Then moved on.

No comment. No quiet “pull your collar up, darling.” No pursed lips or passive-aggressive sigh. Nothing.

That was worse.

Caitlyn felt her pulse tighten.

S he always says something.

About her posture. Her tone. The shade of her lipstick. Something.

The silence was deliberate. Which meant: Cassandra had already made her judgment. And chose not to share it.

Which meant: it was bad.

Violet, either oblivious or intentionally playing dumb, leaned back in her chair with a long stretch and muttered:

“Someone want to tell us why this feels like an ambush, or are we supposed to guess?”

Felicia folded her hands neatly in her lap. “We’ll get to that.”

Caitlyn didn’t move, didn’t blink. But under the table, her fingers curled ever so slightly against the fabric of her trousers, reflexive. Quiet tension she didn’t want anyone to see.

Caitlyn and Violet sat side by side at the long glass table, just close enough to feel each other's tension but not enough to acknowledge it. Neither slouched. Neither spoke. The silence from their parents wasn’t the disappointed kind, they were used to that. This was something heavier. Controlled. Strategic.

Something was coming.

Vander leaned forward first, folding his hands on the table, voice calm and low. “Our families have known each other a long time. ”

Violet arched an eyebrow. “Bit of a stretch. I’d say we tolerated each other with mild disdain.”

Caitlyn didn’t look at her, but added dryly, “More like longtime... business-adjacent.”

Vander didn’t take the bait. “Still. History matters. What we’ve built matters. There’s been a foundation of trust between our families—business or otherwise.”

Next to him, Felicia nodded once, lips pressed in approval.

Then Cassandra stepped in, her voice as clipped and polished as her wardrobe.

“There’s always been a natural alignment between our companies. Shared goals. Mutual investment in Hextech development.”

Caitlyn kept her expression even, though her stomach dropped slightly at the phrase shared goals. That wasn’t something her mother said lightly.

Cassandra continued, her tone still measured, but her eyes sharper now. “But recently, there’s been... movement. Shifts in the market. A drop in capital.”

She paused.

“And not just ours.”

Tobias finally looked up from his tablet, silent but focused.

Violet sat straighter, eyes narrowing. “You’re saying the company’s in trouble?”

Felicia answered this time. “Not in trouble. Not yet. But vulnerable.”

“And you brought us in here for... what, a pep talk?” Violet asked, voice edged with suspicion.

Caitlyn didn’t speak, but she could feel it building—whatever this was, it had nothing to do with a briefing.

Her mother didn’t clear schedules for pep talks.

Something bigger was coming.

And judging by the way Cassandra was watching them, both of them, like chess pieces she was about to move across the board, it wasn’t going to be good.

Caitlyn had barely shifted in her seat when Tobias finally spoke, voice firm and to the point.

“We’ve spoken with legal on both sides.”

Violet immediately sat up straighter, eyes narrowing.

Caitlyn’s fingers curled around the edge of the table.

Tobias continued, “And after extensive review, we’ve come to the conclusion that the most strategic and financially sustainable course of action… is a merger.”

A long, heavy pause settled over the room.

Violet blinked. “A what?”

Felicia folded her hands neatly. “A merger. Between the two companies. Joint leadership. Shared control. Combined resources.”

Caitlyn’s voice was flat. “You’re serious.”

“As ever,” Cassandra said calmly.

“That’s a terrible idea,” Caitlyn said, immediate and sharp. “We don’t run the same way. Our teams don’t work together. Our R&D philosophies don’t even align.”

“We’re not compatible,” Violet added, eyebrows raised. “Like, at all.”

“Not professionally,” Caitlyn said quickly, eyes still locked on her mother.

Vander leaned back slightly. “The numbers say otherwise.”

“This isn’t just about numbers!,” Caitlyn snapped. “You know that.”

“And yet,” Tobias said, “the numbers are part of it. The merger would stabilize both companies and put us ahead of current market projections.”

Violet looked between them slowly, suspicion creeping into her expression. “Wait. Why are we here for this?”

Silence. 

“You already have your boards, your legal teams. You could’ve done this without us.”

Felicia and Cassandra exchanged a glance. It was subtle, but Caitlyn caught it.

Her stomach dropped.

“There’s more,” she said quietly, eyes narrowing. “Isn’t there?”

The silence that followed was answer enough. It was Cassandra who broke it, her voice calm, practiced, and utterly devoid of room for argument.

“I think it’s important,” she began, folding her hands in her lap, “to understand where this company came from.”

She looked at Caitlyn, not soft, not sentimental. Just precise.

“Your grandfather founded Kiramman Technologies in Cambridge. He was brilliant. Paranoid. Visionary. And obsessed with control. When I took over, I moved the company to California. To Silicon Valley. Because I understood what he didn’t. The future wasn’t in old university halls anymore. It was here. In this city. In this world.”

Violet tilted her head. “And here I thought it was because of the weather.”

Cassandra ignored her.

“But even with the move,” she continued, “one thing remained unchanged. His clause.”

Caitlyn frowned. “What clause?”

Tobias spoke next, flipping a page in the file in front of him.

“A restriction embedded into the company charter. Quiet. Ironclad. No executive leadership—no CEO, no high-level director, no major voting authority—can be given to someone outside of the Kiramman family.”

Felicia added gently, “Which means Vander and I… can’t step in, even as temporary board chairs or joint executives for the merger.”

Violet blinked. “Wait, so because of one dead guy’s control issues, the merger’s blocked?”

“Yes,” Cassandra said simply.

Caitlyn’s brow furrowed. “Okay. And?”, she leaned forward, tone sharper now. “What’s the solution then? Because I know you didn’t drag us into this boardroom just for a history lesson.”

There was a pause.

A beat too long.

Everyone in the room looked at each other—Felicia to Cassandra, Tobias to Vander.

No one spoke right away.

That was all the answer Caitlyn needed to feel the knot in her stomach tighten.

She sat back slowly, eyes narrowing.

Violet looked at her. Just once.

Neither of them said anything.

But they both knew: something personal was coming.

And neither of them was going to like it.

Caitlyn's eyes were locked on her mother, fingers steepled lightly in front of her lips. Violet, arms crossed, had leaned back into her chair with her usual don’t-give-a-damn posture, except her foot was tapping, barely audible under the table. She didn’t even realize it.

Cassandra exhaled softly. Then delivered it with the same tone she used for boardroom strategy and quarterly projections.

“There is one way the families can legally merge,” Cassandra said smoothly. “One workaround that makes the clause irrelevant.”

Caitlyn’s brow lifted. Violet took a sip of her sparkling water, still half-suspicious, half-bored.

“If the two of you were married.”

Dead silence.

Then—

Pfft.

Violet choked on her drink mid-sip, coughing as she covered her mouth with the back of her hand. A fizzy spray of Perrier hit the table.

Caitlyn blinked once. Then actually laughed. Sharp, short, disbelieving.

“I’m sorry—what?” Caitlyn said sharply, glancing between her parents like she’d misheard them, which was the only explanation her brain was currently willing to accept.

Violet was wheezing now, half-laughing, half-choking on water. “That’s good. Wow. For a second I thought you were being serious.”

“We are,” Felicia said simply.

The laughter died instantly.

Caitlyn’s eyes narrowed. “Wait. No. You’re not actually suggesting—”

“It’s not a suggestion,” Tobias interrupted, voice clipped. “It’s an option. A strategic one.”

“An insane one,” Caitlyn snapped.

“A legally valid one,” Cassandra added.

Violet stared at them, open-mouthed. “You’re serious?”

“Marriage, as defined by state and federal law, would qualify Violet as part of the Kiramman family,” Cassandra explained, as if she were walking them through a spreadsheet. “Which would, in turn, allow the Lanes to hold executive authority as well. With that in place, the merger could move forward as planned.”

“Are you listening to yourselves?” Caitlyn asked, her voice rising. “You’re suggesting we get married for a business deal. Married!”

“A temporary arrangement,” Vander offered with a slight shrug. “Purely symbolic. Legal. Nothing romantic.”

“Oh, well thank God,” Violet muttered. “Wouldn’t want this to get weird.”

Caitlyn looked to her mother again. “You planned this. You canceled my morning. You brought her here.”

“We brought both of you here,” Cassandra corrected. “Because you’re both part of this legacy, whether you like it or not.”

Violet leaned back in her chair, letting out a dry laugh. “So that’s the big solution? Force the two of us to play house for the cameras while you cash in on a merger?”

“No one’s forcing anything,” Felicia said, gently but firmly. “You both have a choice.”

Caitlyn scoffed. “Do we?”

The room went quiet again.

Too quiet.

And suddenly, the absurdity didn’t feel so funny anymore.

Violet was the first to speak again, her voice flat and a little too calm, always a bad sign.

“And what if we say no?”

She didn’t look at anyone in particular. Just leaned back, swirling what was left of her sparkling water like it was something stronger.

Vander answered before anyone else could.

“Then both companies bleed out over the next year. Slowly. Quietly. Stock drops, board members jump ship, competitors swallow what’s left.”

He shrugged, tone casual, almost like he was talking about the weather.

“You’ll be fine for a while. I mean, the trust funds will hold, sure. But not forever.”

He looked directly at Violet now.

“And eventually, yeah, you’d run out. No more custom cars. No more five-figure jackets. No more hotel suites just to take a nap between parties.”

Violet’s jaw tightened.

“You’re joking.”

“I’m not,” Vander said, voice low and honest. “This isn’t posturing, Vi. This is math.”

She glanced at Caitlyn, who for once didn’t have a ready comeback. Her face was pale, still processing.

Cassandra spoke again, voice clipped and elegant. “This isn’t about punishment. It’s about survival. Both companies need this. And the only way it works—legally—is through family.”

“Which you want us to become,” Caitlyn said quietly, the word family tasting like something bitter.

“Exactly,” Cassandra replied.

Violet stared at the center of the table, the silence stretching.

Then she muttered, almost to herself, “You’re really asking us to fix your mess by becoming each other’s worst nightmare.”

“Just for a little while,” Vander added with a faint, humorless smile. “Think of it as... an investment.”

Caitlyn let out a short breath. “And what if it explodes?”

Felicia smiled politely. “We’re counting on you to be more mature than that.”

Violet barked a laugh. “Then you’re already screwed.”

Caitlyn sat still for a long moment, eyes trained on the edge of the table.

Then she spoke, voice low and precise. “Does it have to be public?”

Her mother didn’t even pause.

“Yes.”

Caitlyn’s jaw clenched.

Felicia nodded in agreement. “If this is going to work, it needs to look legitimate from the outside. We’re not just dealing with investors, we’re also dealing with competitors. People who would love to tear this apart before it begins.”

Vander added, “And trust us, the vultures are circling. They probably already know about the clause. If we announce a merger with a loophole, we’ll be watched from every angle.”

“So this wouldn’t just be a signature and done,” Violet said slowly, eyes narrowing. “You want a show.”

“A believable one,” Cassandra said. “Papers. Photos. Appearances. Events.”

“Dates,” Felicia added.

Violet blinked. “Dates?”

Tobias chimed in flatly, “The kind people post about. You’d need to make it look organic. Consistent. Timed. Real.”

Caitlyn turned to him slowly. “And what about living arrangements?”

“Highly recommended,” Cassandra said, without missing a beat.

“Of course it is,” Violet muttered.

Violet looked like she was halfway between laughing and punching something.

“You want us to sell a fairytale when we can’t even stand being in the same room for more than ten minutes.”

Felicia raised a brow. “That’s why it’ll be believable. No one would think you’d fake something this inconvenient.”

Caitlyn leaned back in her chair, completely still. Her voice, when it came, was barely audible.

“You’re asking us to lie to the world.”

“No,” Cassandra said. “We’re asking you to save everything your families built.”

Violet stared at the wall, suddenly quiet.

This wasn’t just fake vows.

It was all of it.

Public. Personal. Constant.

A perfectly curated fantasy... with her worst possible match.

The silence stretched, taut and uneasy.

Then Cassandra stood.

“We’ll give you two a moment to talk.”

The others followed her lead, Tobias rising without a word, Felicia offering a diplomatic nod, and Vander giving Violet a look that said try not to set anything on fire.

“We’ll be just outside,” Cassandra added. “Take your time, but not too much of it. We’re on a schedule.”

The glass doors clicked shut behind their parents with the finality of a prison gate, sealing them in with silence so dense it felt physical, like it had weight. Like it was pressing down on their lungs.

Caitlyn and Violet sat side by side at the long table like two people caught in a hostage negotiation, only in this case, both were the hostage and the negotiator, and neither was in the mood to be diplomatic.

Violet let out a slow, venom-laced laugh and leaned back in her chair, arms folded like she was trying to hold herself together by force of will alone.

“So let me get this straight. I’m being forced to marry someone I hate because your ancient, half-senile grandfather couldn’t stand the idea of anyone outside the bloodline touching a spreadsheet?”

Caitlyn didn’t flinch. “It’s not my fault he was paranoid.”

“Yeah?” Violet snapped. “Well it’s not my fault your family builds empires like Monopoly boards and acts shocked when they collapse in flames.”

Caitlyn’s jaw tightened. “Don’t act like your company didn’t play just as dirty.”

“Oh, please. We’re aggressive, not delusional.”

“No,” Caitlyn said, voice low and cutting. “You’re reckless. Big difference.”

Violet shot to her feet like she couldn’t stand sitting next to her a second longer. She started pacing, hands on her hips, as if the movement could burn off the frustration simmering beneath her skin.

“Unbelievable. I’m getting punished because your crusty ancestor had commitment issues and a God complex.”

Caitlyn crossed her arms, calm only on the surface. “If you hate this so much, then say no.”

Violet whirled around.

“And let both companies implode? Let my parents lose everything? Let you smug your way through bankruptcy like it was part of the plan?”, she let out a humorless laugh. “Not a chance.”

Caitlyn stood too now, voice rising to meet hers. “Then what do you want from me?”

“Nothing,” Violet snapped. “I want nothing from you. Especially not a fake marriage, a fake apartment, a fake life.”

“You think I want this?”

“I think you’ll make it look better,” Violet said bitterly. “You’re good at pretending. You’ve had a lifetime of practice.”

Caitlyn blinked. “That’s rich, coming from someone who’s built her entire existence on pretending to care about charity galas and being photographed in front of things she didn’t pay for.”

Violet stared at her for a moment, then shook her head, incredulous.

“You know what really kills me about this?”

Caitlyn shot back. “Only one thing?”

Violet pointed at her, almost laughing. “The fact that I’m being forced to marry someone who says schedule like it’s spelled with a fucking ‘sh.’”

Caitlyn blinked. “Excuse me?”

“The accent, Caitlyn!,” Violet snapped. “You were raised in California, for fuck's sake! Not some stone castle outside London.”

“I was born in London,” Caitlyn said coolly. “I lived there until I was six.”

Violet rolled her eyes so hard her entire head tilted.

“Yeah, and I bet you rehearse it in the mirror every morning. ‘Mum, pass the grey poupon, I need to be more insufferable today.’”

Caitlyn didn’t back down. “We’re not friends, Violet. We’re not even enemies. We’re obligations. And we’re stuck with each other.”

Violet looked away, breathing hard. “I should’ve torched that contract the moment they put it in front of me.”

“You can still walk,” Caitlyn said. “No one’s stopping you.”

“I’m not walking,” Violet muttered. “Because if I do, they lose everything. And I’m not giving you the satisfaction of watching me be the reason for that.”

Caitlyn stared at her. “So what? We just... do it?”

Violet looked back at her with a look of pure, exhausted disdain.

“We fake the wedding. We smile. We lie. We get through it.”

“And then what?”

“We pray no one notices that I hate the sound of your voice, and you’d rather marry a brick wall.”

Caitlyn gave a cold, humorless nod. “Fine.”

“Fine.”

They stared at each other for a beat longer.

Then Violet muttered, “I hope your grandfather haunts you for this.”

Caitlyn didn’t blink. “Oh, after this? He already does.”

Chapter Text

Violet had changed three times and muttered something deeply unkind about Caitlyn at least twice per outfit.

This wasn’t even a real date. It was a PR stunt in daylight — their first staged outing meant to whisper lovebirds and organic connection to the press while screaming corporate merger to the boardroom.

She yanked on a loose white button-down, half-tucked into tailored black trousers, sleeves rolled just enough to show the tattoos her PR team still pretended didn’t exist. Her hair was damp, not out of style, but sheer defiance. The kind of damp that said I don’t care enough to dry it for you, Caitlyn. Her resting expression was somewhere between fight me and actually, please don’t.

Jamming her sunglasses on and slamming the car door shut a little too hard, she muttered, “I should’ve set something on fire instead.”

The restaurant had been booked. The photographers had been briefed. The back patio had been scouted for the best angles, ones that could catch them mid-laugh, mid-touch, mid-lie.

Her family called it narrative control.

Violet called it psychological warfare.

She still had the contract printed on her nightstand, mostly out of spite. 

“Effective immediately, both parties are to conduct themselves as if in a committed, exclusive relationship for the duration of the agreement.”

“This is so fucking stupid,” she muttered.

As if Caitlyn Kiramman was her girlfriend.

As if Violet could even stand to be in the same room as her without developing a migraine.

As if Violet could sit next to her for more than ten minutes without fantasizing about driving into traffic, or worse, letting Caitlyn pick the music.

The car grumbled along like it shared her mood, annoyed, dramatic, and two seconds away from committing a felony, as she sped through the city, every traffic light flashing red like it had a personal vendetta, dragging her ever closer to Caitlyn’s obscenely tidy neighborhood.

She should’ve said no.

Taken a helicopter.

Faked a coma.

Lit something on fire just to feel alive.

Anything but this.

Because not only did she have to make a public appearance, arm-in-arm with the woman who made her want to bite glass, she had to pick her up first.

Apparently, real couples shared rides.

And groceries. And matching bathrobes. And deep-rooted emotional damage.

“Cool,” Violet muttered, switching lanes with the subtlety of a sledgehammer. “Love that for us.”

x-x-x

This was a farce.

No — an insult, really.

Caitlyn stood in front of her mirror, arms crossed, watching her own reflection like it had betrayed her simply by existing in this moment. Her phone was propped up on the vanity, Mel’s face glowing on the screen, but she wasn’t paying attention yet. She was too busy trying to wrap her head around the fact that this brunch, this fake relationship turned engagement storyline, was actually happening.

All because of a clause. A fossilized, patriarchal clause buried deep in the family bylaws, courtesy of her late grandfather — a man who had built an empire on control and paranoia, and decided no one outside the family bloodline could ever command the company. No outsiders. No exceptions.

“No individual outside the bloodline may hold executive command or ascend to majority control in the event of intergenerational transition.”

Which meant she had to stage an engagement.

Which meant, somehow, by the cruel machinery of fate, she was going to have to marry Violet Lanes.

Of all people.

Violet, with her infuriating smirk and that completely unnecessary upper-body strength. Violet, who had been a walking disruption since the day they met at age six, and immediately declared Caitlyn's lunchbox “too perfect to trust.” Violet, who had been a thorn in her side through prep school and now adulthood. Loud, unpredictable, and always leaving a trail of chaos behind her like it was a damn art form.

Caitlyn hated her.

She hated the way Violet leaned in when she argued. She hated the way she laughed like she knew something Caitlyn didn’t. She hated the way her shirts were always tight around her biceps and the way her sleeves were always rolled up like she had nothing to prove, except she absolutely did, and usually proved it by being the most annoying person in the room.

She would rather marry a spreadsheet.

She would rather dissolve the company.

She would rather, and this was saying something, move to New Jersey.

The only mildly comforting thought in all of this was the likely reality that her grandfather was currently burning in hell.

“I still think you should change,” Mel said, swirling something in a glass that Caitlyn was fairly certain wasn’t just juice.

“I’m not changing,” Caitlyn replied, straightening the collar of her blouse with precision.

“You should,” Mel insisted. “Put on something a little more... destabilizing.”

Caitlyn arched a brow. “Destabilizing.”

“Something she won’t see coming. Distract her. Knock her off rhythm. You know she spirals when she feels out of control.”

“I’m not trying to provoke her.”

Mel smirked. “You don’t have to try. You just have to show up looking like you might ruin her life in public.”

Caitlyn was silent for a beat, eyes flicking back to her reflection.

She hated that Mel had a point.

“You’re being ridiculous,” Caitlyn muttered, reaching for a different pair of earrings.

“And you,” Mel said, smug as hell, “are underestimating how many brain cells Violet loses the second you wear heels and act like you don’t care.”

“That’s a lot of assumptions.”

Mel raised her glass. “And all of them correct.”

Caitlyn didn’t respond.

But a few minutes later, she emerged from her closet wearing something new. Something intentional.

Mel’s slow, delighted grin said it all.

“Oh, that’s evil,” she whispered, in awe.

Caitlyn ended the call without another word.

Because she wasn’t going to say she was doing this to get under Violet’s skin.

Of course she wasn’t.

It was just... strategy.

And maybe a little fun.

But she’d never admit that part. Not even to herself.

x-x-x

The car purred like it shared her contempt as she turned into Caitlyn’s disgustingly perfect neighborhood, the kind of place where people jog at 6 a.m. just to feel morally superior, and every tree looked like it had a skincare routine. Even the air smelled curated. Like eucalyptus and entitlement.

Violet rolled down the window out of spite.

She hated this part of town. Too clean. Too controlled. Too Caitlyn.

Even the pavement had the audacity to be smug.

She slowed near the tall black gate she’d memorized too quickly, because of course Caitlyn lived somewhere with a gate code. Of course she did. Caitlyn Kiramman was the human embodiment of a gate code. Private. Polished. Condescending. Probably ironed her socks.

Violet tapped her fingers against the steering wheel, muttering under her breath:

“Takes ten years to open a damn gate, but not even ten seconds for her to make me want to commit arson.”

And yet—

She was already scanning the sidewalk for a glimpse of her. Long legs. Neat posture. That stupid, immaculate hair. Probably wearing something unnecessarily structured, like she was headed to court instead of lunch.

It was disgusting how well Caitlyn could wear anything.

Violet hated that.

Truly. Deeply. With her entire soul.

Not that she was thinking about it.

She wasn’t.

She adjusted her sunglasses.

The gate buzzed open like it was mocking her. She swore it moved slower just to piss her off.

She pulled up to the curb, face already locked into the kind of deadpan that said I’m only here because capitalism won, which felt mildly hypocritical, given how many times her brain had conjured Caitlyn in scenarios that would definitely not make it into a press release.

Nope. Nope nope nope. Not today. Not letting her brain finish this thought.

She honked, sharp and short.

If Caitlyn took more than thirty seconds to come out, Violet was going to peel out of this driveway and tell the PR team she got abducted by a cooler heiress. Preferably one with a motorcycle and less judgment in her cheekbones.

But before she could finish the fantasy, the front door opened.

And there she was.

Violet’s eye twitched.

Not dramatically, no romantic soundtrack, no swelling violins. Just static. Just a full-on moment of oh, no.

Because Caitlyn wasn’t in her usual courtroom-witch attire. No stiff blazer. No death-by-collar-button blouse.

No.

Today, Caitlyn had decided to be a problem.

She stepped out in a navy-blue dress — sleek, sleeveless, and cinched like it had been tailored specifically to sabotage Violet’s sanity. The fabric caught the light and skimmed her hips with Olympic-level cruelty. Her hair was pinned up in that annoyingly effortless way that made it look like she’d just twisted it back without thinking, and somehow it worked. Neck bare. Heels minimal and elegant. Sunglasses perched on her head like she didn’t even know she was about to ruin several lives.

Violet looked.

Then looked away.

Then looked again, purely for research.

God, she’s hot, her brain supplied helpfully.

Shut up, Violet replied internally.

Seriously, that neckline—

SHUT. UP.

Caitlyn reached the car and opened the passenger door with the grace of someone who'd never once tripped in public. She slid in like she belonged everywhere — including here, in Violet’s car, adjusting her dress as if this wasn’t psychological warfare in slow motion.

“Didn’t realize this was a cocktail event,” Violet said, deadpan, eyes fixed on the road.

Caitlyn glanced over, smooth as ever. “It’s lunch. In Sausalito. I dressed accordingly.”

“For a date with someone you loathe?”

“For photos,” Caitlyn corrected, voice infuriatingly calm. “You might’ve heard of them. Cameras. Publicity. Contracts.”

“I dress like someone who has a soul,” Violet muttered, shifting into gear.

“And yet you still look like a bouncer at an indie dive bar.”

Violet revved the engine, just to be petty.

“And you’re late by the way,” Caitlyn added. 

“You’re overdressed.”

“You’re wearing combat boots.”

“They’re vintage.”

“They’re muddy.”

Violet finally turned to glare at her. “At least I don’t look like I tried that hard.”

Caitlyn hummed, entirely unbothered. “You’re just mad I look better in navy.”

Violet scoffed. “You look like a walking prenup.”

“And you,” Caitlyn said with a sugar-sweet smile, “look like the before photo in a shampoo commercial.”

They were halfway across the bridge when silence finally crept in. Not peaceful. Just heavy. Full of static and tension and the kind of mutual awareness that made Violet shift in her seat more than once.

And every time she did, she’d glance at Caitlyn.

It wasn’t on purpose. Not really. Just a flick of her eyes, like checking for a storm in the corner of her vision.

Caitlyn noticed. Of course she did.

And she liked it.

She liked how Violet kept looking, pretending she wasn’t, but absolutely doing it. She liked the tension it created, the way Violet’s fingers tightened around the steering wheel when Caitlyn adjusted the hem of her dress or crossed her legs again without looking over.

“I still can’t believe I have to pretend I’m in love with someone who once tried to get me banned from senior week,” Violet said, drumming her fingers against the steering wheel.

“You brought fireworks to the library,” Caitlyn replied, not even looking up from adjusting her sunglasses.

“They were sparklers,” Violet shot back, indignant.

“They set off the sprinkler system.”

Violet grinned, unapologetic. “Totally worth it.”

Caitlyn shook her head, the corner of her mouth twitching, almost fond, if you ignored the barely veiled homicidal energy in her eyes.

“Still amazed you weren’t expelled.”

“Still amazed you have emotions.”

“Oh, I do,” Caitlyn said. “They just don’t apply to people who once superglued my locker shut.”

Violet gasped, dramatically, theatrically. “You knew that was me?”

“Everyone knew it was you, Violet. You used glitter glue and signed it ‘suck it, princess.’ In cursive.”

Violet laughed under her breath, half proud, half nostalgic. “Honestly? No regrets.”

“You know,” Caitlyn said, checking her lipstick in the visor mirror, “it’s kind of sad how much of your personality is still based on things you did in high school.”

Violet scoffed. “Bold talk for someone who peaked at prom.”

Caitlyn turned, eyebrow raised. “I did not peak at prom.”

“Oh no?” Violet smirked. “Whole senior class voted us prom royalty just to watch us slow dance in mutual misery. That wasn’t your personal Everest?”

Caitlyn exhaled slowly. “God, I hated that dress.”

“I hated the crown,” Violet muttered. “Kept slipping. Symbolic.”

Caitlyn leaned back in the seat with a sigh. “They made us slow dance to Taylor Swift.”

“‘You Belong With Me,’” Violet said flatly. “Pretty sure someone in the back cried from laughing.”

“We didn’t say a single word the whole time.”

“No,” Violet said, glancing at her. “But you stepped on my foot three times.”

“I was aiming,” Caitlyn said, not missing a beat.

Violet huffed a dry laugh. “Yeah. I figured.”

Silence settled again, heavier this time. Not the comfortable kind — the charged, humming kind that made the air feel too full, like one of them might snap if the other breathed wrong.

Then, without looking at her, Caitlyn said quietly, “Just… remember to smile when we get there.”

Violet snorted. “Sure. I’ll think about murder and grin through it.”

“No swearing in front of the cameras.”

“I’ll bleep myself.”

“And don’t roll your eyes if I touch your hand.”

“Touch me and I might bite you.”

Caitlyn let out a faint exhale that was almost a laugh. Almost.

“Fake affection, Violet. It’s not that hard.”

“You are,” Violet muttered.

Caitlyn crossed her legs slowly, not even bothering to hide the amused tilt of her mouth.

“Then stop staring.”

Violet didn’t answer.

Mostly because she’d been staring. And she really hated that Caitlyn noticed.

Caitlyn, for her part, kept her gaze fixed on the road ahead, jaw tight, expression carefully composed. This whole thing was absurd. A farce. Just another line item in a long list of obligations she hadn’t agreed to, exactly. Just signed for in silence, because that’s what you did when your name came with legacy clauses and board seats.

She hated this. The pretending. The performance. The way it was so carefully constructed to look real, but never fooled her for a second. She'd always known it was fake. And yet, sometimes, that was the worst part: how convincing the illusion could be, even when you never believed in it.

And Violet didn’t help.

Because of course Violet had shown up with her shirt half-tucked and her sleeves rolled, tattoos on full display like she was daring someone to say something. The muscles in her arms flexed subtly as she shifted gears, and Caitlyn noticed, unwillingly, uninvitedly. But her eyes had flicked there anyway.

Not that she’d ever admit it. Not that it meant anything.

It didn’t.

This was just a job.

And Violet was just… irritating.

Irritating and unfortunately attractive in the kind of way that made Caitlyn feel like she needed a cold shower and a legal loophole.

She looked out the window, jaw set.

“Almost there,” she said, more to herself than anyone.

And Violet, thankfully, stayed quiet.

For once.

x-x-x

The restaurant was tucked along the Sausalito waterfront, all white umbrellas and overpriced oysters, the kind of place where rich people performed casual like it was an Olympic event. Violet took one look and hated it on sight.

She pulled into the valet circle, barely braking before muttering, “Showtime.”

Caitlyn, unbothered as ever, checked her lipstick in the visor mirror. “Don’t forget, left side’s my good angle.”

Violet opened her door with a scoff. “I’m choosing not to process that.”

The moment they stepped out, the flashes started, not aggressive, but just staged enough to make Violet’s skin itch. The kind of well-rehearsed ambush where the paparazzi wore designer sneakers and billed per usable shot. She pasted on a lazy, lopsided smile, the kind that could pass for flirtatious if you squinted hard enough.

Caitlyn appeared beside her, looping their arms together with the practiced ease of someone raised to shake hands at galas before she could spell her last name. Violet went rigid on instinct.

“Relax,” Caitlyn murmured, lips barely moving. “You’re holding tension like I just said I’m moving in.”

“Don’t joke about that,” Violet hissed. “I already wake up in cold sweats thinking about your throw pillows.”

“You’ve never seen my bedroom.”

“I’ve seen you. I can imagine the pillows.”

Click.

A flash caught them mid-laugh, or at least what the cameras would interpret as one. Caitlyn’s expression was refined perfection. Violet’s was a grimace with decent lighting.

The hostess greeted them by name, of course she did, and led them to a semi-private patio table, shaded by tasteful planters and just public enough to look accidental. One photographer was seated nearby with a mocktail and a lens long enough to see into their pores.

Caitlyn took her seat first, legs crossed, posture immaculate. Violet dropped into hers with the grace of someone attending a jury summons.

She snatched the wine list immediately. “Do we actually have to order food?”

“Yes,” Caitlyn said, without looking up. “You’re supposed to seem like you enjoy my presence enough to chew.”

Violet peered over the menu. “If they’d mic’d us, I’d be canceled in ten minutes.”

“Please. You’d trend.”

“Yeah,” Violet grinned. “#FreeViolet. #LetHerGo.”

Caitlyn didn’t laugh. She sipped her water like she was judging the pH balance. Graceful. Effortless. Annoying.

Violet tapped her fingers on the table. “So? What’s your little media-ready talking point today? Want me to giggle and stare at your mouth like I’m not thinking about biting it out of spite?”

“You’re supposed to hold my hand at some point,” Caitlyn said, checking her phone.

Violet’s face went flat. “Please tell me you’re kidding.”

“It was in the brief. Physical contact reads well in photos. You can choose when.”

“How generous,” Violet said. “Maybe I’ll do it while you’re mid-bite. Make it intimate and weird.”

Caitlyn set her phone down with infuriating calm. “Whatever makes it believable.”

That stung more than Violet expected. The way Caitlyn said it, so detached, like this was a board meeting instead of a table for two. Pretend to love Violet. Slotted neatly between strategic partnerships and call Mom back.

A server appeared beside them, all politeness and polished shoes.

Caitlyn didn’t even look up as she ordered. “The heirloom tomato salad. And the burrata. No pine nuts.”

Heirloom tomato salad. Violet’s eye twitched.

God forbid she just say tomato. No, it had to be heirloom, as if the tomato came with a tragic backstory and a summer home in Tuscany.

Violet scanned the wine list and asked, too sweetly, “Which one hits the hardest?”

The server blinked. Caitlyn gave her a sharp look.

“White,” she said tightly. “Mid-tier. We still have to walk out of here upright.”

Violet didn’t even look up. “Speak for yourself,” she muttered, reaching for a breadstick with aggressive intent. “I’m aiming for unstable and photogenic.”

Another flash. The photographer had shifted again, trying to catch that effortless intimacy they’d been promised. What he got instead was Caitlyn’s perfect side profile and Violet’s half-smirk that looked like it might bite someone.

Violet leaned in, dropping her voice just low enough to make it look like flirting if you didn’t know any better.

“I can literally feel your judgy aura radiating through the centerpiece.”

“That’s called discernment,” Caitlyn replied. “Something you will never understand.”

“Please,” Violet whispered, scooting closer just for show. “You’ve had a superiority complex the size of Napa since we were six. I’m surprised it fits in your tiny designer clutch.”

“Small bag. Big confidence.”

“Delusion,” Violet corrected.

Caitlyn smiled tightly for the camera. “Semantics.”

Their wine arrived. Violet took a generous sip, borderline indecent. Caitlyn didn’t break eye contact.

“Cheers to us,” she said smoothly.

Violet clinked her glass harder than necessary.

“To mutual suffering.”

The moment hung there, suspended between too much and not enough, like the world’s slowest slap fight in designer packaging.

Caitlyn sipped her wine like it was laced with judgment, gaze sharp over the rim of her glass. Violet didn’t look, but she felt it, that silent, smug little stare that said I’m watching you unravel. Like Caitlyn was waiting for her to crack under pressure, drop the act, or to ruin something. Like she was waiting for Violet to slip, to shows her hand.

Well. Joke’s on her.

Violet didn’t have a hand.

She had a Molotov cocktail and a lighter. Metaphorically. (Probably.)

x-x-x

Their food arrived just as another flash went off, subtle, staged, catching Caitlyn mid-pour and Violet mid-eyeroll, the visual equivalent of we hate this but we look incredible doing it.

Violet picked up her fork with all the enthusiasm of someone about to dissect a biology assignment. She leaned in slightly, just enough to suggest intimacy for the benefit of the nearby tables, her tone sweetly venomous.

“You should be the one talking,” she said, the corners of her mouth curved in mock flirtation. “You’re the one pretending to like me in public.”

“Oh, I don’t like you,” Caitlyn replied, slicing into her burrata with surgical precision. “I’ve just had years of practice faking enthusiasm around difficult people.”

“That I believe,” Violet said, swirling her wine. “You did have a lot of practice. In school, remember? Wasn’t there a rumor you were making out with half the honor roll behind the library?”

Caitlyn didn’t even blink. “Please. That was one semester.”

“You got banned from the language lab, Caitlyn.”

“Technically, it was a mutual decision,” she said primly. “At least I didn’t hook up with half the lacrosse team behind the science building.”

Violet shrugged, unashamed. “Yeah, well. I had range.”

“You had mono.”

“Only once. I recovered.”

“Tragically.”

They both went quiet for a beat. Not tense. Just… hovering.

Then Violet tilted her head, voice just casual enough to be dangerous.

“So, since we’re already talking about kissing and all that... the exclusivity clause. We’re actually doing it, huh?”

“It’s in the contract,” Caitlyn replied, like she was reading off a weather report.

“Yeah, I know.” Violet paused. “Just feels weird, that’s all.”

Caitlyn arched a brow.“Why? You got something lined up I should know about?”

Violet snorted. “Not lately.”

“Then what’s the problem?”

Violet shrugged, casual and calculated. “Didn’t think you’d agree so easily.”

Caitlyn raised an eyebrow. “And why’s that?”

“I don’t know,” Violet said. “You’re not exactly known for commitment, princess.”

Caitlyn nodded once, not offended. “I’ve dated.”

“Sure. For like, a week. Maybe two.”

Caitlyn shrugged. “No one’s really made me want to stay.”

That landed with more weight than either of them expected.

Violet cleared her throat. “Right. Except for the girl who left teeth marks on your neck last week.”

Caitlyn blinked, then smirked. “You’re still going on about that?”

“Kind of hard to ignore when it looked like a wolf attack.”

“Just for your information it was casual,” Caitlyn said simply, brushing invisible crumbs from her lap. “She knew what it was.”

“Right,” Violet said. “Just fun.”

“Exactly.”

Violet gave a tight smile. “Good. I’d hate to interfere with anything meaningful.”

“You’re not.”

The silence that followed wasn’t awkward, exactly. Just sharp-edged.

Violet looked down at her glass. “So. No dating. No hookups. Just us.”

“For now.”

“Right,” Violet muttered. “Mandatory celibacy. Very sexy.”

“It’s not celibacy,” Caitlyn said. “It’s exclusivity.”

Violet tilted her head. “So you’re exclusive to me.”

“Legally.”

“Well,” Violet said, raising her glass, “lucky you.”

“Truly,” Caitlyn deadpanned, clinking without hesitation. “Living the dream.”

Another flash. Violet flashed all her teeth in a smile that didn’t reach her eyes, then leaned across the table like she was about to share a secret, or start a fight.

“You know, you’re lucky I’m naturally charismatic,” she said, tone syrupy.

“You’re lucky I signed a contract,” Caitlyn replied, lifting her glass in a slow, practiced sip. “And that public decency laws prevent me from strangling you.”

“So,” she muttered, voice low, “do we even know how long we have to keep this circus going before the big engagement announcement?”

Caitlyn didn’t look up. “Soon. That’s all they said.”

Violet rolled her eyes. “Love that. Nothing like vague timelines to make forced proximity more romantic.”

“They want it to seem organic,” Caitlyn said flatly, cutting into her burrata like it had personally offended her.

“Oh, of course. Because nothing screams organic like two people contractually obligated to pretend they aren’t five minutes away from committing homicide.”

Caitlyn finally looked at her, unimpressed. “I haven’t even raised my voice.”

“Yeah, but your aura is yelling.”

Caitlyn took a long sip of her wine. “I’m saving my voice for the vows.”

Violet groaned. “Do not say vows like that. You make it sound like we’re in a Jane Austen novel.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment.”

“You shouldn’t.”

Another flash burst in the corner of Violet’s vision.

She didn’t even flinch this time, just kept her smile perfectly in place: all teeth, dimples, and that dead-eyed glint that said I’m lying through my teeth and doing it for the camera, you’re welcome.

But internally? She was one flash away from launching the burrata like a grenade.

Across the table, Caitlyn sipped her wine with the tranquil disapproval of someone surviving a board meeting she was too good for. Her posture didn’t waver, but the slight clench of her jaw and the soft, deliberate tap of her fingers against the glass betrayed her own fraying patience.

Violet, meanwhile, stabbed a fig like it had personally insulted her.

Or like it was somehow responsible for the endless clicks of the camera.

She was over it.

Over the fake laughter, the smiling through gritted teeth, the public performance of cozy romance vibes when all she really wanted to do was climb onto the table and scream.

But no. She had to keep pretending.

Pretending she wasn’t annoyed.

Pretending she wasn’t a few more “candid” shots away from setting fire to the linen napkins.

Pretending she didn’t just catch herself staring at Caitlyn’s mouth again.

“And by the way,” she muttered under her breath, voice low enough that only Caitlyn could hear, “if I hear the phrase ‘soft launch’ one more time in a meeting, I’m going to throw myself into the bay.”

“Make sure you do it in front of the press,” Caitlyn replied, eyes still on her plate. "We’ll trend for weeks. I’ll look amazing in black and pretend I’m devastated.”

“Oh, don’t tempt me,” Violet said. “I’ll write a fake breakup letter and leave it floating in a wine bottle.”

“I’ll make sure the font is on brand.”

Violet rolled her eyes. “You’re so corporate, it’s physically painful.”

“You’re so allergic to structure, I’m shocked you function.”

Another click. Another fake laugh from Violet that sounded suspiciously like a growl. She leaned in a little again, feigning affection, but her voice was all venom.

“So what happens when they announce it?” she asked. “We smile, wave, pretend I’m not mentally yeeting you into the nearest fountain?”

“I assume there will be champagne,” Caitlyn said. “Possibly fireworks. Very tasteful ones. You’ll love it.”

“Please. If there aren’t actual flames, I’m not showing up.”

Caitlyn finally looked up, meeting her eyes. “You’ll show up. You always do.”

Violet froze for half a second, something unreadable flickering in her expression, then covered it with a scoff. “Yeah. Well. I like a dramatic entrance.”

“You like drama. Full stop.”

“And you like pretending you’re above it.”

Another pause. They both took a drink, not in sync, not intentionally, but still at the same time.

Caitlyn set her glass down with a soft clink. “We should practice more about not murdering each other in public.”

“Think we’re doing great so far,” Violet said. “No one’s bleeding.”

“Yet.”

Then, a breath, something half-sighed, half-swallowed.

Caitlyn leaned back, folding her hands neatly in her lap. Her posture was perfect. Composed. But her voice had a touch of weariness when she said:

“We’re going to be insufferable by the time they actually announce it, you know that, right?”

Violet didn’t miss a beat.

“We already are,” Violet said brightly, taking a slow sip of her wine. “But hey — at least we’re not starting to like each other.”

“No,” Caitlyn said, reaching for hers. “God forbid.”

The silence that followed wasn’t friendly. Or awkward.

It just was — sharp-edged, loaded, and waiting to be broken.

Not a toast.

Not a truce.

A warning.

To themselves, more than anyone else.

x-x-x

The minute they stepped out of the restaurant, the cameras found them again.

Caitlyn slid her sunglasses on with the kind of precision that said I wake up flawless, then did what the brief suggested: reached out and looped her hand through Violet’s arm. Lightly. Formally. Professionally.

Or at least, that’s what she told herself.

Violet’s sleeves were still rolled, tattoos visible, skin warm under Caitlyn’s fingers. The muscles in her forearm shifted as she walked, casual, effortless, and Caitlyn had to remind herself not to grip too tight. Not to notice. Not to think about the fact that Violet had always been infuriatingly solid. That her skin always ran hot. That her tattoos were stupid and distracting and crawling up her arm like a dare.

This wasn’t about noticing. This was about posing.

Violet glanced sideways at her, raising a brow. “Getting clingy?”

“Photographic continuity,” Caitlyn replied coolly. “Try to keep up.”

They stepped toward the curb like they didn’t hate each other, heads tilted just enough to suggest something intimate. Their shadows touched before they did.

Then Violet slowed, just slightly. She’d seen the flower stand..

She didn’t mean to slow down, but she did. The lilies were hard to miss, tucked off to the side, elegant and a little too on-the-nose.

Caitlyn felt the shift in her stride. “What?”

Violet nodded toward the stand. “You want one?”

Caitlyn blinked. “A flower?”

“A lily. Or something. For the car ride home. Or, you know. The photos.”

Caitlyn arched an eyebrow. “You think I need props?”

Violet shrugged. “Thought you liked them.”

There was a pause.

Caitlyn narrowed her eyes. “How do you know that?”

But Violet was already halfway to the stand, pulling out a crumpled wad of cash and snatching the cleanest bouquet with one hand like she was doing something completely meaningless.

“I’ve known you for twenty years,” she said, then walked back and shoved it gently toward Caitlyn’s chest like it meant nothing. “Hard not to notice a thing or two.”

Caitlyn caught the flowers on reflex. The stems were cold. The petals white and sharp-edged in the sunlight.

Her heart did something undignified.

She hated that Violet remembered. Hated that it made her feel... noticed. It wasn’t supposed to matter. She was supposed to be untouchable. She’d perfected that look. But now here she was, standing on a busy sidewalk, clutching her favorite flowers from her least favorite person like she’d been cast in a mid-tier romantic comedy against her will.

Violet, of course, was already back in position, chin lifted, sunglasses on, giving the cameras just enough jawline to fuel an romance rumor.

“It’ll play well,” Violet added, voice casual. Too casual. “Softens your whole ice queen thing.”

Caitlyn slipped the bouquet under her arm, letting it settle naturally into the crook of her elbow. “And makes you look generous.”

“Great. Everyone wins.”

Another round of flashes.

Caitlyn leaned in again, just slightly, just enough. Her hand, without thinking, found Violet’s arm a second time. The same spot. Bare skin. Steady heat.

She didn’t know why she did it.

Maybe to anchor herself.

Maybe for the shot.

Maybe because Violet was too warm and too real and too there, and Caitlyn was too aware of all of it.

Violet was steady beneath her touch, warm, alive, maddeningly real, and Caitlyn hated how aware she suddenly was of all of it.

She was also aware of the stupid thought forming in the back of her mind: this won’t be the worst photo we’ve ever taken together.

Next to her, Violet exhaled slowly through her nose.

This was supposed to be just PR, she thought. Fake flowers. Fake affection. Not… remembering her favorite.

They didn’t speak again as they walked to the car, moving in rhythm like they hadn’t spent the last hour bickering over exclusivity clauses and death threats disguised as compliments.

They didn’t need to say anything.

The silence was already doing too much.

x-x-x

The car hummed along the coastal road, windows half-down, late afternoon sun casting everything in a warm, syrupy gold. Caitlyn had taken off her sunglasses and let them rest in her lap. The lilies were still there too, nestled between her knees, cradled like she hadn’t realized she’d been holding them the entire time.

Violet had one hand on the wheel, the other lazily draped over the open window. The wind tugged at her hair, and she didn’t bother fixing it. Or maybe she liked the look, like she didn’t care, which Caitlyn knew was a lie. Violet cared. Violet cared loudly, in eye rolls and recklessness.

They hadn’t had much to drink. Just enough to take the edge off. Enough to keep their heads clear. Which, somehow, made the silence between them feel louder.

Caitlyn glanced sideways. “You drive like you’re trying to prove something.”

Violet didn’t look at her. “I am trying to prove something.”

“Oh?” Caitlyn raised a brow. “And what’s that?”

“That I can resist driving us off a cliff.”

Caitlyn let out a quiet huff of amusement, turning her gaze back to the road ahead.

“Impressive restraint.”

“I’ve grown.”

“Doubtful.”

They sat in that for a beat. Violet shifted gears, fingers tapping against the stick like it had personally offended her. Eventually, she said, “You know you don't have to hold the flowers like they’re breakable.”

Caitlyn shrugged. “Didn’t want to leave them in the back of the car.”

“You’re acting like they’re a pet.”

“They’re nice.” Caitlyn paused. “And it was a... thoughtful gesture.”

Violet snorted. “Don’t make it weird.”

“You made it weird.”

“I bought you a simple bouquet,” Violet said, eyes on the road. “You don’t need to treat it like I handed you a declaration of love.”

Caitlyn looked down at the lilies, then back out the window. “Well. It was the kindest thing you’ve ever done for me.”

Violet snorted. “The bar is subterranean.”

“You’re the one who buried it.”

They lapsed into silence again, the wind slipping through the cracked windows like it belonged more than either of them. Caitlyn adjusted the bouquet without really thinking, then added, “Still. Thanks.”

Violet blinked. “Did you just thank me?”

“I’m allowed.”

“Are you, though?”

Caitlyn shot her a side glance. “Don’t get excited. I’m just being polite.”

“Wow,” Violet said, lips twitching. “You’re getting softer by the minute.”

Caitlyn hummed. “Must be all the exposure to forced proximity.”

“Shut up,” Violet muttered, but there was no heat in it.

Another beat passed before Caitlyn added, more quietly, “Do you think this will actually work?”

Violet glanced at her. “The pretending?”

“No,” Caitlyn said. “The merger. The families. The everything.”

Violet exhaled slowly, tapping the steering wheel with her thumb. “God, I hope so.”

“Same.”

“I mean,” Violet continued, voice more thoughtful now, “if we’re gonna be paraded around like some deranged power couple from a corporate fairytale, it better be for something. Saving the companies, saving face, whatever.”

Caitlyn nodded. “It’s not like we’re doing this for fun.”

“No,” Violet said. “Fun would involve something actually nice. And fewer contracts.”

“And fewer matching statements to the press.”

“And definitely fewer brunches.”

Caitlyn let out a laugh, small and surprised, like it had escaped before she could stop it.

Violet smirked. “Was that a real laugh, Kiramman? Should I pull over? Make sure you’re not going into shock?”

“Don’t flatter yourself.”

“Too late.”

They fell quiet again, but it wasn’t as heavy this time. Something had shifted,  not quite warmth, but the edge had dulled. A temporary peace treaty forged out of shared exhaustion and too many photo ops. The kind of silence that only exists between people who’ve known each other too long to pretend otherwise.

“You do realize you’re going the wrong way,” Caitlyn said eventually, glancing out the window.

Violet didn’t look at her. “No I’m not.”

“This is not the way to my house.”

“Wow,” Violet said. “Imagine thinking there’s only one road in San Francisco.”

Caitlyn narrowed her eyes. “There is when the other one takes thirty minutes longer.”

“You done?”

“Just pointing out that this is inefficient.”

Violet exhaled sharply through her nose, a crooked smirk tugging at the corner of her mouth.

“You know, it’s incredible how you manage to sound like a GPS with a superiority complex.”

“I’m just trying to get home before next quarter’s earnings report.”

“You’re obsessed with being right.”

“I am right.”

Violet glanced at her, grin widening. “God, it must be exhausting being you.”

Caitlyn crossed her arms, bouquet still resting against her lap like it belonged there. “And yet, you’re the one taking scenic detours just to avoid being told what to do.”

Violet shrugged. “Some of us find joy in the journey.”

“Some of us have places to be.”

“You can always walk.”

Caitlyn looked at her, deadpan. “You’d miss me in five minutes.”

Violet snorted. “Oh yeah, absolutely. I’d deeply miss being bossed around by someone with a British accent she’s still obviously faking.”

Caitlyn let out an exasperated sigh and rolled her eyes. “Oh my God, you’ve brought this up a million times.”

“Because it’s real,” Violet said, gesturing vaguely. “You sound like you're starring in a BBC period drama and I know for a fact you’ve lived in California since kindergarten.”

“It’s literally how I talk.”

“You say tom-ah-to, Caitlyn. No one says that here.”

“It’s called enunciation.”

“It’s called fraud.”

Caitlyn looked out the window like she was praying for traffic. “Dear God.”

Violet grinned, triumphant. “Just admit it. You like the attention.”

“I like being understood.”

“By the Queen?”

“Oh my God, Violet,” Caitlyn muttered, dragging a hand down her face.

Violet cackled and took the next turn too quickly just to make Caitlyn brace a little harder against the door.

“See?” Violet said. “That’s what you get for questioning my driving.”

“I questioned your personality and it still tracks.”

“And yet,” Violet said, smug, “you’re still in my car. Clutching lilies. Speaking like we’re on a foggy hill in Sussex.”

Caitlyn didn’t reply.

But she was definitely fighting a smile.

And Violet definitely noticed.

But, miraculously, didn’t say anything.

Out loud, anyway.

x-x-x

Violet didn’t walk her to the door.

Of course not.

She just coasted to a stop at the curb like it was a drive-by drop-off and not the end of the weirdest fake date Caitlyn had ever survived. One arm slung lazily over the wheel, sunglasses still on like she was starring in a commercial for recklessness, mouth curled into that smug little half-smile that made Caitlyn want to commit crimes.

Caitlyn opened the door, heels clicking against the pavement as she stepped out, the bouquet of lilies still annoyingly tucked into the crook of her elbow.

She paused, leaned slightly toward the open window. “Thanks for the scenic detour,” she said, voice dry as dust.

Violet tilted her head, smirk deepening. “Anytime. I specialize in making your life inconvenient.”

Caitlyn huffed,  the kind of breath that wasn’t quite a laugh, but wasn’t not one either. “You’re alarmingly consistent.”

“Comes naturally.” She paused. “Get inside before I start feeling polite.”

Caitlyn shut the door before Violet could see the corner of her mouth twitch. She walked up the stone steps to her townhouse, back straight, pace controlled, the way she always moved when cameras might still be watching.

She didn’t turn around. She didn’t need to.

But if she had, she might’ve noticed that Violet didn’t drive off right away. That the engine idled for a second too long. That the silhouette in the front seat leaned forward, like she was watching something she wasn’t supposed to want.

Inside, everything was calm. Still. Her sanctuary of clean lines and silence.

Too silent, maybe.

She looked down. The lilies were still in her hand, white and soft and infuriatingly beautiful. Caitlyn stared at them for a second longer than necessary, as if expecting them to wither out of embarrassment.

They didn’t.

Of course they didn’t.

Because they were perfect, just like Violet knew she liked them.

She caught one of the house staff in the hallway. “Could you put these in water?” she asked, holding them out. “Nothing dramatic. Just… a vase.”

The employee nodded and took them gently from her. Caitlyn didn’t explain further.

Not that it mattered that Violet had given them to her.

It wasn’t important.

They were just flowers.

She climbed the stairs, peeled off her dress with a grace that came from years of doing everything efficiently, and stepped into the shower like she was trying to wash off a performance.

The water was hot. Scalding, even.

Good.

She closed her eyes, let the steam blur the edges of her thoughts. But they came anyway, one by one, like stray sparks. The way Violet had looked behind the wheel. The roll of her sleeves. That stupid scar near her lips. Her voice when she said “I’ve known you for twenty years,” like it meant absolutely nothing.

Like Caitlyn hadn’t felt it like a punch.

God, she was exhausting.

Unprofessional.

Infuriating.

Unreasonably attractive.

She hated that her brain was wired to catalog these things. Hated that even in the shower, surrounded by luxury tile and curated shampoo, she could still hear Violet’s voice echoing in the back of her head like a song she didn’t like but somehow knew all the words to.

By the time she stepped out, hair damp and skin flushed from the heat, her phone was buzzing on the nightstand.

[Lux] 

Your parents and Violet’s met today.

The timeline’s moved up. A lot.

Engagement announcement by next week.

Proposal in five days. Wedding in two weeks.

Board’s pushing. Market’s unstable.

They want this merger locked in now.

Caitlyn sat on the edge of the bed in her robe, reading the message three times.

Then she opened a new one.

[Caitlyn]

So… did you hear the good news?

The typing bubble appeared almost immediately.

[Violet] 

thrilled.

I’ll be practicing my kneeling posture and fake expressions

Caitlyn stared at the screen, lips twitching despite herself.

She typed back.

[Caitlyn]

You better make it dramatic.

I expect tears, champagne, and a ring with an irresponsible price tag.

[Violet] 

as you command, your grace

wouldn’t dream of disappointing you 

Caitlyn let out a sound — half scoff, half breath — and turned her phone face down on the mattress like that might stop her from checking it again.

And told herself her heart wasn’t racing.

It was just the heat from the shower.

Nothing more.

Chapter Text

By the end of the week, the internet had spoken.

They weren’t just rich. They were the rich.

The new face of West Coast wealth.

Violet Lanes and Caitlyn Kiramman — heiresses, rivals, and now, as far as the world could tell, lovers.

Or at least, that’s what it looked like from the outside.

Behind closed doors?

A signature on a binding contract.

A carefully constructed alliance, dressed in heels, highlighter, and mutual disdain.

A corporate merger disguised as romance, conceived in boardrooms, not bedrooms.

But to the everyone else?

They were a dream.

A PR fairytale crafted by expert hands: stylists, media strategists, and two ruthlessly ambitious family boards with matching visions and incompatible daughters.

The Kirammans struck first, leaking a soft-focus photo from a candlelit dinner in Malibu. Caitlyn, mid-laugh, head tilted just enough to blur the tension in her spine. Violet, wine glass in hand, looking at her with a carefully calculated gaze. Warm. Almost admiring. Almost.

The Lanes countered with a short, silent clip from a gala two days later:

Violet leaning in, her lips brushing the shell of Caitlyn’s ear. Caitlyn rolled her eyes, exasperated, and then, as if caught off guard, smiled. Barely. Briefly. But unmistakably.

It was all deliciously choreographed.

And the public?

Ate. It. Up.

x-x-x

They walked in sync only because the camera drone above them demanded it.

The California coastline stretched out like a staged dream: cliffs soft in the distance, the ocean curling against the sand in rehearsed rhythms. The late afternoon sun turned everything golden, as if trying to convince them this was something beautiful.

It wasn’t.

They were holding hands.

Technically.

Caitlyn’s grip was cool and clinical, like she was examining a particularly suspicious antique. Violet’s was tense, all sweat and forced contact, her thumb twitching every time their knuckles brushed. PR had decided this beach would be the moment. Natural light. Legacy shot, frame one: "The Day She Proposed."

It made Violet want to vomit.

“I swear,” she muttered, brushing windblown strands of hair from her face, “if I get a rash from touching you, I’m suing.”

Caitlyn didn’t even look at her. Her voice was smooth, almost bored. “If you bathed in any more perfume, we’d have to call animal control. My skull is vibrating.”

“It’s called Baccarat, actually. Not my fault your peasant DNA can’t handle top notes.”

“You’re a walking chemical spill.”

“And you’re the human version of a parking ticket."

The insults weren’t even sharp anymore. They were familiar, the same rhythm they’d always fallen into, like a language only they spoke. Hatred, but with… structure.

A gust of wind blew harder this time. Caitlyn flinched as sand hit the back of her calves.

“Ugh. Sand in my shoes.”

“Good,” Violet said flatly, eyes on the waves. “Maybe it’ll shut you up.”

She could feel the photographer on the bluff still following them. The tiny drone, humming faintly overhead, blinked red every few seconds, capturing every fake step of this fake walk toward their fake future.

But this was the plan.

Walk the beach. Hold hands. Look sun-kissed and reluctant in love.

And then Violet would kneel, and ask Caitlyn Kiramman to marry her.

Because legacy.

Because stock value.

Violet swallowed the lump in her throat. Her fingers curled tighter around Caitlyn’s. She didn’t want this. She didn’t want her. And yet, somehow, her chest still felt tight when she thought about actually saying the words out loud.

Caitlyn’s expression didn’t shift, but Violet could feel her watching. Measuring.

“You’re unusually fidgety,” Caitlyn said.

“I’m restraining myself,” Violet muttered.

“From what? Shoving me into the ocean?”

“Tempting,” Violet said. “But I like the ocean. Doesn’t deserve that.”

Violet kicked a pebble into the surf and watched it vanish beneath a lazy wave. The air was warm, the breeze just right, the kind of day she’d normally lose herself in. She liked the beach. Always had. The salt, the openness, the way the horizon made everything else feel smaller.

But not today.

Every second dragged like a weight around her ankles.

She hated the performance. Hated the camera drone overhead. Hated Caitlyn’s perfect posture and the way her sunglasses made her look like she’d already won. And most of all: she hated that she’d have to get on one knee, both metaphorically and literally, in front of the one person who made her skin crawl.

“Let’s just get this over with,” she muttered, jaw tight.

“Oh,” Caitlyn said, turning slightly, her smirk barely there, “I can’t wait to hear you try to sound sincere.”

“Hope you brought tissues,” Violet said through gritted teeth. “For when I choke on my own disgust.”

Caitlyn chuckled under her breath, low and cruel. “Charming as ever.”

And still, they kept walking.

Two silhouettes carved into a perfect sunset.

One about to fake a proposal.

The other about to fake a yes.

Violet could feel her heart thudding, not with nerves, but with sheer, boiling annoyance.

She stood just a few paces ahead of Caitlyn now, the photographer giving her a subtle thumbs up from a distance. The drone hovered like a smug insect. Everything was perfectly timed. Perfectly staged.

Thank God there wouldn’t be audio.

No trembling voices, no fake declarations of love.

Just a few silent stills to sell the illusion.

She reached into her pocket and felt the small velvet box.

It was slim, clean, understated.

She’d picked it herself, or rather, picked it for Caitlyn. Platinum band. One stone, emerald-cut. Modern but elegant. Something Caitlyn would actually wear.

And Violet hated that.

Hated knowing what Caitlyn liked.

But of course she did.

They’d known each other for twenty years. Grown up side by side, fighting over everything from horses to who got the last word.

Of course she knew. That was the worst part.

She dropped to one knee, careful to angle herself toward the camera. The sand was still warm beneath her. She adjusted her expression into something that could be read as longing or disdain, depending on who actually knew them.

Click.

Click.

The shutters went off in short bursts. A performance, captured in frames.

And then, finally, Violet opened the box.

Caitlyn’s gaze dropped. Just for a second. She took off her sunglasses with slow precision, like she hated giving Violet the satisfaction of seeing her eyes.

And then she froze.

The ring was perfect.

Clean lines. Sharp elegance. Exactly her style.

And for one miserable second, Caitlyn felt something flicker in her chest.

She despised it.

She despised Violet for knowing her well enough to get it right.

Despised herself more for liking it.

Her jaw clenched, almost imperceptibly. Her voice would’ve betrayed her, but luckily, she wasn’t speaking.

She just looked down at Violet, who looked impossibly smug even while kneeling, and thought: 

God, I hate that you know me this well.

Violet looked up at Caitlyn, who was already watching her with that insufferably calm expression, the one that said, You won’t crack me first. Her designer sandals were spotless even with sand. Her toenails matched her lipstick. Of course they did.

Smile.

Angle your chin.

Pretend this isn’t the most humiliating corporate theater on the West Coast.

Violet inhaled, then tilted her head and smiled for the cameras, all teeth, no warmth. 

“Caitlyn Kiramman,” she began, voice sweet as poison, “if I had to pick one person to legally bind myself to for the sake of optics, brand equity, and intergenerational wealth consolidation... it would still absolutely not be you.”

“But alas,” she continued, still locking eyes with Caitlyn, who hadn’t flinched, “here we are, thanks entirely to your lunatic, senile grandfather, may he rest in absolute hell.”

A beat passed. Not a twitch from Caitlyn. Just that unreadable calm that Violet had spent two decades wanting to slap or set on fire, sometimes both.

“We are honoring his wishes,” Violet went on, her voice now silky with bitterness, “a man who died two decades ago but still managed to leave behind a clause more outdated than the British Empire. Very colonial. And very dead.”

Her voice softened, feigning something like fondness, though her eyes stayed cool.

“So, Caitlyn,” Violet said, smiling like this was a fairy tale instead of a fiscal tragedy, “will you do me the absolute disservice of marrying me, so we can save our families’ crumbling empires, pretend this merger is romantic, and convince the world we chose this willingly?”

There was silence.

No applause. No cough. No ambient murmur. Just the quiet buzz of the drone overhead and the subtle click of one of the very well-paid photographers a few feet away, both sworn to secrecy, both pretending not to exist.

No wind. No comment. Just the weight of Violet’s words hanging in the air like smoke from a gun.

And behind her grin, all teeth and venom, her heart gave one humiliating thump.

Please say something snide back, she thought, pulse ticking in her throat.

Please remind me why I hate you. Please don’t look at me like that.

Because Caitlyn was staring at her with that maddening calm. Not angry. Not cold. Something worse: something unreadable.

Caitlyn sighed, not out of sentiment, but out of something colder, more calculated. Then smiled, wider this time, for the cameras watching from their tactful distance.

“Oh, Violet,” she said. “How could I say no? You’ve captured the spirit of love so beautifully. Petty insults, passive-aggression, and family coercion.”

Then, Caitlyn plucked the ring from the box, examined it under the golden light like it was something that might bite her, and slipped it onto her own finger with all the grace of someone swallowing poison. 

A perfect picture of reluctant elegance.

She pretended to hate the ring — tilted her head just so, lips pursed in distaste, as if the diamond offended her lineage — but the truth was far less dignified: she loved it. It fit perfectly. It gleamed just the way she liked, catching the sunlight like it knew exactly whose hand it belonged to.

And that, of course, made her hate it a little more.

“You know,” Caitlyn added, glancing back at Violet, “if we actually survive this arrangement, you might qualify for sainthood. Or jail.”

Violet stood and casually brushed the sand from her knee like she was wiping off Caitlyn’s entire bloodline. “If I go to prison,” she muttered, “it’ll be for pushing you into traffic. And I won’t regret it.”

They smiled.

Then, right on cue, because timing was everything in transactions like this, Violet stepped forward and wrapped her arms around Caitlyn in a picture perfect embrace, the kind choreographed by publicists and destined to live forever in glossy spreads and engagement montages.

From a distance, it looked tender.

Up close, it was war in linen.

Violet’s hold was firm, one hand resting high on Caitlyn’s back, the other angled perfectly for the cameras. Her cheek pressed just near Caitlyn’s temple, mouth close enough to deliver venom without moving her lips.

“Your perfume annoys me,” Violet whispered sweetly against Caitlyn’s ear.

It was a lie, of course.

She’d always liked it. Exactly the kind of scent that lingered longer than it should, the kind that lingered on pillowcases and collars long after Caitlyn left a room. The kind that made Violet irrationally angry with how often it made her remember.

“And you hug like a feral cat,” Caitlyn murmured back, smiling even as she tightened the hold just enough to bruise.

Another lie.

Because truthfully, Violet’s arms around her felt infuriatingly good.

There was nothing hesitant about the way she held Caitlyn — solid, grounded, like she meant it. There was heat in it. Tension. Something almost protective beneath the mockery.

She liked the way Violet held her — firm but not forced.

She liked, against all logic, the way Violet’s muscles pressed lightly against her, the heat of her skin bleeding through linen.

She liked it all too much.

x-x-x

It started with a photo.

Not a statement. Not a press release. Not even a dramatic teaser.

Just one perfectly timed photo no one believed was real: Violet, kneeling in the sand, windblown and smug, holding out a velvet ring box to Caitlyn — who stood in tailored linen, arms loosely crossed, smiling. Actually smiling. Down at her.

It looked effortless. Romantic. Almost too good to be true.

The sunset behind them was a painter’s fever dream, all golds and pinks bleeding into the waves. The ocean curled softly around them like it knew this moment would break the internet.

The caption Violet posted underneath was just three words:

“she said yes”

No one knew the smiles were fake.

In the days that followed, they appeared together at various functions: dinners, galas, photo ops, the occasional painfully curated "spontaneous" moment at a company press event. They gave a handful of interviews, always with the same carefully measured charm: not too warm, not too cold, just enough to keep the narrative alive.

And now, exactly two weeks later, the wedding was happening.

Not a spectacle. Not a headline event.

Just a rooftop, a foggy San Francisco skyline, and the kind of silence that felt curated, as if even the wind had signed an NDA.

There were not even twenty people there.

Caitlyn’s parents: polished, steeled, matching in navy. Vander, half-suffocated in a suit, half-ready to throw someone off the roof and Felicia, cool in emerald silk, sipping something clear and definitely not water.

Jayce and Mel stood together, too polished for their own good. Ekko and Jinx were pretending not to be impressed. And then, of course, Lux and Sett — the personal assistants who had orchestrated every painful detail of this event with military precision and zero patience for drama.

And two discreet photographers, hired not for art but for optics, to capture just enough intimacy to make the headlines feel earned.

Intimate by necessity, not design.

Because this wasn’t a love story. This was a deal. And deals don’t need applause, they need discretion, paperwork, and people who know how to shut up.

Violet stood near what passed for an altar, more a minimalist platform with glass edges and imported orchids, wearing a sleek black suit, everything tailored to dangerous perfection. Her white shirt was spotless. Her black bowtie sat like a snarl at her throat. And in her lapel, a single white lily. Caitlyn’s favorite.

Violet had rolled her eyes when Sett handed it over. “So on the nose it’s practically satire,” she’d muttered. But she pinned it anyway.

Now, she was pacing. Slowly, but definitely pacing.

Her fingers tapped against her leg, jaw tight, shoulders coiled with something between dread and irritation. It wasn’t nerves. Of course it wasn’t nerves.

It was Caitlyn.

Because Caitlyn was late. Not technically late — Lux had insisted everything was exactly on schedule — but Violet had been standing there for five minutes, under the too perfect lights, in front of everyone, and Caitlyn was nowhere to be seen.

She was about to grumble something cutting when the music started.

Not a traditional wedding march. Something slow, instrumental, elegant. A piano and strings arrangement that Violet didn’t recognize, probably some pretentious composition Caitlyn liked. Still, the second it began, the rooftop shifted.

Everyone turned.

And there she was.

Caitlyn stepped into view like something out of a dream Violet would never admit to having. Framed by the glass and fog and city lights, she wore an ivory gown so clean, so sharp, it looked like it had been poured onto her and then tailored by a deity.

It was minimalist, yes, but with structure and flow that made her seem untouchable. Her hair was pulled back into a classic low bun, not a strand out of place, and her makeup was devastatingly subtle: cheekbones carved, lips neutral, eyeliner precise like a scalpel.

In her hands, she held a bouquet of white lilies.

Violet stopped breathing.

No, she forgot how to. 

And for all her control, all her practiced composure, Caitlyn faltered too.

She’d been ready to walk in with her usual calm:  poised, perfect, distant. But the moment she saw Violet standing there in that suit, with that flower, with that maddening, untamable look in her eyes… something shifted.

The suit, the broad shoulders, the loose, cocky stance, the way Violet’s jaw tightened when she spotted her — it knocked the air out of Caitlyn’s lungs.

Goddamn it, she thought, throat tightening. She’s handsome.

Violet’s mouth twitched. Not quite a smile. Not quite a threat. Something dangerous. Something real.

And Caitlyn? Caitlyn nearly tripped on the next step.

She recovered fast, of course she did, but Mel caught the flicker and smirked to herself.

Caitlyn walked slowly, deliberately, gaze locked on Violet the entire time. She didn’t smile. But she didn’t need to. Her eyes said enough.

When she reached the altar, she stopped just in front of Violet. They were close enough now to feel the tension radiating off each other like static.

“You clean up,” Caitlyn murmured, voice low and sharp as always, “like someone hoping I’ll be impressed.”

Violet tilted her head, letting her eyes drag slowly down Caitlyn’s figure and back up again. “You look like a very rich hallucination.”

Behind them, Mel cleared her throat. Jinx elbowed Ekko. Sett was already typing something into his phone. 

The officiant, a composed older woman in a slate-gray suit and tortoiseshell glasses, cleared her throat with calm authority. Lux had handpicked her after three interviews, four background checks, and a promise of complete confidentiality.

"Good evening," she began, her voice even, practiced, the tone of someone who had seen every type of couple, and still wasn’t quite sure what to make of this one.

"We are gathered here today to witness and honor the union of Violet and Caitlyn," she continued, pausing just a second too long between the names. "This ceremony, though private, is no less meaningful, a commitment made in front of those who matter most."

Caitlyn’s parents didn’t move.

Vander crossed his arms.

Felicia sipped her drink.

"Marriage is, at its core, a promise," the officiant went on. "Not of perfection, but of presence. Not of perfection, but of presence. Not of ease, but of endurance. A union of two lives. Two minds. And in this case… two very strong wills.”

Ekko snorted.

Still, Violet didn’t take her eyes off Caitlyn. Nor did Caitlyn blink.

"And so," the officiant added with a small smile, "we begin."

The vows were… not quite romantic.

Violet went first, of course. No script. No rehearsal. Just Violet being Violet, voice rough with sarcasm and something tightly buried underneath.

“I promise to tolerate your superiority complex, your calendar invites, and your condescending tone,” she said, looking Caitlyn dead in the eye, “as long as you promise to stay out of my personal space. Physically. Emotionally. Logistically.”

Caitlyn didn’t miss a beat. “I vow to survive your wardrobe choices, your reckless spending, and your need to emotionally provoke everyone within a five-mile radius.”

Felicia hummed into her glass. Ekko whispered, “Best wedding ever.” Jinx laughed.

The officiant blinked. “Well… that’s certainly memorable.”

Then came the rings.

Just a pair of simple, beautiful bands — platinum, polished, perfectly understated. Selected by Lux after three mood boards and a thirty-minute presentation.

Violet took one. Caitlyn the other.

They turned toward each other in practiced silence, eyes locked, expressions unreadable.

Violet moved first, taking Caitlyn’s hand with deliberate care. Her fingers brushed over Caitlyn’s, skin on skin, warm, brief, electric, as she slid the ring into place. No hesitation.

Caitlyn followed, just as calm, just as measured. She took Violet’s hand, steadier than it had been a moment ago, and eased the second ring onto her finger.

Their fingers lingered. Just barely.

Not enough to be noticed.

But enough to be felt.

“And now,” the officiant said, with a dry little smile, “by the power vested in me by the state of California, and the contracts binding you far more securely than love ever could…”

Scattered laughter.

“You may now kiss the bride.”

Silence.

A pause.

One beat. Two.

Neither moved.

Violet arched an eyebrow. “We really doing this?”

Caitlyn’s voice was barely a whisper. “You tell me.”

And Violet didn’t hesitate this time.

She stepped forward, took Caitlyn’s waist in both hands, and pulled her in. Not sharply. Not with fire.

At first, it was gentle.

A tentative brush of lips. Careful. Measured. Almost polite. As if neither of them quite believed this was happening.

Caitlyn inhaled quietly, her lips parting in surprise at the gentleness. Her lashes fluttered, but she didn’t pull away. And Violet, impossibly, leaned in closer, tilting her head and pressing in again, firmer this time.

Something inside her snapped.

She’s really here. This is real. I’m kissing Caitlyn Kiramman in front of my mother and the goddamn skyline. And I can’t stop. Why can't I stop? 

So she didn’t.

Violet’s hands slid lower, securing Caitlyn’s waist with steadier purpose. She shifted her stance and, with one smooth, deliberate motion, tilted Caitlyn backward, supporting her in a dip straight out of a rom-com, like some deranged fairytale version of them.

There was a collective intake of breath from the tiny audience.

Jinx whispered “Holy shit.”

Caitlyn made a surprised sound, halfway between a gasp and a laugh she bit back at the last second, and clutched Violet’s lapel tighter, fingers fisting the fabric.

And then she kissed her back.

No longer gentle.

God, Caitlyn thought as their mouths met again, deeper, messier. She’s so warm. Why is she always so warm. Why does this feel—

She didn’t finish the thought.

Because Violet kissed her like she was trying to leave a mark. Like this wasn’t a show. Like there was no audience at all. Her hands were strong but steady, and her mouth, once teasing, was now demanding, not desperate, but anchored. Present.

This doesn’t mean anything, Caitlyn told herself.

They didn’t just kiss. They collided. Slowly, beautifully, then all at once.

It was a kiss of contradictions. Careful and chaotic. Performed and personal.

They broke apart with a sharp inhale.

Flushed. Staring. Shaken

Breathing like they’d just run a sprint and finished in a tie.

Violet’s hands were still on Caitlyn’s waist. Caitlyn’s fingers were still bunched into Violet’s suit, like if she let go, she might punch her instead.

The silence that followed was loaded.

The soft fog. The clink of a glass. The cameras shutters. 

Neither spoke. Neither smiled. They just stood there, trying not to show how badly they were shaking from it.

Then, like nothing had happened, they took one step apart.

The officiant cleared her throat delicately.

“Congratulations. You’re married.”

They turned toward the guests with carefully blank expressions.

Violet’s hand found Caitlyn’s again. Maybe out of obligation.

But Caitlyn’s thumb still brushed across her knuckles.

And Violet hated that it made her feel something.

“This is insane,” she muttered, eyes forward.

Caitlyn didn’t turn to her, but her voice came out clipped and cool.

“You proposed, darling.”

x-x-x

The rooftop was starting to empty.

The last of the champagne glasses clinked in the background. Someone laughed, Jinx, probably, still trying to convince Ekko to steal one of the orchids. The fog had thickened, blurring the skyline into soft grays and distant lights, as if the city itself was pretending not to eavesdrop.

But Caitlyn and Violet hadn’t moved.

They stood near the edge of the platform, not touching, not speaking, surrounded by the delicate stillness of something enormous that had just happened, and couldn’t be undone. At least, for now. 

Between them, the air still held the ghost of the kiss. A softness that shouldn’t have been there. A heat that lingered in Violet’s chest, infuriatingly persistent.

She didn’t look at Caitlyn. She didn’t have to.

She knew Caitlyn wasn’t looking at her either.

“I guess that’s it,” Violet said finally, voice too casual.

“That’s marriage,” Caitlyn replied, clipped. “A government endorsed merger with slightly better lighting.”

Violet huffed a dry laugh. “You really know how to make a girl feel special.”

“You proposed.”

“And you kissed me back.”

That made them both look at each other. 

For a moment, the world went still. No clever remarks, no forced laughs. Just the weight of it, suddenly too real between them. In Violet’s eyes, something flickered, not quite regret, but not far from it. Caitlyn’s gaze was harder to read, but her silence said enough.

What did we do?

What the hell did we just do?

We actually married each other.

Neither spoke the thought, but it pulsed between them like a second heartbeat. The absurdity, the inevitability, the finality of it.

They were married.

This wasn’t some slow burn romance or inevitable fate.

It was strategy.

It was survival.

It was a decision made with gritted teeth, signed under pressure, sealed by obligation, and kissed like a dare neither of them wanted to lose.

And now it was real. Irrevocable. Binding in every sense that mattered.

And neither of them could stand it.

They both looked away at the same time.

And that’s when the elevator dinged.

It wasn’t discreet.

A loud, pristine chime, the kind designed not to ask for attention but to seize it. The doors slid open with the theatrical timing of a curtain rise, and the entire mood of the rooftop shifted in an instant.

Out came the legal teams.

Two full battalions, one for each empire. Precision cut suits, glossy leather folders, glowing tablets already lined with clauses, timestamps, and digital signatures. No one looked at the skyline. No one admired the view. They hadn’t come for the romance. They’d come to finish the deal.

And just behind them came the parents.

The ones who had vanished almost the moment the ceremony ended, as if watching it had been enough, and involvement beyond that was beneath them.

Tobias and Cassandra Kiramman, poised and formal. Tobias adjusted his cufflinks as if that was the only part of this evening he could control. Cassandra smiled in that razor-sharp way she did, the one that looked warm to outsiders and terrifying to anyone who knew better.

Vander followed, heavy with quiet authority. He didn’t speak, but the nod he gave Violet held weight: not quite approval, not quite sympathy. Just acknowledgment.

Felicia came beside him, calm and composed. Impeccable as always. She didn’t say a word either, but her eyes flicked between Caitlyn and Violet, calculating. Not judgmental. Strategic. Like a stock analyst watching a volatile merger in real time.

“Ms. Kiramman,” one lawyer greeted, nodding at Caitlyn.

“Mrs. Kiramman,” another said to Violet, with the enthusiasm of a printer error message.

Violet blinked. “That's me. Hate that.”

“You’ll adjust,” Cassandra said smoothly, stepping forward. “Thank you both for doing what needed to be done.”

Tobias followed with the practiced warmth of someone who’d been coached on empathy.

“Whatever your feelings are, this mattered. You did the right thing. You’ve protected two legacies tonight.”

Vander gave a grunt that might have been agreement. Or warning.

Felicia offered something softer, but no less calculated: “You’re both braver than you look.”

A long table had been arranged at the far end of the rooftop, sterile and expensive. Glass walls behind it. Clean lines. Neutral lighting. A battlefield disguised as modern minimalism.

Atop it sat twin folders — embossed with dual crests: Kiramman & Lanes.

Pens lined up. Glaases of still water. No champagne. No music. Just business.

“Let’s begin,” one of the senior attorneys said. “We’ll start with the first phase of the merger, joint asset disclosure and board redistribution.”

Caitlyn turned to Violet, professional mask snapping into place. “You’ll receive access to the Kiramman strategic portfolio effective tomorrow.”

“Do I get a monogrammed pen?”

“No. But you’ll be held liable for six subsidiaries.”

Violet sighed. “You really know how to show a girl a good time.”

They walked toward the table, not quite in sync, but tethered now by obligation. Not touching. Not close. Just enough.

Still, Violet felt the weight of the ring on her finger like it meant something. Not love, but consequence. Like the ghost of Caitlyn’s hand was still wrapped around hers, steady and cold.

They sat.

Folders opened.

Contracts slid forward.

Pens clicked.

And just like that, the empire began to merge.

Page after page. Signature after signature. Inked promises. Legal fictions. The future rewritten in legalese while the fog rolled in over the city, soft and indifferent.

By the time the final document was closed, the city was drenched in fog and the rooftop was quieter than it had been all night. Somewhere below, car horns and life went on, blissfully unaware that two empires had just become one, sealed not with champagne, but with mutual disdain and a disturbingly effective legal team.

The merger was complete.

Kiramman–Lanes Holdings was born. Violet, once the wild card of the Lanes Group, was now officially and irrevocably tied to the Kiramman empire. Strategically. Financially. And, to her growing horror, matrimonially.

Caitlyn leaned back in her chair like someone who had just outmaneuvered a hostile takeover. Violet, meanwhile, rested her forehead dramatically on the table for a moment before straightening and exhaling the kind of sigh that belonged in theater.

“So,” she said dryly, “does anyone else feel the romance in the air? Or is that just the toner from the contracts?”

And then, like a final curse, the parents spoke.

“As part of the post merger PR strategy,” Cassandra began, her voice as crisp as the paper they’d just signed, “you’ll be taking a short honeymoon together.”

Violet blinked. “Come again?”

“It’s been arranged,” Tobias said. “You leave tonight. Three nights. Lake Tahoe.”

“Absolutely not,” Caitlyn said immediately.

“Absolutely yes,” Cassandra replied, with the terrifying calm of someone who didn’t accept objections, only results.

“For optics,” Felicia explained. “We need footage. Testimonials. Something that resembles affection. Joy, if possible.”

“You’ll be isolated,” Tobias continued. “No press, just our own photographer for internal use. It will look authentic, but not staged.”

“So… staged, but with feelings,” Violet deadpanned. “Fantastic.”

“And after that,” Felicia added, almost too casually, “you’ll move into the Pacific Heights property together. Full-time.”

There was a pause.

A moment of stunned silence, like both women had been slapped by the same invisible hand.

Violet turned her head, slow as death, toward Caitlyn. “Did she say together?”

Caitlyn didn’t respond. Possibly because she was mentally calculating the odds of faking her own death.

Tobias, oblivious or pretending to be, added, “The house is well balanced. Six bedrooms. Two home offices. Separate closets.”

“And one shared kitchen,” Felicia said, voice smooth as cream. “Cohabitation photographs better than separate residences. It looks authentic.”

Caitlyn’s blink was a silent scream. “Is this psychological warfare?”

“It’s branding,” Cassandra corrected. “Which is much worse.”

“The property was stocked earlier today,” one of the lawyers interjected, flipping through a tablet. “Personal items have been arranged according to prior surveys and preference sheets submitted by your respective teams. The space should be livable immediately.”

Violet’s eyes narrowed. “You unpacked my things?”

“You don’t even fold your clothes,” Caitlyn muttered.

“And you don’t own a candle that doesn’t smell like mild condescension.”

“You’re projecting.”

“You’re infuriating.”

“You’re loud.”

“You’re dramatic.”

“You exist like it’s a power move.”

“You breathe like you’re judging people.”

Around them, the legal teams had begun silently packing up, folders snapped shut, pens returned to cases, tablets tucked under arms. It was a well rehearsed exit: clinical, quiet, and faster than legally necessary.

Felicia was already halfway to the elevator, speaking into her phone like this entire scene was white noise. Vander followed behind with the energy of a man who knew better than to get involved.

Cassandra turned for one final word, her tone cool and composed. “We’ll be in touch.”

Tobias adjusted his cuffs and gave them a glance that tried for fatherly and landed somewhere between polite disappointment and thinly veiled threat.

“Try not to embarrass us.”

The rooftop cleared fast after that, people scattering like actors at the end of a particularly uncomfortable final act.

Except for Lux and Sett.

Their assistants stood near the exit, tablets in hand, exuding the calm of people who had planned for every possible catastrophe, including this one.

A sleek black car idled just outside the building exit. Trunk closed. Engine humming. The kind of car that came with chilled water bottles and emotional detachment.

Caitlyn and Violet?

Still standing there.

Still scowling.

Still undeniably, irrevocably married.

Violet broke the silence first. “Okay. Not to sound ungrateful or anything, but how exactly are we supposed to get to this corporate honeymoon from hell?”

Caitlyn folded her arms. “Yes. Are we walking to Lake Tahoe, or does someone get sacrificed to summon the chariot?”

Sett didn’t blink. “There’s a car waiting downstairs. It will take you to the jet.”

Lux checked her watch. “Jet’s prepped. The cabin’s stocked. Pillows fluffed. You’re about an hour behind schedule, but we accounted for the post-vow meltdown.”

Violet stared. “Wait — what do you mean, car? Jet? What—?”

“Your bags are already packed,” Lux added, flipping a page on her tablet. “Your essentials, your preferences, and your attitude, apparently. All included.”

“We handled everything,” Sett said, like it was obvious. “You’re welcome.”

Violet blinked. Slowly. Dangerously.

“You packed for me?” she asked, voice flat. “Without even telling me?”

Sett shrugged. “You’ve got an entire closet the size of a gallery. We grabbed what looked expensive and vaguely like your vibe.”

Violet narrowed her eyes. “Every outfit in there is curated. They mean things, Sett.”

“Yeah, well,” he said, deadpan, “a few of them definitely screamed ‘white collar crime but make it fashion.’”

Violet narrowed her eyes. “You were in my apartment?”

“I sent someone. I would never risk my life personally.”

Caitlyn turned to Lux, arms crossed. “And you did the same for me?”

“I triple checked your skincare and color coded your chargers,” Lux said without missing a beat. “You’ll survive.”

Violet threw her hands up. “Unbelievable. I’ve been infiltrated.”

“You’ve been managed,” Sett corrected.

Lux tapped something on her tablet and closed it with a crisp click.

“Your driver’s waiting at the curb. He’s under strict orders to ignore everything you say unless it involves a medical emergency.”

Sett adjusted his blazer. “Good luck surviving each other. Don’t text.”

Lux gave them both a nod. “We’ll see you Monday. Probably.”

And with that, the two assistants turned and walked away, calm, coordinated, and deeply relieved to be out of range.

Caitlyn and Violet stood alone again.

Neither spoke.

For a long moment, they just stood there, facing the glowing skyline, the decorated  rooftop, the last sliver of whatever normal life had been before they signed their names on those contracts.

The weight of what they'd done finally settled. 

A deal sealed.

A future choreographed.

A silence, not quite shared, but felt.

Finally, Caitlyn broke the stillness. “We should go.”

Violet didn’t look at her. “Yeah.”

They walked toward the elevator, together, reluctantly, inevitably. The rooftop behind them faded into the fog like a bad decision in a beautiful setting.

The elevator doors opened. Inside, it was quiet, sterile, lit with the kind of cold lighting that made even billionaires look tired. They stepped in without speaking, standing on opposite sides like strangers trapped in a very expensive mistake.

The doors slid shut.

Floor by floor, they descended, in silence, except for the soft hum of machinery and the quiet weight of everything left unsaid.

On floor twelve, Violet sighed. “I can’t believe my honeymoon is with you.”

Caitlyn didn’t look over. “Believe me, the feeling’s mutual.”

Violet smirked. “I pictured beaches. Cocktails. Maybe someone who doesn’t correct my posture.”

“I imagined silence” Caitlyn replied flatly. “Instead, I got you.”

“Sounds like a dream.”

“No. Sounds like Lake Tahoe.”

Chapter Text

The cabin door clicked shut behind them, locking in the silence, not the comforting kind, but the kind that felt like it had teeth. Outside, the moon hung over Lake Tahoe like it had been filtered for Instagram, casting silver light over the water. Inside, the fireplace crackled like it had a contract, rose petals trailed across the floor like someone had art directed a proposal scene, and soft jazz oozed from hidden speakers labeled Honeymoon Essentials, Vol. 1.

Violet froze in the entryway, one hand still on the doorknob, her eyes scanning the interior with all the warmth of someone entering a crime scene.

“Jesus Christ,” she muttered. “Did they copy this straight from a Pinterest board called Love Prison?”

Caitlyn, already a few steps ahead, didn’t bother turning as she rolled her caramel leather TUMI suitcase toward the bedroom.

“I think I just developed an allergy to rose petals,”she said flatly.

“It’s mortifying,” Violet shot back. “Some poor soul had to scatter these while imagining us frolicking. I hope they were paid in hazard pay and regret.”

Caitlyn exhaled through her nose, surveying the soft lighting, flickering candles, and the aggressively heart-shaped everything. “I feel like I’m being waterboarded with scented romance.”

Naturally, she was dressed like the CEO of casual detachment: black high-waisted jeans, navy cashmere turtleneck, and ankle boots too pristine to have touched real dirt. Her platinum wedding band caught the firelight as she tucked a strand of hair behind her ear — the only clue she was even slightly drained after a day of fake vows, forced smiles, and six hours of clenching her jaw for diplomacy.

Violet didn’t look any more thrilled to be there. White fitted tee under a dark green wool coat, designer jeans, no jewelry, except for the new platinum band that sat cold and unwanted on her left hand like a branding mark.

They’d changed on the jet in complete silence. Caitlyn had taken the front bathroom, Violet the back. Her ivory dress, structured, elegant, suffocating, now hung beside Violet’s wedding suit, all sharp lines and strong tailoring. Both outfits were zipped into garment bags like evidence. Taking them off had felt less like getting comfortable and more like admitting defeat.

Now they were here.

Still married.

Still annoyed.

And, unfortunately, still breathing the same air.

They reached the bedroom at the same time. And stopped.

There it was.

One bed.

Massive. Centered beneath a rustic chandelier like the jewel of the disappointment crown. Pristine white linens. Pillows piled high like a snow-capped mountain. Rose petals on the duvet, artfully arranged into the shape of a heart. A bottle of chilled champagne sat on the nightstand next to two crystal flutes. The effect was nauseating.

Caitlyn blinked. Once.

“No,” she said flatly. “Absolutely not. I’m not sharing a bed with you.”

Violet let out a humorless laugh, dropping her monogrammed Louis Vuitton duffel with an audible thunk.

“Oh, please. I wouldn’t dream of it. You’d probably disintegrate if I rolled within three feet of your spine.”

“I just value comfort and personal space.”

“You value control and high thread counts.”

Caitlyn crossed her arms, eyes narrowing slightly. “You’re sleeping on the couch, then?”

Violet gave her a mock salute and flopped dramatically onto the designer sofa in the corner of the room. “Already there, Captain Ice Queen. Consider yourself spared from the horrors of physical proximity.”

Caitlyn raised an eyebrow, unimpressed. “Don’t call me that.”

“Sorry, Mrs. Ice Queen,” Violet said, kicking her feet up on the armrest. “Forgot we’re married now.”

“I’m going to ignore that.”

“Perfect. Maybe if you ignore it hard enough, the marriage will annul itself.”

Caitlyn turned back toward her suitcase, unzipping it with sharp, deliberate precision.

“Try not to drool on that couch. It costs more than some condos.”

“Relax. I only drool when I’m deeply relaxed and emotionally fulfilled. You’re safe.”

“Clearly.”

Violet reached for one of the throw pillows on the couch and examined it. “Wow. Is this… alpaca? Jesus. Do rich people know how ridiculous they are?”

“You are rich.”

“Exactly. I speak from within the system.”

Caitlyn sighed and started folding her clothes into a drawer, each motion crisp, robotic.

“There’s an extra blanket in the linen closet.”

“Aw, you do care.”

“I just don’t want to hear you whining about hypothermia at three in the morning.”

“Caring with claws. On brand.”

Caitlyn shot her a sharp look over her shoulder. “Will you please stop talking?”

“Probably not.”

Silence fell again. Not peaceful, just familiar.

Violet stretched out, shifted a few pillows behind her back, and sighed dramatically.

“You know,” she said, eyes on the ceiling, “I was fully prepared to lie and say I had back problems just to take the bed.”

Caitlyn didn’t pause her folding. “You’ve got the spine of a sixteen year old gymnast. No one would believe you.”

Violet grinned. “So you do notice my spine.”

Caitlyn stopped mid fold.

“Just checking,” Violet added sweetly.

“You’re insufferable.”

“And you’re married to me.” She glanced down at the platinum ring on her finger, turning it slightly. It caught the firelight like it was mocking her.

She was Violet Kiramman now.

Legally, publicly, and very unfortunately.

Even her hand looked smug.

“I still can’t believe I married you,” she muttered.

“Trust me,” Caitlyn said without missing a beat, “the feeling is violently mutual.”

The silence returned, tighter now. Practiced, prickling.

Three nights.

Two rings.

One name, one bed, and twenty years of mutual loathing.

And a honeymoon suite that smelled like lavender and lies.

Caitlyn slid the drawer shut with a bit too much finality, grabbed her toiletry bag, and headed to the bathroom.

“I’m going to shower. Don’t burn the place down.”

“No promises.”

x-x-x

Caitlyn’s voice floated across the darkness, quieter now. “It’s temporary.”

Violet let out a soft breath, somewhere between a sigh and a scoff. “That’s what people say about prison too.”

The fire crackled gently in the corner. The weight of everything they weren’t saying settled between them like another blanket, heavy and unwelcome.

Outside, the wind whispered against the tall windows. Inside, the silence stretched.

“You think they’re satisfied?” Violet asked eventually, voice low.

Caitlyn didn’t need to ask who they were.

“Probably,” she said. “They got what they wanted.”

“Everything except an actual marriage,” Violet muttered.

“They never cared about that part.”

Violet stared at the ceiling, jaw tight. “Just the name. The signatures. The illusion of continuity.”

“And the headlines,” Caitlyn added. “Don’t forget those.”

Neither of them spoke for a long beat.

Then Violet said, “You didn’t want this either.”

It wasn’t a question.

Caitlyn turned her head on the pillow, though she couldn’t see Violet clearly in the dim light. “Of course I didn’t.”

“Well,” Violet murmured, “at least we’re aligned on one thing.”

“We’re aligned on a lot of things,” Caitlyn said evenly. “We just don’t like being on the same side.”

Violet let out a dry breath of a laugh. “No kidding.”

The silence that followed was different. Heavier, but not hostile. Just full.

Violet shifted, her body already regretting every cushion and corner of that overpriced, underperforming couch. She grumbled under her breath. “You really didn’t have to put a pillow out.”

Caitlyn’s voice was cool. “I didn’t do it for you. I did it so I wouldn’t have to hear you complain.”

“Well. It’s not working.”

“Noted.”

Another pause.

“You ever think about what would’ve happened if we said no?” Violet asked, softer this time.

Caitlyn didn’t answer right away. “We’d both lose everything. And our families would resent us.”

Violet nodded once in the dark. “Yeah.”

“And you’d probably be halfway to somewhere like Lisbon,” Caitlyn added. “Changing your name. Starting over.”

Violet tucked one arm under her head, eyes half lidded.

“I was gonna run off to Italy. Meet some tall, stupidly beautiful woman who’d ruin my life in the most elegant way.”

Caitlyn snorted softly. “That’s oddly specific.”

Violet smirked. “I have a type.”

She paused, then added, tone casual and just a little too pleased with herself:

“Bratty. Spoiled. The kind of girl who argues with everyone, wears sunglasses indoors, and gets everything she wants just by raising an eyebrow.”

Caitlyn didn’t move. “Sounds familiar.”

“Yeah,” Violet said, stretching out with a content sigh. “She’d haunt me. I’d thank her for it.”

“You need therapy.”

They both almost smiled.

Almost.

“Would you have come looking for me?” Violet asked suddenly, and her voice didn’t have that usual edge, just curiosity, too soft to be fully guarded.

Caitlyn was quiet for a beat too long. “No.”

Violet smirked to herself. “Liar.”

“I wouldn’t have needed to,” Caitlyn added, cooler now. “You would’ve sent a postcard just to be annoying.”

“You’re not wrong.”

“I rarely am.”

Violet rolled her eyes in the dark. “God, you’re smug.”

“It’s one of my better qualities.”

“You say that like you have better qualities.”

Caitlyn’s voice was slower now. Softer. “You don’t know everything about me.”

Violet stared at the ceiling. Her fingers grazed the ring on her finger, cool, heavy, binding.

“I know enough.”

“Maybe,” Caitlyn said softly. “But I’m not sure you ever wanted to know more.”

That shut Violet up for a long moment.

Then: “Well. We’re married now.”

Caitlyn gave a soft, humorless huff. “And that fixes everything.”

“Doesn’t fix the couch.”

“I noticed.”

“I still hate you,” Violet said, a little quieter now.

Caitlyn’s response was automatic, but not sharp. “Likewise.”

“Good.”

“Perfect.”

The fire popped softly. Caitlyn shifted under the covers.

And then, after a beat, in a voice too soft to bite:

“Goodnight, Violet.”

Violet didn’t answer right away. Her eyes stayed open, fixed on the ceiling.

Then: “Night, Kiramman.”

Another long silence.

Then Violet muttered: “Your shampoo still smells expensive.”

From the bed: “Stop smelling me.”

“Stop smelling like that.”

A beat.

“You’re insufferable.”

“You married me.”

Neither of them meant most of what they said.

But neither of them took any of it back, either.

And the fire kept burning.

x-x-x

Violet’s entire body felt like it had lost a bar fight with the designer couch.

Her lower back ached, her neck cracked with every step, and her calves burned from hiking up a trail that apparently had been designed by people who hated joy. She was dressed in all-black activewear, her jacket unzipped just enough to say “cool rebel,” even though she was sweating through her shirt.

Ahead of her, Caitlyn looked irritatingly composed, like she’d just walked out of a Lululemon catalog and had never known real suffering.

“I’m just saying,” Violet muttered, breath short, “if I fall off this hill and die, please make sure the press release says I was forced into this.”

Caitlyn didn’t look back. “If you fall, I’m going to assume you did it for attention.”

Violet smirked. “And you’d be right.”

Behind them, Ezreal, the chipper photographer from hell, practically skipped along, camera clicking every few steps.

“Can we pause here?” he called out. “The lighting’s gorgeous. Maybe one of you can wrap an arm around the other?”

Caitlyn stopped. Turned slowly.

“Ezreal,” she said, calm and terrifying, “if I touch her, someone’s going to need to call legal.”

Violet leaned on her knee, wheezing. “If she touches me, someone’s going to need a mop.”

Ezreal blinked. “So... no arm wrap?”

Caitlyn turned and kept walking.

Violet dragged herself forward, muttering under her breath. “This is payback. I know it is.”

“For what?” Caitlyn asked, keeping her pace annoyingly steady.

“For winning class president. Again. Always you, always perfect.”

Caitlyn finally looked at her. “You never really wanted it.”

Violet huffed. “I wanted to beat you.”

“You ran a campaign with glitter glue and a playlist.”

“It was curated!”

“You handed out friendship bracelets.”

“They were themed.”

The trail narrowed. For one brief, beautiful moment, both women considered murder.

If Caitlyn pushed Violet just slightly, the fall would look accidental. The rocks were uneven. No jury would question it.

And Violet? She was eyeing a patch of loose gravel behind Caitlyn’s left boot with a dangerous kind of curiosity.

If she slipped right now… just slipped… no one could prove I didn’t warn her.

Caitlyn kept walking.

Violet sighed.

Behind them, Ezreal called out again. “Quick candid? Just you two looking out at the lake? Something reflective, like you’re thinking about your future together!”

“I am,” Caitlyn said over her shoulder. “It’s short.”

“Very short,” Violet echoed. “Possibly ending right here.”

Ezreal laughed, uncertain. He wasn’t sure if they were joking.

They weren’t.

But they stopped anyway, posed at the edge of the ridge, both staring at the same stunning view of Lake Tahoe, the kind of view you were supposed to share with someone you loved.

And for a second, Violet didn’t say anything.

Which was rare.

Caitlyn noticed.

“You’re quiet,” she said.

Violet shrugged. “Just thinking how easy it would be to disappear into this place.”

“Tempting,” Caitlyn replied.

They didn’t look at each other. Just stood side by side, two silhouettes pretending to be in harmony while calculating which one would snap first.

Click.

Ezreal took the shot. Called it perfect.

Neither of them corrected him.

By the time they reached the clearing at the top of the trail, both were breathing harder than they’d admit, though Caitlyn still looked like she’d done it out of spite, and Violet looked like she’d done it out of caffeine and contractual obligation.

Waiting beneath a white canopy tent was a Pinterest board masquerading as intimacy: a curated picnic on a vintage woven blanket, low wooden table, faux candles flickering, champagne in an ice bucket, a cheese board too symmetrical to trust, cloth napkins embroidered with their joined monogram.

Violet stopped walking.

“Oh for the love of—”

Caitlyn, to her credit, didn’t even blink. “I’m going to assume Ezreal set this up while we were arguing about middle school.”

From somewhere behind a tree, Ezreal popped into view with a cheerful wave and his ever-present camera. “Perfect timing, you two! Isn’t this adorable?”

“It’s something,” Caitlyn said.

“Who eats brie at altitude?” Violet muttered, eyeing the spread like it might bite her.

The setup was almost offensively romantic. Cushions on either side. Two tall glasses. Chocolate-covered strawberries placed in a deliberate heart shape on a plate Violet would absolutely break if left unsupervised.

Caitlyn sat down with the stiff grace of someone trying not to wrinkle a thousand-dollar pair of leggings. She picked up a strawberry, examined it like it might be ticking.

“You’re really gonna eat that?” Violet asked.

“Why wouldn’t I?”

Violet shrugged, still standing, arms crossed. “I don’t know. Maybe because this whole thing looks like a poisoner’s wet dream. Fancy location. Photographic evidence. Public sympathy.”

“If I were going to murder you,” Caitlyn said calmly, “I’d do it somewhere less picturesque. And less documented.”

“Aw. Romantic,” Violet muttered, finally lowering herself onto the cushion across from her.

She still didn’t touch the food.

Caitlyn noticed.

“Waiting to see if I keel over?”

“Obviously.”

Caitlyn wiped her mouth with the embroidered napkin. “Disappointed?”

“Mildly”, Violet finally grabbed a piece of bread. 

Ezreal’s voice rang out again: “Could you both toast with the champagne? Maybe lean in—?”

“No,” they said in unison.

And then, with grim synchronization, they clinked glasses anyway.

For the photo.

For the contract.

For the slow, shared descent into corporate matrimony hell.

They sipped without looking at each other. No smiles. No warmth. Just two people honoring a contract written in platinum and passive aggression.

Ezreal, thrilled, wandered off to photograph trees or his delusions.

For a moment, they were alone.

Violet leaned back on one arm, letting the breeze play with her hair. Caitlyn didn’t mean to look. She really didn’t.

But she did.

There was something about Violet in daylight. The contrast of her dark lashes against the sharpness of her cheekbones. Her mouth, full, soft, always curled like she was seconds away from laughing at someone. Strong arms. Scarred knuckles. That easy posture like she didn’t care who was watching.

Handsome, Caitlyn thought before she could stop herself. Not pretty. Not cute. Handsome in a way that was rooted, unapologetic. Real.

She looked away sharply and reached for a strawberry, even though she wasn’t hungry.

Across the blanket, Violet was doing her best not to stare at Caitlyn’s profile.

There was a quiet elegance to her, polished without trying. Her jawline was almost too perfect, sharp enough to suggest she rarely let herself relax. But her mouth was slightly parted now, and the blush from the hike still lingered high on her cheekbones. Her throat moved when she swallowed the champagne, and Violet’s eyes followed the motion without meaning to.

She looked like a porcelain doll someone had dared to bring into the wild.

Too clean to be real, Violet thought, and still somehow magnetic.

She blinked hard and picked up a slice of pear, chewing it like it had personally offended her.

“Stop looking at me like that,” Caitlyn said quietly, without looking up.

“I wasn’t,” Violet lied.

“You were,” Caitlyn said, glancing at her now, not smug, not accusing. Just certain.

Violet shrugged, but her face was warm. “Well. You’ve got strawberry in your teeth, so.”

Caitlyn dabbed her napkin with more force than necessary.

Silence fell again. But it wasn’t empty. It was full of all the things they weren’t saying. Full of the glances they kept catching by accident. Full of questions that neither of them had the energy, or the permission, to ask.

They sat there like that for a while. Still. Watching the lake.

Trying not to admit that the person they were legally tied to — fake ring, fake vows, fake smiles — was, in the most inconvenient and deeply annoying way...

Kind of stunning.

“You remember that summer our parents made us go to that leadership retreat?” Violet asked suddenly.

Caitlyn exhaled softly. “The one with the fake ropes course and the trust falls?”

Violet laughed — low and real. “You dropped me.”

“You were supposed to fall backward and trust me.”

“I did trust you.”

“You shouldn’t have,” Caitlyn said, almost smiling. “I warned you not to close your eyes.”

“I scraped my elbow. Still have the scar.”

“I remember. You wore those bandages like fashion statements.”

“Because they were,” Violet said, feigning offense. “Wounded rebel aesthetic. Extremely marketable.”

Caitlyn looked over, lips twitching. “You were insufferable.”

“And you were uptight,” Violet replied, gently. “Still are.”

The silence that followed was gentler. A truce in disguise.

Then Caitlyn said, voice quiet, “You were always good at getting people to like you.”

Violet glanced at her, a little surprised. “Is that a compliment?”

“It’s just… true.” Caitlyn looked down at her glass. “You never had to try the way I did.”

Violet was quiet for a second, then said, “Yeah, but you were the one everyone respected.”

Caitlyn’s eyes flicked up. “That’s not the same.”

“I know.”

They sat with that. Let it settle.

Violet leaned back again, hands behind her head. “Weird, isn’t it? All the years of being pushed into the same rooms, the same schools, the same competitions… and now this.”

“A picnic,” Caitlyn said flatly.

“A marriage,” Violet corrected, with a sigh.

They both stared up at the canopy tent above them, where light filtered through the fabric in patches. A squirrel darted across the edge of the clearing. Somewhere, Ezreal muttered something to his tripod.

“I used to think I hated you because you were perfect,” Violet said, tone quiet and strange.

Caitlyn didn’t respond immediately. She was watching the wind move through Violet’s hair, how it curled around her jaw, softened her face.

“I used to think I hated you because you made everything look easy,” Caitlyn said. “Even when it wasn’t.”

Violet didn’t say anything to that. Just nodded once. Like she knew exactly what Caitlyn meant.

And maybe, in that moment, she did.

x-x-x

The fireplace crackled low, casting a soft, flickering glow over the polished wood floors of the cabin. Outside, the pine trees swayed under a crisp Lake Tahoe night, wind rustling against the windows like something half-forgotten trying to get in.

Inside, it was still.

Too still.

The photos were done. Dozens of outfit changes. Artificial smiles. Carefully arranged hand placements and laugh-on-cue chemistry. A full day of pretending not to be tired. Or annoyed. Or themselves.

Now, everything had been stripped away.

Violet had scrubbed off the last of it — the setting spray, the champagne-glossed lips, the carefully tousled hair. She wore a dark gray hoodie, sleeves shoved up, hem hanging loose over cotton shorts that barely brushed her thighs. Her ring still caught the firelight when she moved, though she kept forgetting it was there until it clinked against her glass of water.

Caitlyn appeared with a blanket folded under one arm and a pillow under the other.

“I already told you,” Violet said, half-lounging on the arm of the couch. “I’m fine with the furniture as-is. Let me suffer in peace.”

Caitlyn didn’t answer. Just moved with that same irritating efficiency, shaking out the blanket, laying it across the couch, tucking in the edge like she was prepping for a five-star guest. Same as the night before.

When she finished, she set the pillow down at one end and stood back, smoothing the fabric like she hadn’t just made a bed out of pride and stubbornness.

Violet watched her, chewing lightly on the inside of her cheek.

“Are you always like this?” she asked after a beat. “Neat to the point of cruelty?”

Caitlyn turned, lifting an eyebrow. “You slept diagonally last night and kicked the coffee table in your sleep. It rattled until three a.m.”

“I dreamt I was fighting fire.”

Caitlyn didn’t smile, but something in her gaze softened, just for a second.

They stood in the half-light, neither sitting. Neither speaking.

“You didn’t have to do that,” Violet said quietly, nodding toward the couch.

“I know,” Caitlyn replied. “But it doesn’t mean I won’t.”

Violet’s eyes dropped to the pillow. Then back to Caitlyn.

There was something different about the quiet tonight. Not tension. Not resignation. Just stillness. The kind that settled when there was nothing left to perform.

“Thanks,” Violet said, eventually.

Caitlyn nodded once, not smug, not cold. Just... calm.

Violet sat down with a quiet exhale, shifting under the blanket. “It’s still a terrible couch.”

“I’ll let the interior designer know,” Caitlyn murmured, heading back toward the bed.

The firelight followed her as she moved, silk pajama set catching a muted shimmer, collar loose, sleeves pushed up. Her bare feet barely made a sound across the floor.

Violet watched her go, just a second too long.

She didn’t know what the hell this marriage was.

But tonight, for the first time, it didn’t feel totally like a trap.

It felt like a question she didn’t know how to answer yet.

And maybe that was enough.

Violet fell asleep faster than Caitlyn expected.

Within minutes of settling into the corner of the couch, curled around the pillow Caitlyn had placed, her breathing had evened out, slow, steady. The kind of sleep that only came when your body had simply run out of options.

She hadn’t complained, not once.

Not about the couch. Not about the photos. Not even about the dull ache that had followed her all day like an old bruise resurfacing. Caitlyn had noticed her wince once or twice on the trail, the way she favored her left leg, how her shoulders rolled a little tighter than usual. And then she’d watched, silently, as Violet reached into her bag after dinner and swallowed a single painkiller with water. No comments. No fanfare.

Just… handled it.

Caitlyn lay in bed, eyes open, watching the soft line of light from the fireplace stretch across the ceiling. Her room — their room — smelled faintly of lavender and woodsmoke, with just the ghost of Violet’s shampoo still hanging in the air. Something clean and herbal. Unassuming. Not like perfume. Just... her.

It wasn’t the smell that kept her awake.

It was the weight of something she couldn’t name. The day had been long, the kind of long that sank into your joints, but Caitlyn’s mind wouldn’t settle. Not while Violet was just there, asleep on a sofa that wasn’t meant to be slept on.

She could hear the faint, uneven breaths of someone truly exhausted. Not restless. Not pretending. Just out.

And for some reason, that made Caitlyn’s throat feel tight.

She thought about the way Violet hadn’t fought her when she laid out the blanket. About how she didn’t really argue when Caitlyn handed her the pillow. About the way her hand had lingered, briefly, over the ring on her finger before she turned away from the light.

It would’ve been easy for Violet to be cruel. To make it a scene. She always had the tools.

But tonight, she didn’t use them.

She just… let herself rest.

And now Caitlyn couldn’t.

She shifted under the duvet, turning to face the couch. Violet was barely a silhouette in the low light, half-swallowed by blankets, red hair slipping across her cheek.

Caitlyn stared at the shape of her in the dark.

Tough. Uncomplicated. Complicated as hell. Handsome.

It wasn’t romantic. Not exactly.

But it wasn’t indifferent, either.

She finally started to drift, her breath slowing, her thoughts softening at the edges.

The duvet was warm, the silence deep. Even the fire had faded to a gentle glow, pulsing low behind the grate. Caitlyn’s muscles began to unclench, inch by inch, and for the first time since the ceremony, she felt something close to sleep pulling at her.

And then—

A sudden, unmistakable sound broke through the stillness.

A low, uneven snore.

Caitlyn’s eyes flew open.

She blinked at the ceiling.

Waited.

There it was again.

Short, snuffling. Then longer. The unmistakable rhythm of someone unconscious, unapologetically loud, and dead to the world.

She turned her head slowly toward the couch.

Violet was out cold, one arm flung over her head, blanket tangled around her legs like she'd fought it and lost. Her mouth was slightly open, producing a sound that could only be described as a slow motorbike trying to start on a cold morning.

Caitlyn exhaled through her nose. “You absolute menace.”

She rolled onto her back, flung an arm across her eyes, and tried to will herself into ignoring it.

But then Violet twitched.

Once.

Then again.

Then her entire leg kicked out like she was being startled by a ghost only she could see.

Caitlyn lifted her head, squinting into the dark. Violet’s knee jerked again, this time tapping against the edge of the coffee table with a thunk.

“Oh for—”

Another snore. A louder one. Followed by a full-body shiver and what could only be described as a violent, one-sided sleep duel against an invisible enemy.

Caitlyn squinted through the dark. Hair mussed. Mouth set in a line of righteous disbelief.

“Unbelievable. She’s possessed.”

Violet mumbled something incoherent and kicked the blanket clean off.

From her bed, Caitlyn watched the whole thing and sighed. She didn’t move to help, just kept watching with the kind of tired, knowing look only someone who’s known you since childhood can give.

Then, half to herself, she muttered:

“Married a damn tractor with night terrors.”

Violet snored in response.

Caitlyn flopped back onto her pillow, staring at the ceiling with the empty expression of a woman fully aware that she wasn’t sleeping tonight.

“Only three days,” she whispered. “Three. Days.”

Then Violet kicked the coffee table again.

Hard.

She pushed the duvet off and swung her legs over the edge, staring at Violet’s unconscious sprawl with a look of exhausted judgment.

"Violet," she said softly, almost kindly. "Violet, wake up."

No response. Just another snore, followed by what sounded suspiciously like a murmured curse into the throw pillow.

With a weary shake of her head, Caitlyn stood and walked toward the sofa, each step echoing the quiet resignation of someone who knew this was going to take more than one try.

Caitlyn crouched a little closer, voice calm but already tight at the edges.

"Violet. You're vibrating like a haunted chair. Wake up."

Violet stirred. Her lips parted just enough to mumble, “Tell the goose… I didn’t mean to eat the crayons…”

Caitlyn blinked.

“...What?”

Violet rolled onto her side, letting out a dramatic sigh like she was being inconvenienced in the middle of a royal nap. “Bananas don’t even have presidents,” she mumbled.

There was a long, stunned silence.

“God give me strength.”

Still no actual waking.

Caitlyn stared at her, deeply contemplating her options — saintly patience, murder, or something in between.

Without ceremony, she reached out and delivered a firm smack to Violet’s upper arm.

Violet shot upright like she’d been tasered. Hair in chaos. Eyes wild. “What the—?! Are we being robbed?!”

“No,” Caitlyn said flatly. “You were snoring like a chainsaw and kicking furniture. I tried being nice.”

“You hit me!”

“I nudged you.”

“Like hell you did,” Violet squinted at her, rubbing her arm. “You’ve got freakishly long arms. It was basically an assault.”

“Well, forgive me, gremlin,” Caitlyn muttered, brushing off her pajama pants. “But I assumed your chaotic little body could handle minimal impact.”

Violet’s gasped. “Gremlin?!”

“You’re small. You bite. You flail in your sleep like you’re fighting demons. The title fits.”

“I’m not small. I’m compact and dangerous.”

“You’re travel-sized fury in a hoodie.”

Violet narrowed her eyes, then flopped back dramatically into the couch cushions. “Fine. I snored. Whatever. Sue me.”

“You didn’t just snore. You held a percussive concert through your face and nearly committed coffee table manslaughter.”

Violet groaned louder. “Okay, I’m awake. What do you want? A formal apology? A blood oath?”

Caitlyn stared for a beat.

Then, voice low: “You can sleep on the other side of the bed.”

Violet blinked. “...What?”

“I’m not saying it’s ideal,” Caitlyn continued, already turning back toward the bed, “but clearly the couch is rejecting you, and I’d like to preserve the structural integrity of the furniture in this cabin.”

Violet stared like she’d just been offered a treaty by a sworn enemy.

“You’re inviting me into the bed.”

“I’m offering a ceasefire. For the sake of sleep.”

She folded back the blanket on the other side of the mattress like she was opening a file — efficient, clinical, not a trace of warmth.

Violet stood slowly, dragging the blanket with her like a cape of defiance. “Alright. But if you start monologuing in your sleep, I’m going back to the couch.”

Caitlyn didn’t look at her. “Just don’t try anything.”

Violet made a face as she dropped into the far side of the bed. “You’re safe. I’m too tired to commit crimes tonight.”

They settled in, facing opposite directions. The duvet shifted with every small movement, the silence between them thick and mildly suspicious.

A beat passed.

Then Violet, voice muffled by her pillow, muttered:

“I’m not going to do anything, Caitlyn.”

“Good,” Caitlyn said flatly, already staring at the ceiling again.

Another pause.

“Your shampoo still smells smug.”

Caitlyn shut her eyes.

“Go to sleep, Violet.”

Another long stretch of silence.

Then Violet sighed and turned over, voice muffled. “For the record, your breathing is too precise. It sounds fake.”

Caitlyn didn’t move. “What does that even mean?”

“You sound like you rehearse how to sleep.”

Caitlyn’s voice was dry. “And I suppose your sleep style is... natural chaos?”

“Exactly.”

A few more seconds passed.

“Don’t hog the blanket,” Caitlyn said.

“I’m not even touching it.”

“Then how is half of it missing?”

Violet sat up just enough to yank it back in her direction. “There. Happy?”

“No. But at least warmer.”

“Goodnight, Kiramman.”

“Don’t say it like a threat.”

“Then stop sleeping like a robot.”

They lay there in silence again. The kind that stretched just a little too long to be comfortable.

Then, quietly, Caitlyn spoke:

“…Do you actually think I’m a robot?”

Violet blinked into the dark.

Caitlyn didn’t sound like she was joking. Not really. Not entirely.

Violet shifted, pushing her hair out of her face. “What, because I said you sleep like one?”

“No. I mean in general,” Caitlyn said, her voice level. “You’ve called me a machine. A drone. A spreadsheet in heels.”

“You also called me an untrained Rottweiler, so I don’t think we’re handing out fair titles.”

“That’s not an answer.”

Violet sighed and stared up at the ceiling like it had something useful to offer.

“Do I think you’re a robot,” she repeated, slower now. “No.”

A pause.

“I think you’re someone who learned how to be efficient so nobody would notice when you were upset.”

Caitlyn didn’t respond.

Violet continued, quieter:

“And yeah, you act like feelings are data to be filed. But I’ve known you long enough to know when something hits you. You just don’t let anyone else see it.”

She turned onto her side, facing the back of Caitlyn’s head.

“So no. Not a robot. Just... heavily firewalled.”

For a moment, Caitlyn stayed perfectly still.

Then:

“…Heavily firewalled?”

“It’s a compliment,” Violet mumbled, already sounding half-asleep again. “In a really weird way.”

“Mm.”

Caitlyn stared at the ceiling for a long time.

No one said anything else.

They lay in that quiet for a while. The kind of stillness that wasn’t uncomfortable, but wasn’t exactly peaceful either.

Then, from the other side of the bed, Violet’s voice came low and tired, almost like she didn’t mean to say it out loud:

“…Do you really think I’m a walking disaster?”

Caitlyn didn’t answer right away. She shifted slightly, eyes still fixed on the ceiling.

“I’ve heard you call me that,” Violet added, voice muffled now by the pillow. “Train wreck. Chaos tornado. Human caution tape.”

“I never said caution tape,” Caitlyn replied, too fast.

“You implied it.”

There was a long pause, then Caitlyn’s voice, calm but not cold:

“I think you walk into rooms like they owe you something. I think you break things before they can break you. And yeah... sometimes it looks a lot like a disaster.”

Another pause.

“But you always survive the mess. Even when it’s one you made.”

Violet was silent for a while.

Then she exhaled a small, humorless laugh. “Wow. Brutal poetry. Love that.”

“You asked.”

“I thought you’d lie. Or, I don’t know… pretend I wasn’t that bad.”

Caitlyn shifted onto her side, still not looking directly at her. “You’re not bad.”

“Just messy?”

“Just honest. Loud. Stubborn. Always five minutes from throwing a punch.”

Violet snorted. “Sounds bad.”

“It sounds like you,” Caitlyn said simply. “It always has.”

The room settled into a quiet that finally felt earned.

Outside, the wind picked up just enough to rattle a tree branch against the side of the cabin. Inside, the only sound was the slow, measured rhythm of two people trying very hard not to acknowledge they were sharing a bed.

Violet turned onto her back again, staring at the ceiling like it might open up and offer a less confusing reality.

“…I don’t usually care what people think,” she said, so low it barely crossed the space between them. “But when it’s you... I kind of do.”

Caitlyn didn’t answer at first. She wasn’t sure she could. Her body had gone still again, her jaw set.

“You’ve known me since I was what, six?” Violet added, voice even softer now. “So if you think I’m just a wreck with legs, maybe I am.”

Caitlyn blinked, her eyes adjusting slowly to the dark.

“I don’t think you’re just anything,” she said finally.

Violet turned her head slightly toward her, even though neither of them could see much in the low light.

“You mean that?”

Caitlyn hesitated, then gave the smallest nod. “You’re difficult. Chaotic. Aggressively yourself. But you’re never ‘just’ anything. You’re not easy to reduce. Believe me, I’ve tried.”

Violet was quiet for a beat. Then:

“You sound like you’re reading my worst Yelp review.”

“Three stars,” Caitlyn murmured. “Would not share bed again.”

That made Violet huff a quiet laugh, one arm draped over her face again.

Violet let out a slow breath, still staring up at the ceiling like it might provide answers or at least a way out.

“Still don’t like you, by the way,” she said casually, like she was just stating the weather. “In case that got lost in all the... whatever this is.”

Caitlyn didn’t respond. But Violet could feel the eye roll radiate through the dark like secondhand smoke.

Still, Caitlyn didn’t tell her to leave the bed.

And that silence said more than it should’ve.

x-x-x

Chapter Text

The morning didn’t arrive. It crept in.

Light slipped in slow and thin through the heavy curtains, painting the room in a dim, bluish hush. Somewhere outside, birds dared to chirp, and a branch tapped softly against the window like it was trying not to disturb anything.

But Caitlyn was already awake.

She lay still, eyes open, pretending she wasn’t hyperaware of every inch of space between them. Or more precisely — every inch not between them.

Violet was close.

Not touching, not exactly. But the edge of her arm brushed Caitlyn’s. Their legs, tangled beneath the duvet, were closer than they had any right to be.

She could feel Violet breathing. Slow. Even. Unbothered.

Infuriating.

This was ridiculous.

It was the cabin. The cold. The mattress that clearly hated personal boundaries. The tension of pretending to be married for 48 straight hours and counting.

It wasn’t attraction.

It wasn’t old, inconvenient feelings clawing their way to the surface like some embarrassing emotional rash.

It was proximity poisoning.

Two more days, Caitlyn reminded herself. Then it’s back to San Francisco. Separate beds. Separate rooms. Separate lives. Cold, detached professionalism. Peace.

She shifted slightly, careful not to inhale too loudly.

Violet stirred.

Of course she did.

“Mmm,” Violet mumbled, voice gravel-thick with sleep. “Why are you awake?”

Caitlyn stared at the ceiling. “Because your hair is in my mouth.”

Violet blinked once. Didn’t move. “Don’t be dramatic.”

“It’s not dramatic. It’s a boundary violation.”

“You could’ve pushed me off the bed.”

“You’d bite.”

“Only if provoked.”

They didn’t move. Didn’t separate.

A beat.

Then Violet opened one eye. Glanced over.

Caitlyn was lying too straight. Too still. That meant she was spiraling. Violet knew the signs. Knew her signs. She used to read them like streetlights — red, yellow, green. Right now, Caitlyn was flashing orange.

“You’re making that face,” Violet said.

“What face.”

“The one where you look like you’re planning to fire someone.”

“I don’t make that face.”

“You totally do.”

Caitlyn’s jaw twitched. “I’m simply trying not to die of secondhand body heat.”

“Oh, please,” Violet groaned. “You’re the one who migrated over like a lonely heating pad.”

“I was asleep.”

“You’re still a cuddler.”

“I’m not—” Caitlyn stopped. Blinked. “I am not a cuddler.”

Violet raised a brow. “You’re currently doing a very convincing impression of one.”

They fell quiet again.

Caitlyn rolled onto her back, arms crossed over her chest like she was bracing for emotional turbulence. Which, frankly, she was.

This was not what she signed up for. The contract said public appearances. Shared photos. Passive-aggressive toasts. Not this… this weird 6 a.m. softness. Not the warmth of someone who used to know you better than anyone and might still, underneath all the static.

Not waking up next to Violet and not hating it.

God.

No.

Violet flopped onto her back, exaggerated and annoyed, eyes locked on the ceiling like it might crack open and offer some sort of divine intervention.

She was just as unsettled.
Just as confused.

Because what the hell was that?

That sleep?

That comfort?

It wasn’t supposed to feel safe.

Not beside Caitlyn with her tax-code spine and judgmental silences.

Not in this curated slice of hell they were calling a "honeymoon."

It was just the weather. The bed. The psychological whiplash of close proximity and fake intimacy. Like a fever dream with better lighting.

It didn’t mean anything.

...Right?

“I think the cabin’s cursed,” Violet said suddenly.

Caitlyn blinked. “Excuse me?”

“Like emotionally. It’s giving witch energy. We’re obviously under some kind of forced bonding spell.”

“Right,” Caitlyn said flatly. “Because the only logical explanation for you being semi-tolerable is witchcraft.”

“Exactly.”

Another silence.

Caitlyn sighed. “Two more days.”

Violet nodded. “And then we’re out of here. Back to our regularly scheduled emotional repression.”

“Perfect.”

“Uncomplicated.”

Caitlyn turned her head. “I’d almost forgotten how much you snore.”

“And I’d almost forgotten how smug you sound when you’re losing control of a situation.”

Caitlyn’s mouth twitched. Just barely.

Violet caught it. Of course she did.

She always did.

“You’re doing it again,” Violet said softly.

“What.”

“The face.”

Caitlyn glanced at her. “Maybe you’re doing something to cause it.”

“Maybe you like it.”

“Maybe you should shut up.”

“Maybe you should kiss me.”

The silence that dropped then wasn’t playful.

It was a breath held.

A heartbeat skipped.

Violet didn’t look at her. Just stared at the ceiling again, trying to pretend she hadn’t said it, or hadn’t meant it, or hadn’t let something slip without thinking.

Caitlyn didn’t answer.

And that was worse.

Violet rolled away.

“Whatever,” she muttered. “It was a joke.”

Caitlyn stared at the back of her head. Her throat tightened.

“Yeah,” she said, too quickly. “Obviously.”

They didn’t speak after that.

But neither of them moved.

And the ceiling — traitorous and mute — refused to offer an escape.

x-x-x

The beach was disgustingly perfect.

Clear sky, not a single cloud. The lake shimmered like a CGI travel ad, too pristine to be real. The sand was the kind you only got on private beaches — soft, white, and born from a cocktail of generational wealth and unchecked delusion.

Caitlyn stood at the shoreline, sunglasses on, jaw tight. Her bikini was a deep navy: simple, high-cut, unmistakably expensive. The kind of minimalist design that whispered old money and don’t touch unless you’re pre-approved by a committeeHer long legs were lean and toned, her stomach flat, skin smooth and pale against the stark color of the suit. She looked like a Vogue editorial had come to life and decided it was deeply annoyed to be here.

Beside her, Violet was all contrast.

She wore a fitted long-sleeve rashguard — charcoal gray, skin-tight — paired with black swim shorts that showed off miles of muscular thigh. Her arms were sculpted, stomach defined, every inch of her looking like she'd fought the lake and won. Tattoos peeked out from the collar of her shirt and wrapped low around her hips. She looked like she could deadlift a Jet Ski and was currently debating whether to punch the sun.

They weren’t speaking.

But they were definitely looking.

Caitlyn’s gaze slid sideways, feigning boredom. Her mind, however, was not cooperating.

Her shoulders are absurd. No one needs delts that sharp. Or thighs that solid. That rashguard should be illegal. There are laws about that kind of tension.

She blinked once behind her designer lenses, poker-faced.

It’s just physics. Surface area. Shadows. Nothing to overanalyze.

She looked away.

Violet’s gaze did not.

She was doing that thing where she was actively trying not to stare, which of course meant she was absolutely staring.

Because Caitlyn in a bikini? A war crime. That body was all sharp lines and cruel elegance. Flat stomach, collarbone that could cut glass, long legs that looked longer in the sun. Her breasts were the perfect size, high, sculpted like the rest of her, like God was trying to prove a point about geometry.

Jesus fucking Christ.

Violet adjusted her sunglasses even though they weren’t slipping.

This is fine. I’m fine. We’re both gonna die eventually anyway.

Ezreal, somewhere behind them, let out a noise like he’d found meaning in the clouds.

“Can you two just turn a little more to the left? Perfect. Now—gorgeous. Caitlyn, maybe lower the chin. Violet, love what you’re doing with your arms — very warrior princess meets reluctant beach babe.”

“I swear to God,” Violet muttered, “if he says ‘beach babe’ one more time I’m throwing myself into the sea.”

“I’ll assist,” Caitlyn said flatly.

Ezreal beamed. “Okay, let’s do a few of you walking together. Natural, casual — like soul mates on a tropical honeymoon!”

“We’re not on a honeymoon,” Caitlyn said, deadpan.

“And we’re not soul mates,” Violet added.

Ezreal laughed, because he thought they were joking.

They weren’t.

Still, they did it. Walked slowly down the beach, arms close but not touching, expressions like they were plotting to kill each other. The camera clicked behind them, over and over.

After a few minutes, Ezreal sighed like he’d completed a spiritual mission.

“Okay, I think we’ve got enough for the press kit. I’ll give you two some space.” He waved, chipper as ever. “Don’t forget—beaches are romantic! You never know what might happen!”

Violet flipped him off with the hand behind her back. Caitlyn didn’t even blink.

When he was finally out of earshot, Violet exhaled. “I hate him.”

“I hate this bikini,” Caitlyn replied, adjusting the strap. “It rides like it’s got an agenda.”

Violet glanced over. “You’re complaining? That bikini’s doing half the work for you.”

Caitlyn raised an eyebrow. “Excuse me?”

“You look like a Bond girl who regrets signing the prenup.”

Caitlyn gave her a look. “You’re one to talk. That shirt is indecent.”

“It’s SPF 50.”

“It’s a compression fantasy.”

Violet smirked. “So you are looking.”

Caitlyn turned back to the lake. “You’re just… hard to miss.”

Violet’s mouth twitched. She wasn’t sure if she wanted to laugh or drown herself.

A few employees from the cabin staff approached discreetly — tan polos, crisp shorts, all carrying trays or iced drinks. One gave a polite nod.

“Would you like refreshments, Ms. Kiramman? Mrs. Kiramman? Or perhaps some towels?”

“We’re fine,” Caitlyn said without looking. “Thank you.”

“Yes,” Violet added. “Appreciate it. Please go before I commit a PR violation.”

They bowed slightly and vanished.

The waves crashed nearby in steady rhythm. The kind of calming that only made Violet feel more agitated.

They stood in silence again. Not quite peaceful. Not quite hostile. Something tighter. More electric.

Caitlyn finally broke it, her voice quieter this time. “Do you think he’ll edit the photos?”

“You mean to make us look like we don’t want to kill each other?”

“Exactly.”

Violet shrugged. “Doubt it. He probably thinks we’re adorable. You know, sapphic tension, or whatever.”

Caitlyn glanced at her. The sun hit her cheekbone just so.

Violet had to look away.

“One more day,” Caitlyn murmured.

“Yep,” Violet said. “And then we go back to pretending we’re not affected.”

Caitlyn let out a humorless breath.

“I’m not affected.”

Violet smiled bitterly. “Yeah. Me neither.”

They stood there, shoulder to shoulder, staring out at a future that refused to clarify.

The lake sparkled like it didn’t know they were lying.

x-x-x

Their private beach tent was set back from the shoreline: crisp white canvas, polished teak loungers, chilled water bottles tucked into monogrammed coolers. It looked like the set of an obnoxiously tasteful ad for island minimalism. There was even a discreet “Reserved” sign staked outside, as if anyone on this private stretch of coastline would dare sit somewhere they hadn’t been personally invited.

Caitlyn moved first, brushing sand from her hands as she walked ahead — unhurried, composed, the picture of indifference. Her hips swayed with quiet precision, like she had no idea she was being watched.

Violet followed, slower.

Mostly because her brain had short-circuited.

Because Jesus Christ.

The bikini was worse from behind.

Or better, depending on your moral alignment.

High-cut. Minimal coverage. Clinging in all the right places and some of the wrong ones. Each step Caitlyn took made the fabric shift just slightly, taut across her hips, smooth over the small of her back, framing a waist so narrow it looked designed. Her ass should’ve come with a safety warning.

And the top—God help her—the top was holding on like it had something to prove, revealing just enough curve to make Violet’s hands curl into fists..

Nope. Nope nope nope.

This was fine. This was survivable. This was—

Caitlyn reached back to adjust her strap, and the flex of her shoulder blades nearly sent Violet to her knees.

Violet bit the inside of her cheek.

She’s not even trying.

She’s not even doing anything.

That’s the worst part.

A single drop of sweat ran down the side of Violet’s neck. It had nothing to do with the heat.

I’m in hell, she thought. A luxury beach hell. Branded towels. Infinite thirst.

Caitlyn paused near the tent, lifting her arms to retie her hair.

Violet nearly choked.

Do not look at her back. Do not look at her arms. Do not imagine climbing her like a mountain out of spite. You’re a grown adult. You have impulse control. You—

Caitlyn glanced back, brows raised. “Are you coming, or just standing there waiting for heatstroke to finish the job?”

Violet blinked. “Oh, I’m coming, alright.”

Caitlyn narrowed her eyes.

Violet smirked. “To the tent. Obviously.”

“I’m not administering first aid if you collapse.”

“Who said anything about collapsing?”

With a perfectly disapproving flick of her towel, Caitlyn stepped into the tent’s shade.

Violet followed, still dangerously unwell.

One more day.

Just one.

And then she could go back to pretending her fake wife didn’t walk around looking like a sin wrapped in money.

Piece of cake.

Right?

The tent was quiet now. Just the sound of the waves rolling in and out, and the rustle of linen as Caitlyn adjusted slightly in her chair.

Violet didn’t look at her. She was trying not to.

And failing spectacularly.

Because every time Caitlyn shifted — crossed her legs, reached for her drink, tucked a strand of hair behind one ear — the bikini moved with her. And Violet’s brain followed. Every fold of fabric, every inch of exposed skin. The smooth curve where her thigh met her hip. The lean stretch of her neck as she tilted her head back toward the sun.

God.

Violet bit the inside of her cheek, hard.

She probably sounds all put-together even when she’s moaning, she thought, throat tight. Like she’d still have perfect posture while I was—

Nope.

Abort. Abort.

She ripped her gaze away, forcing herself to look at anything else — the horizon, the sand, a crab slowly climbing a rock like it had purpose. Violet tried to think about taxes. Or public transportation. Or wet socks.

Anything that wasn’t Caitlyn’s mouth, parted slightly from the heat.

Anything that wasn’t the image of Caitlyn under her — flushed, breathless, legs parted, eyes wild for once.

Would she break? Violet wondered, pulse pounding. Or would she just close her eyes and take it, all quiet and composed and fucking unbearable?

Violet swallowed, hard.

Her thighs pressed together. Instinct. Heat.

And then she was angry — at herself, at Caitlyn, at the sky for being so blue, at God for giving her a libido and no outlet.

You’re not actually into her, she reminded herself. This is just proximity. Boredom. Sunstroke and expensive sunscreen.

But her body wasn’t buying it.

Meanwhile, Caitlyn was doing an award-worthy impression of emotional detachment.

It almost worked.

Almost.

Because Violet was next to her, sprawled in the shade, tank still damp from the lake, skin glinting with salt and sunlight. Her legs strong, her chest rising with each breath. The curve of her collarbone. The suggestion of that stupid tattoo just under the edge of her shirt.

Caitlyn clenched her jaw and looked away.

It’s fine. You’re fine. You’re just sexually frustrated. That’s all. You just need to sleep with someone. Anyone. Just not her. Especially not her.

But her thoughts weren’t listening.

They kept drifting back to Violet’s voice — low and rasped from the salt air, laced with laughter and heat. They kept wondering how she'd sound saying Caitlyn’s name for real. In bed. In a different kind of fight.

Would she be loud? Of course she’d be loud. She’d make a performance of it. She’d leave bruises just to be smug later.

Caitlyn shifted in her chair, biting down a curse as the heat between her thighs turned insistent.

It’s nothing. It’s physical. Not personal.

But her body wasn’t buying it either.

And when Violet laughed at something, throatier than necessary, head tilted back just slightly, Caitlyn had to grip the chair’s armrest to ground herself.

One more day.

Just one.

And then they could go back to pretending this hadn’t happened.

That they didn’t notice.

That it didn’t matter.

x-x-x

They’d fallen into a tight, simmering silence. Both pretending to enjoy the breeze. Neither one relaxing.

Then Caitlyn’s phone buzzed on the small teak table between them.

She glanced down—barely—but it was enough. Her screen lit up with a name in bold white letters:

SARAH.

Violet saw it.

She didn’t mean to.

But she did.

And something flared hot in her chest. Something primal and deeply inconvenient.

Caitlyn answered with an effortless, polished ease. “Hey.”

Her voice dipped, just slightly: low, casual, familiar. Warm in a way it never was with Violet.

Violet turned her head, watching her through slitted lashes.

Caitlyn laughed softly. “I know, I know. I’m terrible at calling back.”

Violet’s stomach dropped. Her body stilled.

“Mhm,” Caitlyn said, smiling faintly. “No, I haven’t been avoiding you. Just... off the grid for a few days.”

Sarah said something else, and Caitlyn laughed again, brushing her hair off her shoulder. “God, I forgot you still remember that night.”

Another pause. “You’re not supposed to bring that up in daylight.”

That laugh. That tone. That soft flicker in her eyes—like memory, amusement, pleasure, all braided together.

Violet’s knuckles whitened against the armrest.

She didn’t move. Didn’t blink.

Caitlyn shifted in her seat, her fingers playing idly with the edge of her towel as she leaned back. Her voice dipped again. “Mm, yeah. I remember that.”

The tone was unmistakable.

So was the look in her eyes, that faint flicker of memory, amusement, pleasure.

Violet narrowed her gaze.

She could practically hear the bedroom in Caitlyn’s tone. Could picture the way she’d lean in closer, speak in low, deliberate syllables. "Yeah, I remember that."

Jesus fucking Christ.

It was unmistakable. Bedroom tone. Bedroom face. Bedroom Caitlyn.

Violet could hear it. Feel it. The shift. The soft inflection, the not-so-innocent pause. She could picture it: Caitlyn leaning close, speaking in that slow, precise rhythm that made it sound like your name was a secret she wasn’t supposed to say.

“Mhm. Yeah,” Caitlyn murmured, “you always were annoyingly good with your hands.”

Sarah.

Fucking Sarah.

She’d heard the name before, in passing. Knew the type — glossy, successful, the kind of woman who drank gin neat and wore designer clothes like armor. The kind of woman who never tried too hard because she never had to.

And Caitlyn had slept with her. Of course. Casual. Easy.

Violet didn’t even know why it pissed her off.

She didn’t care.

Except her pulse was screaming otherwise.

Caitlyn was still talking, tone light. “No, I haven’t murdered her yet.”

She laughed again.

Violet stood.

Without thinking — or maybe thinking too much — she snatched the phone right out of Caitlyn’s hand.

“What the hell are you—”

But Violet was already lifting the phone to her ear.

“Hi, Sarah,” she said, voice sugarcoated poison. “It’s Vi. Caitlyn’s adoring wife.”

"Oh, you", she replied. "This is fun."

Violet rolled her eyes. “Glad you’re entertained.”

“I am, actually,” Sarah greeted, a smile already forming. “I was just telling Caitlyn how much I missed that mouth of hers.”

Caitlyn heard and choked on air.

Violet’s jaw tensed, but her tone didn’t waver. “Yeah? She’s been using it mostly to lecture me on hand towels.”

“Tragic,” Sarah said, unfazed. “She used to use it for better things.”

“I'm sure you think that,” Violet replied. “You sound like someone who thinks a little teasing counts as chemistry.”

“Oh, sweetie,” Sarah said, her tone bordering on pity. “I don’t think anything. I know Caitlyn. I know what she likes. How she sounds. How long she takes to lose that little control of hers.”

Violet’s fingers tightened around the phone.

“I also know this whole marriage is a PR stunt. You two barely tolerate each other, right?” Sarah asked, her voice practically purring now. “I mean… who are we kidding? I can practically picture you in court, saying: 'We hate each other, Your Honor.'”

There was a pause.

Violet let it stretch. Let it hurt.

Then, evenly: “You must be so bored to be calling ex hookups just to prove a point.”

“I wasn’t proving anything,” Sarah replied. “I just wanted to hear her voice. It’s not my fault it still makes me wet.”

Caitlyn buried her face in her hands.

Violet, still calm, said: “Well, you’ve heard it now. And you can go play with your own ego again.”

“Didn’t realize you were the jealous type. Thought the arrangement was strictly business?”

Violet’s fingers curled tighter around the phone.

Caitlyn reached for it. “Violet—”

But she stepped away.

“Oh, it is business,” Violet said, smiling like a threat. “But it’s my business who flirts with my contracted spouse. And I don’t like sharing.”

A pause.

“Cute,” Sarah replied. “But I’m not trying to marry her. Just checking in.”

Violet’s tone dropped, low and steady. “Check out.”

Click.

She hung up.

Hard.

Then turned, walked over to Caitlyn, and dropped the phone onto her lap like it had burned her.

“Next time your ex tries to purr into the phone, do it somewhere I’m not.”

Caitlyn looked up at her, eyes wide. “You stole my phone.”

“You gave her your bedroom voice.”

“That wasn’t my—there is no bedroom voice!”

Violet scoffed and crossed her arms. “Tell that to the bitch who just called you an oral goddess.”

“I didn’t ask her to—”

Violet cut her off with a glare. “You smiled.”

Caitlyn blinked. “What?”

“You. Smiled. You flirted.”

“We’re not actually married,” Caitlyn shot back. “You’re not allowed to be jealous.”

“I’m not jealous,” Violet snapped, too fast.

They stared at each other, breathing uneven.

Then, quieter:

“I just—hate her voice.”

Caitlyn exhaled through her nose. “She’s no one.”

Violet didn’t respond. Didn’t need to.

Because every inch of her body was still humming with something violent and electric and deeply confusing.

And Caitlyn, for all her composure, wasn’t looking away. Her chest was rising and falling in that same shallow rhythm.

The air between them sparked. Tightened.

Sarah hadn’t been the problem.

She was just the match.

And Violet was already burning.

Caitlyn still hadn’t moved. The phone sat in her lap like a forgotten weapon. Her jaw tight. Her chest rising and falling too quickly now.

Violet turned, hands on her hips, pacing under the tent’s shade. The lake wind curled around her, hot and restless.

Caitlyn finally spoke, voice lower. “You really didn’t have to do that.”

“I know,” Violet said, still not looking at her.

“You completely hijacked the call.”

“Good,” Violet muttered.

There was a pause. Then, sharply:

“Why?”

Violet turned. Her eyes narrowed. “Why do you think?”

Caitlyn’s brows lifted, just a little. “Because you’re territorial?”

Violet tilted her head. “Because she was disrespectful.”

“She didn’t say anything that wasn’t true.”

Violet’s voice rose. “Oh, fuck off, Caitlyn.”

Caitlyn stood now too, the movement slow, deliberate. “You were the one who said this marriage is a joke. That we’re not real. So why does it bother you?”

“Because,” Violet said, stepping in closer, “even if it’s fake, it’s mine right now. You’re mine right now.”

Caitlyn’s breath hitched.

They stood too close — not quite touching, but one deep breath away from disaster.

“And what?” Caitlyn asked, voice rough. “You gonna mark me? Pull me onto the sand and—”

“Don’t tempt me.”

“I’m not,” Caitlyn whispered. “You already look like you want to tear me apart.”

Violet laughed under her breath. “You’d like that, wouldn’t you? Finally get some real chaos in your bed.”

Caitlyn’s gaze dropped to her mouth for half a second too long.

“I’d handle you.”

Violet leaned in, her voice almost a purr. “You think you would. But you’d be ruined, Caitlyn. You’d come once and start reevaluating your whole goddamn identity.”

Caitlyn’s jaw clenched, but her pupils dilated. “Is that what you want?”

Violet opened her mouth.

Paused.

Something cracked under the surface. Not desire. Not only.

Her voice dropped.

“No. Of course not. I just want her to stop thinking she knows you. Because she doesn't.”

Caitlyn blinked. That landed.

Violet stepped back slightly, trying to breathe. “I want her to stop talking about your mouth like she owns it. Like she earned it.”

Caitlyn swallowed, voice soft. “She didn’t.”

Violet looked up at her again, fierce and raw. “Then act like it.”

They stared at each other.

And for once, there was no bratty comeback. No sarcasm to fill the gap.

A gust of wind blew past them, tossing Violet’s hair over her shoulder, making Caitlyn’s robe ripple just slightly.

“Only one more day,” Caitlyn said, almost to herself.

“Yeah,” Violet replied. “Then we go back to pretending none of this ever happened.”

x-x-x

The water was scalding.

Caitlyn stood motionless under the spray, eyes closed, hands braced against the tiled wall. Steam curled around her like fog, but it wasn’t helping.

She couldn't cool off. Not in any real sense.

Images from the day kept flashing in her head — the beach, the sun, the stretch of Violet’s back as she pulled her shirt off later that day. The way her thighs flexed when she walked ahead. The easy confidence. The goddamn glint in her eye when she took the phone and told Sarah to “stay thirsty.”

Caitlyn clenched her jaw.

She should be furious.

And she was — at the audacity, at the chaos, at the recklessness of it all. But beneath the anger, woven tight between the restraint and sarcasm and the illusion of control, something else burned.

Violet had been possessive.

Territorial.

Like she’d claimed her.

And Caitlyn… hadn’t hated it.

She groaned quietly, resting her forehead against the tile.

Get it together, she told herself. You’re not doing this. You’re not one of those idiots who falls for a woman just because she says something reckless in a hot voice.

But her body didn’t care.

Her nipples had hardened the moment Violet grabbed her phone, the look in her eyes, the heat, the fight. Even now, under the heat of the water, they stayed tight, sensitive. Her skin buzzed.

Caitlyn exhaled shakily.

She was composed. Disciplined. Always had been. She had outlets. She had systems.

But she hadn’t slept with anyone in weeks. Hadn’t even touched herself since before the wedding.

Too much work. Too much noise. Too many cameras.

And then Violet.

Loud, infuriating, gorgeous Violet. All heat and muscle and wild, brash energy. Violet, who flopped across beds and tossed her head back when she laughed and didn’t seem to know how not to take up space. Violet, who fought dirty and flirted mean and stared like she wanted to break you open just to see what was inside.

Caitlyn bit her lip.

Her pulse was racing now. Her thighs pressed together, slick with water and something else.

She hated this.

She hated that she wanted this.

She pressed her hand to the wall again, trying to will the tension away — the ache between her legs, the slow throb of pressure that had been building for hours.

But it wasn’t going away.

And she hadn’t lost her mind enough to sleep with Violet. 

Not yet.

She leaned back against the tiled wall, letting the heat crawl down her spine. Her hands moved slowly, as if on their own. Across her stomach. Up her ribs. She bit her lip.

It wasn’t just Violet. It was everything. The contract. The press. The performance. The tension of pretending to be someone’s wife while watching them walk around in damp shorts with smug eyes and lips that always looked seconds from a smirk.

She needed release.

Just once. Just enough.

Then she could pretend again.

That this wasn’t happening. That Violet didn’t make her ache. That none of this mattered.

Caitlyn began to touch herself, her body tense, aching for release, for something to take the edge off. Her fingers moved to her hardened nipples, teasing them lightly, playing with them in slow, deliberate motions.

"Fuck."

Caitlyn let out a quiet, breathy sound as her hands moved over her chest, the built-up tension threatening to unravel her completely. She squeezed her breasts gently, chasing sensation, her body responding with a sharp pull of need.

One hand drifted lower, trailing past her stomach — every inch of her skin buzzing — until it hovered where she ached the most, where the heat had been building all day, demanding attention she could no longer deny.

One of her hands slipped lower, brushing between her folds until it found the sensitive, swollen clit that had been begging for relief. She circled it slowly, building the pressure with each deliberate motion.

She kept circling, slow and deliberate, the pressure building in waves that made it hard to breathe. Her other hand braced against the slick tiles, grounding her as she struggled to keep quiet, jaw clenched, eyes closed tight. The last thing she needed was to be caught sounding like she was losing her mind in the middle of a shower.

But she was close. Too close.

And it wasn’t enough.

Her fingers moved lower, instinctive now, slipping between soft folds until they found her throbbing cunt. She eased one finger inside — slow, careful — but it wasn’t hesitation, it was need. She needed to feel it. Needed to feel something. She just simply needed do fuck herself. The second slid in easier than it should have, her body more than ready, too ready, wet and aching and almost angry about it.

Caitlyn bit back a sound that might’ve been a gasp. Or a curse.

Her hips shifted against her hand, searching for rhythm, for friction, for anything to satisfy the ache that had been simmering ever since Violet started looking at her like she meant something.

Caitlyn didn’t want to think of Violet.

But she was.

Even as she fucked herself against her hand, even as the water streamed down her back and masked the soft, shaky breaths she couldn’t quite hold in — Violet was there. The curve of her mouth, the way her hands looked when she gripped things with purpose, the heat in her eyes when she got possessive. That wild, chaotic energy that made Caitlyn feel like she might snap in half if she let herself want it for real.

She hated that. Hated how vivid it all felt.

The water slid over her skin, mingling with the heat between her thighs, not just from the shower. Her body pulsed with need, sharp and insistent. Her breasts ached, too sensitive, her nipples hard even under the hot stream. Every nerve felt tight, like a string about to break.

Her fingers didn’t slow. Couldn’t.

Her clit throbbed beneath her touch, swollen and desperate for more, but she held herself back, teeth clenched, jaw tight, determined not to let a sound slip. She refused to give in that far. She refused to let this become something it wasn’t.

This wasn’t about Violet.

It couldn’t be.

It was just release. Just frustration. Just too many days of not getting what she needed.

Caitlyn leaned against the cool tiles, water still falling over her like it could rinse the thoughts out of her head, and then—

She came. Hard. Quick. The kind of release that usually dulled the edges, cleared the mind, made everything feel manageable again.

But not this time.

She was still tense. Still coiled. Still full of something she couldn’t name and didn’t want to look at too closely.

Her breathing slowed, but the knot in her chest didn’t loosen. It just… shifted.

She turned off the water with more force than necessary and stepped out, grabbing a towel like it had personally offended her. Her reflection in the mirror was flushed, hair damp and curling at the ends, her eyes sharper than they had any right to be.

“Ridiculous,” she muttered to herself, almost spitting the word.

She knew what this was. Tension. Proximity. Repressed emotions, lack of sex, and a marriage built on PR and fine print. Violet walking around half-dressed and full of swagger, with arms that looked like they could lift a car and that mouth that always, always had something to say.

It was a pressure cooker. That’s all.

Still, Caitlyn couldn’t stop the bitter little thought that slid through her mind uninvited:

Then why the hell doesn’t it feel like enough?

She stared at herself for another long moment, jaw tight.

Then, quietly, she said:

“Goddamn it.”

And left the bathroom without looking back.

x-x-x

The bathroom door opened with a soft click, and Caitlyn stepped out, already dressed in her silk sleepwear: dark gray, elegant, infuriatingly composed. Her hair was damp, falling in smooth, dark lines down her back, and her skin still held the warmth of the shower. She looked calm.

She wasn’t.

Violet barely glanced up from her spot on the bed. One leg was thrown over the other, a phone resting on her stomach, thumbs tapping lazily at whatever simple game she’d decided to obsess over tonight. The music was tinny, stupidly cheerful, and made Caitlyn want to throw the phone out the window.

“You take longer than my sister in the shower,” Violet muttered. “What were you doing, reenacting a spa commercial?”

Caitlyn didn’t answer. She walked past the bed without looking at her, her jaw tight. Her silk pajama top clung to her damp skin, and the bottoms hugged her hips in a way that would’ve made her self-conscious around Violet if she wasn’t too busy trying to pretend she hadn’t just done something ridiculous alone in the bathroom.

Like imagine Violet’s hands.

Or her voice.

Or the way she looked when she got possessive.

God.

She moved toward her side of the bed with deliberate calm, pulled back the duvet, and slid under it like nothing was wrong.

Except everything was.

Violet glanced at her again. “You okay?”

Caitlyn kept her eyes on the ceiling. “Fine.”

“Wow. That was convincing.”

“I am fine.”

“Totally. That’s why you’re breathing like someone just interrogated you about your browser history.”

Caitlyn turned her head slowly to glare.

Violet grinned. “Relax. I don’t care what kind of weird British crossword sites you’re into.”

Caitlyn exhaled, sharp. “I’m not in the mood.”

Violet clicked her phone off and tossed it to the side, stretching her arms over her head. The hem of her shirt lifted slightly, exposing just a line of her stomach and a hair trail — Caitlyn noticed.

Didn’t look long.

“Yeah,” Violet said, voice softer. “Me neither.”

They both went quiet for a second.

The cabin was still. The kind of setting that should’ve felt peaceful.

But Caitlyn was far from peace. Her thoughts were a mess. Her body still hummed with leftover tension, and her skin was overly sensitive beneath the silk. She could still feel where her own fingers had been.

And worse: she could still feel the weight of the image she’d tried to push out of her head.

Violet.

Pressed close.

Mouth at her ear.

Voice low.

A sharp little growl that sounded too much like mine.

Caitlyn turned over sharply, facing away from her.

Violet didn’t say anything at first.

Then, casually:

“You gonna be weird all night, or just for the first half?”

“I’m not being weird.”

“You’re radiating strange British energy.”

“Go to sleep.”

“Gladly. Unless you wanna talk about—”

“I don’t.”

“Got it.”

More silence.

Then, from the other side of the bed, Violet muttered under her breath:

“You still smell like... expensive repression.”

Caitlyn groaned. “Go to sleep, Violet.”

Violet grinned into the dark.

But she turned off the lamp anyway.

x-x-x

The room was quiet.

Too quiet.

And neither of them was asleep.

Caitlyn lay on her side, eyes open, staring at the outline of the nightstand. Her body felt warm, not from the blanket, not from the residual heat of the shower, but from something deeper. Something far more inconvenient. Her skin still remembered Violet's gaze from earlier on the beach, the way it lingered like fingers. And worse, her own traitorous thoughts in the shower were still echoing like a stupid, embarrassing song stuck on repeat.

She shifted slightly.

So did Violet.

On the other side of the bed, Violet was wide awake, one arm flung over her eyes, teeth lightly digging into her lower lip. Everything felt loud, the sheets, her heartbeat, the steady breathing she could hear from Caitlyn but also somehow felt. It was messing with her. She was messing with her.

Why the hell had Caitlyn’s skin looked that soft under the bedroom light?

Why did she sound like sin wrapped in silk when she got defensive?

And why the hell was Violet still thinking about what it would feel like to grab her wrists and pin her down just to see if she’d stay so composed?

This was stupid. All of it. Just one more day. Then back to San Francisco. Back to reality. Back to pretending this wasn’t doing something to her.

She turned over abruptly. Caitlyn did the same, annoyed.

Their eyes met in the dark.

“Stop moving,” Caitlyn whispered harshly.

“You stop moving,” Violet hissed back.

“You keep rustling like you’re auditioning for a mattress commercial.”

“Well, maybe if I wasn’t sleeping two feet away from a malfunctioning Victorian ghost, I’d get some rest.”

Caitlyn narrowed her eyes. “I’ve said literally nothing for the past ten minutes.”

“Exactly. Creepy.”

Caitlyn rolled her eyes and flopped onto her back with a sigh. “God, how do people stand you?”

Violet shrugged, shifting to mirror her. “Easy. I’m hot.”

“You’re intolerable.”

“And yet you married me,” Violet said sweetly. “Fake or not, that’s commitment.”

“You’re impossible.”

“You’re wound tighter than a Rolex. I’m shocked you haven’t short-circuited.”

Another beat.

Then Caitlyn exhaled something almost like a laugh. “You know you snore, right?”

Violet groaned into the pillow. “I think you’re lying about what happened last night. I don't snore.”

“You sound like an idling motorcycle.”

Violet smirked. “Yeah, well, you sleep like you’re in a hostage video. Perfectly still. Like you’re waiting for a ransom to come through.”

That made Caitlyn bite back a smile, even as she fought it. The tension between them eased, just slightly. Just enough for the air to shift.

After a moment, Violet spoke again, quieter now. “I don’t know what this is.”

Caitlyn blinked. The ceiling above her was suddenly a lot less interesting. “Neither do I.”

“I still hate you like I always did. But then you go and…” Violet trailed off.

“What?”

“Look like that in a bikini.”

Caitlyn groaned. “Please shut up.”

“You asked.”

“No, I didn’t.”

A beat.

Then Violet’s voice dropped, a little more serious. “It’s not just that.”

Caitlyn turned her head to look at her. “Then what is it?”

Violet hesitated. “I don’t know. Something about the way you talk. The way you don’t talk. The way you look at me like you’re cataloguing my crimes but still sticking around.”

“That’s because I am cataloguing them.”

Violet smiled faintly. “Sure.”

Silence again. But now it wasn’t angry. It felt… fragile. Like something new was settling between them, something neither one of them trusted yet.

The silence stretched again, this time softer, slower. Not uncomfortable. Just… real.

Violet turned her head, propped up slightly on one elbow, looking at Caitlyn in the low light. Her voice came quieter, almost hesitant.

“You ever think about what you’d be doing if it weren’t for… all this?”

Caitlyn didn’t answer right away. She looked up at the ceiling again, then exhaled slowly.

“Yeah. All the time.”

“What would it be?”

Another pause. Then, carefully: “Not business.”

Violet snorted. “Shocking.”

“I’m serious,” Caitlyn said, glancing at her. “I hated it. Every class felt like I was being groomed to become a spreadsheet with legs.”

Violet chuckled. “That explains your whole vibe.”

Caitlyn ignored her. “I wanted something quieter. Something that made me think without suffocating me.”

“Like what?”

Caitlyn hesitated. Then, a little sheepish: “Books. Literature. I always thought maybe I’d end up somewhere with a stack of them and not much else. A library, maybe. Or publishing. Or something… I don’t know. Real.”

Violet blinked. That wasn’t the answer she’d expected. “You? Hiding in a library? With dust and silence and cardigans?”

Caitlyn raised a brow. “I already own cardigans.”

“Of course you do.”

But Violet smiled, soft around the edges.

“What about you?” Caitlyn asked, quieter now. “Did you always plan to do the same thing? Follow the money? The company?”

Violet’s face shifted. Something about the question scraped at something real.

“I didn’t plan anything,” she admitted. “But no. I didn’t want that.”

“What did you want?”

Violet looked down at the blanket between them. Picked at a loose thread with her thumb.

“Art. Maybe,” she said. “I used to draw a lot. Paint a little. Mess with photography. I didn’t really know what I was doing, but it made me feel like I had a reason to be in my own head.”

Caitlyn stared at her. “You never told me that.”

Violet shrugged, voice dipping into something guarded. “It’s personal. Not the kind of thing you tell people when your whole life is about pretending you don’t feel anything.”

Caitlyn was quiet.

“That’s why you’re always sketching in the margins of things,” she said eventually, like she’d just connected something.

Violet tensed. “I’m not always—”

“You are,” Caitlyn said. “I remember a little. You used to doodle on napkins at those endless dinner events when we were younger.”

Violet swallowed.

It was quiet again.

Then Violet muttered, “Don’t romanticize it. I barely know what I’m doing.”

“Doesn’t matter,” Caitlyn said. “It’s yours.”

Violet didn’t answer. She just kept staring at her own hands, like they’d betrayed her.

And Caitlyn, to her own surprise, suddenly wanted to see what Violet had drawn. What her brain looked like when it wasn’t wrapped in sarcasm and armor. What she'd create when no one was looking.

Instead, she said, “I’m sorry you didn’t get to do what you wanted.”

Violet’s eyes flicked up to hers, surprised.

“…Thanks,” she said, softer than before. “Same to you.”

They lay in that quiet for another beat.

The silence between them didn’t stretch this time. It settled.

Not awkward, not strained. Just full. Like something had shifted, not loudly, not all at once, but enough for both to notice.

Caitlyn adjusted her pillow, trying not to look as aware as she felt. Her body was too warm under the duvet, skin still tingling from the shower and from the way Violet had talked about art, like it hurt to admit it. Like it mattered.

She turned slightly toward Violet. “Why didn’t you keep going with it? The art.”

Violet hesitated. Then: “It felt like a luxury. My parents want me to stay in the company. Art is for other people. Not me.”

“That’s not true.”

“You don’t know that.”

“I do.”

Their eyes met across the dim space between their pillows, and something pulsed quietly in the air, a shared frustration, maybe. Or something older, less easy to name. They’d grown up next to each other, always orbiting, always competing, always assuming they knew everything about the other.

But maybe they didn’t.

Caitlyn’s voice softened. “You should draw again.”

Violet looked at her for a moment longer, then rolled onto her back, arm resting above her head. “Yeah, well. We should also not be in this ridiculous fake marriage, but here we are.”

Caitlyn allowed a tired smile. “True.”

A quiet laugh passed between them, low, dry, shared.

Violet turned her head again, this time slower. “You ever think maybe it’s not all fake?”

Caitlyn blinked. “What do you mean?”

“I mean…” Violet exhaled. “We’re here. In this room. Talking like people. Laughing. Sharing pillow space.”

Caitlyn raised an eyebrow. “Are you implying that we’re bonding?”

Violet smirked. “God forbid.”

But the air between them shifted again, this time heavier.

Their eyes didn’t break contact.

The room was quiet, the kind of quiet that had gravity to it. Caitlyn’s breath caught slightly in her chest. Violet’s fingers fidgeted with the edge of the sheet, then stilled.

Caitlyn licked her lips without thinking.

Violet noticed.

She sat up slightly, resting on one elbow, hair a soft mess around her face. “You keep looking at me like that,” she said, tone low, “and I’m gonna start thinking you like me.”

Caitlyn scoffed. “I don’t. I hate you.”

“You sure?”

There was a beat.

“Yes,” Caitlyn admitted. Barely a whisper.

That silenced Violet more effectively than anything else. Her smirk faltered, just slightly.

She was still propped up, still teasing, but her eyes softened. Something in her expression shifted, like she wasn’t expecting that much honesty.

The room had gone quiet again, not with distance, but with something taut and breathless between them.

They were still facing each other, still pretending the duvet between them was a wall instead of a line they were both tempted to cross.

Violet’s gaze drifted lower, to Caitlyn’s mouth.

“You ever think about the kiss?” she asked, tone too casual to be truly casual.

Caitlyn didn’t ask which one.

She didn’t have to.

She blinked slowly, then nodded. “At the ceremony.”

“Yeah.”

There was a pause. Violet’s voice was quieter when she added, “I still remember how you looked at me after.”

Caitlyn’s throat bobbed. “You looked smug.”

“You looked—” Violet stopped, like the next word would cost her too much. She glanced away, then back. “You kissed me like you liked it.”

Caitlyn didn’t answer right away.

Then, just as quietly: “Maybe I did.”

That stunned Violet into silence.

She sat up slightly, elbow bent, one hand in her hair. The soft lamplight touched her collarbone, her jaw, the edge of her mouth, the same mouth Caitlyn had tried not to look at all night. Tried and failed.

Violet exhaled through her nose. “That’s a stupid thing to say.”

“I know.”

A pause.

“Say it again.”

Caitlyn tilted her head, just enough to really look at her. “Maybe I liked it.”

Violet’s expression cracked open — just a hair. Her voice dropped, barely audible. “I haven’t stopped thinking about it.”

They were both very still now. Very aware.

Of each other.

Of the electricity in the air, the way the silence around them felt sharp and hot and just on the edge of something.

“If you kiss me now…” Caitlyn started again, voice hoarse, “I don’t think I’ll be able to control myself.”

Violet looked at her like she was reading a map she thought she’d memorized, only to realize it had changed.

Her reply came softer than expected:

“Then maybe we just don’t need to think much of it.”

And the distance between them felt like it was vanishing by the second, like one breath too deep might bring them crashing into each other.

There was something deeply wrong with the air in the room.

Violet was sure of it. Maybe it was too warm. Maybe the cabin ventilation system was malfunctioning. Or maybe — and this was starting to feel dangerously likely — Ezreal had slipped something into their orange juice that morning. Some sort of influencer aphrodisiac. A designer spell to make enemies act like lovers for better engagement metrics.

It would be so on-brand.

Across the bed, Violet shifted. She wasn’t touching Caitlyn, not technically, but the space between them felt magnetic. Untrustworthy. Like one stray breath would snap the tension and pull them into something they’d both spend weeks pretending never happened.

Or worse: something they wouldn’t regret at all.

“This is so stupid,” Violet muttered, her voice hoarse from sleep and something else. “It’s the air. Or the room. Or—Ezreal. He hexed us. Has to be.”

“Agreed,” Caitlyn said tightly. “We’ve been cursed.”

“Celibacy’s a curse.”

“That too.”

Violet’s head tilted slightly toward her. “You think he used, like, scented oils? Mind control? He is weirdly enthusiastic about ‘vibes.’”

Caitlyn gave a dry laugh. “I wouldn’t put it past him.”

They both stared at the ceiling, as if it might start spinning. Neither moved. Neither breathed too deeply. Caitlyn could feel every inch of her body hyper-aware. Her skin felt like it didn’t fit right. Like it belonged in someone else’s bed, someone else’s night, someone else’s arms.

Instead, it was here.

With Violet.

Who was way too close.

Who was always too much.

And somehow… not enough.

“You’re being quiet,” Violet said after a beat. “That’s usually when you’re planning world domination.”

Caitlyn swallowed. “I’m trying not to do anything stupid.”

“Too late. We married each other.”

“That was business.”

“This feels like a fever dream.”

“You’re not helping.”

Violet rolled onto her side, just slightly. Just enough for her arm to brush against Caitlyn’s. Bare skin on bare skin. Caitlyn stiffened, breath catching like it had been tripped by her lungs.

“Jesus,” she muttered.

“I know,” Violet whispered, mirroring her. “What the hell is happening?”

“I haven’t slept with anyone in weeks,” Caitlyn said, almost defensively. “That has to be it.”

“Yeah,” Violet nodded. “This is clearly just… prolonged exposure to your enemy during a dopamine drought.”

“Exactly.”

Another beat.

“Your arm’s warm.”

“You’re touching me.”

“Not my fault your skin’s all... soft and annoying.”

“I’m a human person.”

“You’re a silk-covered spreadsheet.”

“And you’re a walking impulse control problem.”

Violet huffed a laugh. “Say you hate me again. Just to reset the vibe.”

Caitlyn exhaled slowly. “I hate you.”

“Better.”

But the words didn’t do what they were supposed to. They didn’t pull them apart. They didn’t build a wall.

They just… lingered. Like a dare.

Their eyes met. No longer braced for impact, just curious. Hesitant. Hungry in a way that felt dangerous.

Violet tilted her head again, squinting at Caitlyn like she was trying to decipher a code written across her face. “Do you feel weird?”

“Deeply.”

“You look weird.”

“You always look like you’re about to ruin someone’s life.”

Violet smirked. “Maybe I am.”

Caitlyn blinked, heart pounding.

This wasn’t war anymore.

This was something else entirely.

It didn’t happen all at once.

There was no dramatic crash, no orchestra swelling, just a breath caught too long and a look held too close.

Violet was the one to move first, but barely. A shift forward, like gravity had nudged her shoulder. Her eyes flicked to Caitlyn’s mouth, then back up again, sharp and uncertain. She looked… stunned. Like she couldn’t quite believe what she was doing. or worse, what she wanted.

Caitlyn didn’t move at all.

She should have. She knew that. Her brain was screaming things like professionalism, boundaries, self-respect, but none of them made it to her limbs. Her body was too busy remembering the last time they kissed. The ceremony. The way Violet’s mouth had tasted like citrus and defiance.

This felt the same. But real.

When Violet leaned in again, slower this time, Caitlyn tilted her head, not to dodge, but to meet her.

It was soft.

Too soft, considering the tension that had brought them here. Their mouths met like a secret being told for the first time: hesitant, lingering, testing. Violet’s hand hovered awkwardly near Caitlyn’s jaw, then dropped, fingers brushing her collarbone like she’d touched something hot.

Caitlyn made a noise in the back of her throat, startled by the rush of it, how right and wrong it felt at the same time. How her whole body was answering the kiss like it had been waiting for it.

She reached out before she could stop herself, grabbing the hem of Violet’s shirt, just enough to ground herself, just enough to hold on.

The kiss deepened without permission. It turned greedy. Violet tilted her head, and their noses bumped, and it should’ve ruined the moment, but it didn’t. It just made Caitlyn laugh, breathless, right against Violet’s mouth.

“You kiss like you’re trying to win something,” Caitlyn whispered.

Violet smirked. “Maybe I am.”

And when Violet leaned in — slow, unsure, but inevitable — Caitlyn didn’t stop her.

Because maybe it was a spell. Maybe it was insanity. Maybe 

Or maybe, just maybe, it was the first honest moment between them.

They still hated each other.

Still fought like every word was a challenge, still rolled their eyes, still spit venom laced with flirtation. That hadn’t changed.

But as Violet pulled her closer, Caitlyn realized with a dizzy, dangerous kind of clarity:

Hatred had never felt this much like hunger.

Chapter Text

Then she kissed her again.

And this time, it wasn’t soft.

It was a fight.

Their mouths crashed together, all heat and urgency, like they were trying to outdo each other, like kissing was just another battlefield they were determined to win. Lips dragged. Teeth clashed. Tongues tangled, fighting for dominance like neither of them could stand to be the one who gave in first.

Violet made a sound — low, throaty, something between a groan and a curse — and pressed harder, like she could force Caitlyn to break first.

But Caitlyn didn’t.

She kissed back just as hard, fingers fisting in the front of Violet’s shirt, dragging her closer with a kind of desperation that made no goddamn sense.

Because this? This wasn’t part of the plan.

What the hell am I doing? Caitlyn thought, mind half-flooded with adrenaline and heat. I don’t want her. I hate her. She’s loud and reckless and arrogant and she—

Violet sucked on her bottom lip, just hard enough to make Caitlyn gasp.

—and she’s kissing me like she means it.

Caitlyn’s breath hitched. Her fingers tightened. Her body betrayed her completely.

Meanwhile, Violet was spiraling.

This is a mistake. This is so dumb. I don’t kiss people I hate. I don’t want to kiss her. I hate her. I’ve always hated her—

Caitlyn tilted her head slightly and deepened the kiss, lips softer now, slower, and Violet felt her knees threaten betrayal.

Fuck.

Because Caitlyn kissed like she studied it. Like she had a technique, and it was currently being used to dismantle Violet’s entire central nervous system. She could feel the control in it, the precision, and it made her want to ruin it. Disrupt it. Bite it. Break it.

So she did.

Her teeth scraped gently at Caitlyn’s lip, and Caitlyn moaned, not loud, but real. That little sound ignited something violent in Violet’s chest.

She pulled back half a second, just enough to catch her breath.

Their eyes met. Too close. Too wild.

Their lips were red. Kiss-swollen. Their chests were heaving.

“I hate you,” Violet breathed.

“Yeah, me too,” Caitlyn said, voice raw.

And then they were kissing again, messier, needier, angrier.

Because they didn’t understand this.

Because it didn’t make sense.

How could Violet want Caitlyn — perfect, condescending Caitlyn — with her biting wit and designer sunglasses and that sharp, beautiful mouth?

How could Caitlyn need Violet — impulsive, chaotic Violet — who stomped into rooms like she owned them and smelled like sweat and danger and something Caitlyn couldn’t stop chasing?

They didn’t know.

They just kept kissing.

Like maybe if they pressed hard enough, deep enough, they could force an answer out of it. Or forget the question altogether.

And beneath all the heat, all the competition, all the denial, one terrifying truth burned quietly between their teeth:

They didn’t want to stop.

So they didn't.

They kept kissing—harder, deeper—the kind of kiss that blurred every line and made breathing feel secondary. Caitlyn barely had time to register the shift before Violet pressed forward, guiding her down with steady hands and a wicked grin.

She straddled her with ease, settling into place like she belonged there. And maybe she did—warm, solid, impossibly smug. Her hands planted firmly on either side of Caitlyn’s shoulders, she kissed her like she was trying to erase her name from memory.

Then Caitlyn moaned. Soft. Unbidden. Her hips tilted up ever so slightly in response.

Violet paused, just for a breath.

And then she grinned.

Slow. Sharp. Predatory.

“Well that was pretty,” she murmured, her voice all silk and teeth. “You gonna melt every time I press a button, or was that a special one?”

Caitlyn opened her eyes just to glare at her. “You’re unbearable.”

“You like unbearable.”

Violet dipped her head again, nipping at Caitlyn’s jaw, her lips trailing to the hollow beneath her ear. Her voice dropped to a whisper.

“Bet you’ve been dreaming about me on top of you like this. Bet you wish you hated it.”

Caitlyn gritted her teeth, and hated how much she didn’t deny it.

Violet grabbed her wrists, pinning them above her head against the cushion. Her grip wasn’t cruel, just firm, controlling.

Her smirk widened. “What now, princess?”

She leaned in, lips ghosting over Caitlyn’s.

“You’re not getting out of this. You’re not strong enough.”

Caitlyn blinked up at her. Face flushed. Breathing uneven.

Then she smiled.

Just a little.

And Violet didn’t have time to process what that meant before Caitlyn moved.

In one swift motion, Caitlyn hooked her legs, shifted her weight, and twisted, using Violet’s momentum against her.

Suddenly she was on top, pressing Violet down into the mattress with practiced ease.

Violet’s breath left her in a sharp exhale. “What the—”

Caitlyn raised an eyebrow, completely infuriating. “You were saying?”

Violet blinked up at her, stunned. Slightly aroused. “You wrestled me.”

“You underestimated me.”

Violet huffed. “You used leverage.”

“And you talk too much.”

Caitlyn’s hands found Violet’s wrists this time, pinning them with elegance and precision. Her knees straddled Violet’s hips, her posture infuriatingly composed despite the chaos that had just happened.

She leaned in, lips almost touching.

“Well?” she whispered, voice dangerously calm. “What are you gonna do now?”

Violet stared at her.

Heart pounding.

Thighs tense.

Smirk returning, even as her pride smarted.

“…I liked it better when you were moaning.”

Caitlyn rolled her eyes. “God, you’re insufferable.”

“Yeah,” Violet said, lips curling. “But you’re still on top of me.”

Caitlyn paused.

Her smirk mirrored Violet’s now, sharp, challenging, unspoken promise tucked into the corners of her mouth.

“For now.”

And then she kissed her again, slower this time. More deliberate.

Like a warning. Like a countdown. Like a game that was only just beginning.

Her lips moved over Violet’s with a careful sort of reverence, like she was learning her. Memorizing the shape, the pressure, the heat. She pressed in, then pulled just slightly back, letting their mouths drag and slide and find rhythm again, unhurried this time. Her tongue traced Violet’s lower lip, then met hers with slow, deliberate curiosity. Not a battle anymore — a study.

She was cataloguing her.

The softness. The firmness. The heat.

Every flicker of Violet’s tongue. Every subtle shift of breath.

It was madness.

This is insane, Caitlyn thought, even as her lips parted for another kiss. This is actual madness.

They were supposed to hate each other. That was the entire premise.

This was supposed to be a façade. A business arrangement. A mutually beneficial illusion wrapped in legal contracts and PR appearances.

And yet—

Here she was. In a silk pajama set that suddenly felt far too thin. Straddling Violet’s hips. Kissing her like she wanted to.

And the worst part?

The hatred hadn’t even gone away.

Caitlyn still thought Violet was insufferable. Loud. Chaotic. Arrogant.

But she was also warm and solid beneath her, and her mouth — God, her mouth — was doing something deeply unfair to Caitlyn’s ability to think.

She groaned softly into the kiss, hating how good it felt.

And that’s when Violet moved.

With a sudden shift, she slipped her wrists free from Caitlyn’s grip, not fighting, just sliding out, fingers wrapping around Caitlyn’s.

Caitlyn pulled back an inch, startled.

But Violet didn’t try to flip her again.

Instead, her hands rose slowly, deliberately, brushing over Caitlyn’s forearms, then up past her elbows, grazing the curve of her biceps, until they reached her face. She cupped her jaw, thumbs brushing lightly against her cheekbones, tracing the edge of Caitlyn’s focus.

Caitlyn’s breath caught. She didn’t move.

Violet’s touch drifted again, fingers sliding down, slow and unhurried, over the smooth silk of Caitlyn’s dark gray pajama top. Down her neck. Across the gentle dip of her collarbone. Her hands flattened, gliding over Caitlyn’s sides, mapping the line of her ribs through fabric barely thick enough to hide how fast she was breathing.

Then lower.

Her palms grazed Caitlyn’s narrow waist, skimming over the cinched tie of the pajama pants, finding the curve of her hips and settling.

There.

On her ass.

Violet gave it a slow, deliberate squeeze, and grinned.

Caitlyn’s jaw clenched.

Her heart stuttered.

“You’re lucky I haven’t called the cops on you,” she murmured, voice hoarse.

Violet raised an eyebrow. “You’re lucky I didn’t do this yesterday.”

Caitlyn tried to summon a glare.

It came out breathless. Helpless.

And Violet?

Violet just looked infuriatingly pleased with herself.

They stared at each other.

For a long, breathless moment, neither of them moved — just watched. Eyes locked, pulses wild. The air between them was heavy, charged, impossible to ignore.

They both felt it.

The want.

Raw. Physical. Unapologetic.

It had been weeks since either of them had touched anyone. Too much noise. Too much pressure. Too many eyes.

And now, here they were. Dripping in tension. Breathing each other in like oxygen.

Their bodies were strangers to this version of closeness. But their faces? Familiar. Too familiar.

They had known each other for over twenty years.

Long enough to remember awkward braces and first heartbreaks. Long enough to witness every misstep, every petty grudge, every humiliating childhood moment. They’d grown up in the same circles, across the same rooms, under the same expectations. And they’d spent most of that time hating each other. Not casually. Professionally.

Because they knew each other.

Knew how to cut deep. Knew where the soft spots were and how to stomp on them. They had perfected the art of mutual sabotage. If there was a button to push, they’d pushed it. Repeatedly. With precision.

And yet…

Caitlyn’s fingers trembled on Violet’s hips.

Violet’s hands were still on Caitlyn’s ass.

They hadn’t moved. Neither had looked away.

“I’m not even sure I like your face right now,” Caitlyn muttered, voice rough.

Violet smirked, slow. “You liked it a second ago. Looked pretty into it, actually.”

Caitlyn rolled her eyes. “You’re intolerable.”

“And you’re sitting on me like you’re thinking about marrying me for real.”

Caitlyn huffed. “Don’t flatter yourself.”

“I don’t need to,” Violet said, shifting her hips just enough to make Caitlyn inhale through her teeth. “You’re doing it for me.”

A beat.

Then Caitlyn leaned forward, foreheads almost touching.

“This is fucking insane,” she whispered.

“Fully deranged,” Violet agreed. “I blame the cabin. And your stupid pajamas.”

“You blame my pajamas?”

“They’re silk,” Violet said, looking her dead in the eye. “You wore silk to bed. That’s an attack.”

“I wasn’t trying to seduce anyone.”

“Well, you failed. Because now I want to fuck you.”

Caitlyn blinked. “Classy.”

“Don’t pretend you’re not right there with me.”

Silence. Tension. Heat.

Then Caitlyn exhaled slowly. “This doesn’t mean anything.”

“Of course it doesn’t.”

“It’s just—”

“—sex,” Violet finished. “Obviously.”

“No feelings.”

“God, no. You think I suddenly like you just because I want to rail you into the mattress?”

Caitlyn’s breath caught. “You’re disgusting.”

“You’re wet,” Violet countered, voice smug.

“I hate you.”

“Yeah,” Violet said, licking her lips. “Hate you too.”

Their mouths crashed together again.

It was filthy. Desperate. Half a laugh and half a threat. And maybe that was all they had to give each other right now.

Not softness.

Not peace.

Just this.

Just want.

And the mutual, unspoken agreement between two enemies who couldn’t stop circling the same fire:

This doesn’t have to be love.

Caitlyn rolled her hips.

Slow. Testing.

The motion was subtle at first, almost casual, just the faintest press of her body into Violet’s. But the effect was immediate. Her silk pajama bottoms slid effortlessly against the soft fabric of Violet’s shorts, creating a warm, deliberate friction that sparked low in both of them.

She did it again. And again.

Not by accident. Not gently.

Dry humping her.

Measured and controlled, but undeniably desperate.

Each roll of her hips dragged their bodies together in a rhythm that made it impossible to pretend anymore. The silk clung and slipped in all the right ways, catching just enough to make Violet’s breath hitch, then leaving her gasping when it slid again.

Heat bloomed between them, spreading outward like something volatile.

Violet let out a broken sound, all breath and disbelief, her fingers digging harder into Caitlyn’s ass, squeezing, grounding, like she needed to feel every inch of her or she’d lose her mind. She wasn’t pulling her closer. She wasn’t pushing her away. She was just holding on.

Caitlyn’s breath was shaky now too, chest rising and falling with shallow determination, her forehead nearly brushing Violet’s. She never looked away. Never paused.

She just kept grinding into her—slow, insistent, maddening.

“Fuck,” Violet hissed, head falling back slightly. “You’re—shit—”

Caitlyn ground down again, biting her bottom lip, chasing the pressure with more intent now. “Say it.”

She could feel it: herself.

Getting wetter with each grind.

Soaked through thin silk and shame.

Violet groaned, hips lifting to meet the rhythm. “You’re fucking—insane.”

“Good,” Caitlyn said through gritted teeth.

Her fingers curled into Violet’s shoulders for balance as she moved again, slow, dragging, deliberate, chasing the friction like she needed it, like it had been waiting inside her all this time.

It wasn’t graceful.

It was desperate. Sharp. Hungry.

Silk on cotton. Heat on heat.

Caitlyn’s breath stuttered as she rolled her hips again, harder this time, the friction sending a jolt through her clit. “Fuck.”

Violet’s hands slid up her back and then down again, resting at her waist only to grab her ass with both hands, pulling her in, grinding her down harder. “You feel so—Jesus, Caitlyn.”

“I’m gonna kill you,” Caitlyn gasped, voice high and broken.

“Yeah?” Violet’s grin was feral. “You gonna ride me to death in those fancy little pajamas?”

Caitlyn let out something between a moan and a laugh, her thighs trembling. “Shut up.”

“Make me.”

So she did.

Caitlyn leaned in and kissed her, open-mouthed, panting, breath hot against Violet’s tongue, as her hips rocked again, faster now, more frantic. Their bodies moved together in rough sync, fabric damp between them, the friction unforgiving and perfect.

Violet cursed again, her voice wrecked. “God—Caitlyn—just like that, fuck—”

Caitlyn could barely think. Her skin burned. Every drag of her hips sent sparks shooting down her spine. Her clit throbbed against the fabric, the pressure just right, just enough, but still—

Not quite enough.

“More,” she breathed. “I need—fuck, I need more—”

Violet’s fingers dug into her ass again, guiding her. 

Caitlyn rolled her hips harder, chasing the edge, the ache unbearable now. Her body bowed forward, forehead against Violet’s as she gasped for air.

“I hate you,” she cried.

“Yeah,” Violet said, breathless, eyes blown wide. “Still hate you.”

Violet held her tighter.

One arm wrapped around Caitlyn’s waist, the other spread wide across her back, palm splayed between her shoulder blades, holding her there. Keeping her close. Keeping her grinding.

Caitlyn’s breath was shallow, messy against Violet’s neck as she moved, hips rolling in a desperate rhythm, silk pajama pants already damp from the friction, her body aching now, throbbing, wound up so tight she thought she might snap from it.

She whimpered. Just barely.

And Violet heard it.

“Fuck,” Caitlyn choked out, nails digging into Violet’s shoulders. “I can’t—this—this teasing—”

Her voice broke, hot and sharp. “I can’t take it anymore.”

Violet grinned.

Of course she did.

Her hand slid lower, pressing flat against the small of Caitlyn’s back, pushing her harder against her own body.

“Yeah?” she murmured, lips brushing Caitlyn’s ear. “You done humping me like a spoiled brat?”

Caitlyn let out a noise of protest, half rage, half desperation.

Violet's voice dipped, rough and deliberate. “You want to be fucked, princess?”

Caitlyn groaned. “Yes.”

“Mmm.” Violet kissed the corner of her jaw, slow and infuriating. “You’re gonna have to ask for it.”

Caitlyn stilled.

“No.”

Violet raised her eyebrows, delight dancing behind her eyes. “No?”

“I don’t—” Caitlyn’s throat worked. “I don’t ask for things.”

“Of course you don’t,” Violet said smugly. “You get what you want handed to you. No questions. No waiting.”

Caitlyn’s jaw clenched.

Violet ran her hands slowly down her back, over her ass again, then up her ribs, and then stopped touching her entirely. Just held her in place. Still. Waiting.

Caitlyn tried to grind again, to find any friction, anything,  but Violet didn’t move.

Didn’t help.

She just stared up at her, smug and gorgeous and fucking impossible.

“With me,” Violet said softly, “it’s different.”

Caitlyn’s fingers trembled where they curled into Violet’s chest.

And then Violet leaned in, her voice low, deadly serious now.

“You want me to fuck you?” she asked. “Then you need to say it.”

Caitlyn didn’t move.

Didn’t breathe.

The silence cracked around them like thunder.

Violet tilted her head. “Say please.”

Caitlyn’s eyes darkened, fury and lust colliding, crashing, spiraling.

This wasn’t her. This wasn’t how things went.

She didn’t beg.

But her body was screaming for it.

And Violet was right there, watching her fall apart and loving every fucking second.

So Caitlyn stayed still, panting, flushed, trembling, her pride bleeding out between them as Violet waited.

And Violet? She just smiled.

Because she knew:

Caitlyn would break.

It was only a matter of time.

But Caitlyn stayed silent.

Jaw locked. Eyes burning.

She was furious.

At Violet. At herself. At the entire situation.

Of course Violet could still be infuriating, even now, even like this. Even when Caitlyn was trembling, soaked through silk, seconds away from coming undone. She still had to make it a game.

Still had to win.

Violet saw her silence, her stiffness, and took the opening like it had been handed to her on a silver tray. She shifted, flipping Caitlyn effortlessly onto her back, climbing on top in one fluid, confident movement.

Caitlyn didn’t fight it.

But she didn’t help either.

Her expression stayed blank, tight with tension. She kept her arms by her sides, her lips pressed into a hard line, refusing to give Violet the satisfaction.

She was too proud.

Too wired.

Too goddamn aroused.

Violet leaned in, bracing one hand beside Caitlyn’s head as her mouth found skin: slow, warm, intentional. Her lips traced a line beneath Caitlyn’s jaw, then lower, then behind her ear, where she paused… and bit.

Just enough to sting.

Just enough to make her gasp.

Then escaped as a sound: low, unguarded, helpless.

A soft, perfect moan.

She cursed herself instantly, biting it back, but it was too late.

Violet pulled back with a grin that could cut glass.

“Oh, come on, Cait,” she purred, voice thick with satisfaction. “It’s not that hard. You say please... and I fuck you.”

Her words landed like a match to gasoline.

Caitlyn stared at the ceiling.

Every inch of her skin was on fire. Her thighs tried to press together involuntarily, seeking pressure, contact, anything. The fabric clung to her now, sticky and unbearable. Her nipples were hard beneath the thin silk, her core aching, throbbing, desperate for something more than teasing. More than words.

She was soaked.

Completely.

And still—

Violet waited.

Above her.

Smirking.

Patient in the most obnoxious way imaginable.

Caitlyn’s thoughts tangled.

This is torture. She’s torturing me. She knows exactly what she’s doing. And I’m letting her. I could flip her again. I could take control. I could end this—

But her body didn’t want to end it.

Her body wanted Violet.

Her body wanted relief.

She clenched her fists against the mattress, swallowing hard, the heat between her legs now unbearable, suffocating. She could feel her pulse there, steady and demanding. Everything inside her screamed for release.

She had never begged for anything in her life.

Not for approval. Not for money. Not for power. Not for love.

And yet—

Her pride was no match for this slow, devastating kind of want.

The silence stretched.

Tighter.

Hotter.

Until finally, barely audible, barely herself—

“…please.”

Violet tilted her head, smile curling wider.

Caitlyn looked up at her, face flushed, voice a thread of air.

“Please. I want you to fuck me.”

And Violet?

Violet lit up like a match struck in the dark.

“See?” she said, voice low and wicked. “That wasn’t so hard.”

Then she kissed her, deep and rough and victorious.

And Caitlyn didn’t fight it. Not this time.

Violet pulled back just enough to look down at her.

Caitlyn was flushed, lips swollen, hair a beautiful mess against the pillow, and she was still glaring, like she wanted to kill Violet and kiss her at the same time.

So, naturally, Violet smiled.

“Arms up,” she said, voice low.

Caitlyn hesitated, just for a second, then lifted her arms with a sharp breath, letting Violet slip her fingers beneath the hem of the silk pajama top. The fabric was already rumpled, clinging in places, damp with sweat and want.

Violet peeled it up slowly, deliberately, savoring the reveal, her knuckles grazing against Caitlyn’s sides, the curve of her ribs.

And then she froze.

Just for a beat.

Because the top came off easily. Too easily.

Caitlyn wasn’t wearing anything underneath.

No bra.

Nothing.

“...fuck,” Violet whispered, voice catching.

Her breath stalled. Her gaze dragged over Caitlyn’s chest like it couldn’t decide where to land: the slope of her breasts, the flush that painted her skin, the way her nipples were already tight from arousal and the brush of silk.

And her body responded instantly.

Heat curled low and sharp in her stomach. Her thighs clenched. And her mouth — God — her mouth actually watered.

She could feel it.

That throb of desire crashing through her so fast it made her head spin. The overwhelming, animal want to touch, to taste, to ruin.

Caitlyn looked up at her, eyes narrowed, breath shallow. “What?”

Violet didn’t answer right away.

Couldn’t, for a moment.

She was too busy staring.

Too busy fighting the urge to drag her mouth across every inch of Caitlyn’s chest and never stop.

“You weren’t wearing a bra,” she finally said, a little dazed.

“No,” Caitlyn replied, voice clipped. “I wasn’t.”

Violet’s hands hovered, like she wasn’t sure where to start, her palms actually tingling from how badly she wanted to touch her.

Her voice came out hoarse. “Jesus, Caitlyn.”

She swallowed hard.

“I’m gonna ruin you.”

Caitlyn arched a brow. “Are you going to just keep staring at me?”

“I’m appreciating the strategy,” Violet said, breathlessly smirking. “God, you’re hotter than I thought.”

Caitlyn rolled her eyes, though her cheeks were dark with heat. “Oh, shut up—”

But Violet was already lowering her head again, mouth brushing hot over the curve of Caitlyn’s breast, her voice a reverent murmur against flushed skin, lips brushing the swell of one breast, barely a kiss, more a promise.

Caitlyn’s hands clenched in the sheets.

Violet kissed again, a little lower this time. Then again, softer. Slower. Her mouth moved like she was tasting something rare, something expensive, like she wanted to savor every second of it.

Her hands slid up Caitlyn’s sides, warm and firm, until they cupped her breasts fully, thumbs brushing lightly over her already sensitive nipples.

Caitlyn’s breath caught. Her back arched, just slightly, involuntarily.

“God, your tits are perfect,” Violet murmured, almost in disbelief. “Of course they are.”

Then she started kissing them in earnest.

Lips and tongue and just the faintest scrape of teeth, gentle, then firmer. She sucked at one nipple, slow and deliberate, while her hand massaged the other, fingers kneading and rolling until Caitlyn let out a sound she tried to swallow.

Too late.

Violet heard it.

Felt it.

She groaned softly against her skin, drunk on the way Caitlyn shuddered beneath her.

Then she devoured her.

Her mouth wrapped around Caitlyn’s nipple fully, sucking deep, her tongue flicking in slow circles as she squeezed her other breast, rougher, more demanding.

Caitlyn gasped, high and wrecked, her hips lifting slightly off the bed.

Violet moaned low in her throat, feeling how responsive she was, how warm and soft and real she felt under her tongue and hands.

She pulled back for a moment, breathless, her lips slick.

“You’re so fucking hot like this,” she said. “So tense. So needy. You’re gonna fall apart the second I fuck you.”

Caitlyn didn’t answer.

She couldn’t.

Her eyes were closed, lips parted, breath shaking. Her body arched into every touch like it couldn’t help itself, like her pride had finally shut up and let her feel something.

And Violet, greedy, wanting, wild, just lowered her mouth to the other breast and kept going.

More pressure.

More heat.

More everything.

Violet’s mouth was still on Caitlyn’s chest when her hands began to wander lower, gliding down the flat plane of her stomach, the silk of the pajama pants now damp against Caitlyn’s skin, clinging in all the wrong and right places.

She paused, lips brushing over Caitlyn’s sternum.

Then her hands hooked into the waistband of her pants.

And without warning, she pulled.

Caitlyn gasped as the silk was dragged down her thighs, along with her panties in one smooth, fluid motion, no hesitation, no pretense. The air hit her skin, cool and electric, and she clenched her jaw, refusing to flinch.

But Violet saw everything.

And stopped to look.

Caitlyn’s cunt was soaked, glistening, perfect. A neat patch of dark blue hair sat above it, trimmed but visible, like everything else about her: composed, curated, intentional.

Violet’s breath caught.

She didn’t mean to be so obvious, but her eyes lingered, on the slick between Caitlyn’s thighs, the way her skin flushed all the way down, the way her hips shifted like she was trying not to squirm under the attention.

Holy fuck, Violet thought, biting her bottom lip. She’s... unreal.

She tried to play it cool, tried not to look impressed, but some quiet part of her brain was just whispering praise her over and over.

“You’re…” Violet started, almost involuntarily. “Shit. You’re so fucking pretty.”

Caitlyn’s eyes flew open, cheeks burning.

“Shut up,” she hissed.

But Violet only smiled, lowering herself between Caitlyn’s legs, her hands parting her thighs slowly, reverently.

“Still bossy,” she murmured. “Even when you’re dripping.”

She kissed the inside of one thigh.

Then the other.

Soft. Purposeful. Teasing.

Caitlyn let out a strangled breath, one hand curling into the sheets, the other gripping Violet’s shoulder like she wasn’t sure if she wanted to push her away or pull her in by the hair.

Then Violet kissed a little higher, just barely brushing her lips near the edge of Caitlyn’s cunt, not touching, not yet —

“For fuck's sake, Violet,” Caitlyn snapped, her voice wrecked with frustration. “Just fuck me already.”

Violet looked up from between her legs, lips wet, grin slow and wicked.

“There she is,” she said softly.

And then, finally — finally — she leaned in.

Violet didn’t tease this time.

No more slow kisses. No more smirks.

She pressed her tongue flat against Caitlyn’s cunt, from the top of her slit down, firm and deliberate, the pressure just right.

Caitlyn gasped, loud and raw, her hips jolting upward as the sensation hit her like a lightning strike.

Violet groaned at the taste.

Fuck.

She hadn't been expecting it, how much she liked it. How quickly her brain went quiet, focused only on the heat and slick and scent of Caitlyn beneath her. She licked again, slower this time, savoring the way Caitlyn’s thighs trembled under her hands.

She ate.

Mouth open, tongue broad and steady, licking from base to clit and back again, over and over, building pressure, spreading Caitlyn open with her hands to give her more room to move, more freedom to feel.

Caitlyn moaned, deep in her throat, one hand flying into Violet’s hair like instinct.

Violet smiled against her, then sucked, gently, on Caitlyn’s clit, tongue flicking slow and tight and rhythmic.

Caitlyn bucked. “F-Fuck—”

That was it.

Violet’s hands gripped Caitlyn’s thighs, holding her steady as she worked. No hesitation, no breaks, just constant heat. She circled her tongue around the clit, then flattened it again, applying pressure exactly where she knew Caitlyn couldn’t handle it.

Every time Caitlyn gasped, Violet pressed deeper. Every whimper made her go slower, crueler, hungrier.

Caitlyn was falling apart.

The tension in her body, the way her back arched, the way her thighs clenched, it was all there, a feeling of need and fury and release building with every flick of Violet’s tongue.

She dragged her tongue down, slipping it between folds, collecting every bit of slick heat, then returning to Caitlyn’s clit with purpose: firmer, faster, fucking her with her mouth like she meant it.

Caitlyn’s fingers fisted tighter in Violet’s hair.

Her breath came in ragged gasps now. “Oh my God—Violet—don’t stop—”

Violet moaned at the sound of her name like that, wrecked, desperate, involuntary.

She wasn’t planning to stop.

Not until Caitlyn shattered.

Not until she had to beg again, but for something else this time. Not control. Not dominance.

Just more.

So she didn’t stop.

Not when Caitlyn moaned.

Not when her thighs started to shake.

Not when her fingers tangled tighter in Violet’s hair like she didn’t know if she wanted to pull her closer or push her away.

She just kept going, mouth wet and relentless, tongue circling Caitlyn’s clit with precision, pressure, purpose. Every sound Caitlyn made fueled her. Every twitch of muscle, every breathless curse, drove her deeper into it.

And then —

Violet slid two fingers in.

Caitlyn cried out.

Not a moan. Not a gasp.

A full, desperate, helpless sound.

Violet groaned into her cunt, the slick heat of Caitlyn wrapped around her fingers almost too much. Tight. Ready. So fucking ready. She curled her fingers immediately, deep and slow, and Caitlyn arched off the bed like she’d been struck by lightning.

“Fuck—fuck, Violet—”

“I got you,” Violet murmured against her, voice low, hot. “You feel so fucking good.”

She pushed in again, deeper, harder, her fingers working in time with her tongue, coaxing Caitlyn closer to the edge with every flick, every thrust, every filthy, devastating second.

Caitlyn’s hips rocked into her, frantic now, chasing every motion like she couldn’t help herself.

Violet grinned, breath catching.

“That’s it,” she murmured, her voice raspy and soaked in want. “Come on, princess. Come for me. I want to hear you fall apart.”

Caitlyn’s eyes squeezed shut.

She shook her head once, like she didn’t want to, like she couldn’t give Violet the satisfaction—

And then Violet crooked her fingers just right.

“Shit—” Caitlyn’s body seized, her whole form tensing, thighs clamping around Violet’s shoulders, breath hitching in her throat.

“Violet—”

“Let go,” Violet whispered. “I’ve got you.”

And Caitlyn broke.

Her orgasm hit fast, hard, unstoppable, waves of heat and release rolling through her, a loud, choked moan escaping her mouth as her body arched and shook. Her hands clawed at the sheets, at Violet’s hair, as if she needed something to hold onto to survive the way it ripped through her.

Violet didn’t stop.

Not until Caitlyn’s body trembled and collapsed back against the bed, breath ragged, mouth parted, legs still twitching with aftershocks.

Violet finally lifted her head, lips swollen, jaw slick with Caitlyn’s arousal, eyes wild with pride and hunger.

Caitlyn looked wrecked.

And furious.

And unbearably gorgeous.

Violet smirked, licking her lips like she already knew exactly what she’d done.

“Well,” she said, voice low, “you beg real pretty when you have to.”

Caitlyn tried to glare at her.

Tried.

But all she could manage was a sharp inhale, a trembling exhale, and one broken, breathless reply:

“Shut the fuck up.”

x-x-x

They lay side by side, limbs sprawled across rumpled sheets, the air still thick with sweat, heat, and the quiet thrum of something neither of them dared name.

Caitlyn stared at the ceiling.

Violet stared at her.

Still fully in her pajamas, the thin gray shirt damp at the collar, shorts twisted slightly on her hips. Violet looked unfairly smug for someone who had just ruined a woman and hadn’t even undressed to do it. Her face still carried the flushed glow of effort, the edge of mischief. And her fingers? Still sticky with Caitlyn’s orgasm.

She licked one idly.

Caitlyn almost turned to stone.

“So,” Violet said after a beat, voice casual but unmistakably self-satisfied. “How was it?”

Caitlyn blinked. Once. Twice.

Then turned her head, slow and flat.

“Excuse me?”

“You know,” Violet said, propping herself up on one elbow. “The part where I made you scream into the mattress and beg me to fuck you. That.”

Caitlyn scoffed, rolling her eyes so hard it looked physically painful. “It was fine.”

“Fine?”

“Acceptable.”

Violet burst into laughter. “Acceptable? Caitlyn, you came on my tongue.”

“I’m aware of what happened.”

“Are you?”

Caitlyn kept her expression neutral, but the faint pink coloring her cheeks betrayed her.

She couldn’t say it.

Couldn’t give Violet the satisfaction of knowing that it had been mind-melting. That Caitlyn had blacked out for a full two seconds during the orgasm. That her legs still hadn’t fully recovered.

So she kept her tone clipped, breezy, deadly calm. “It was a release. That’s all.”

Violet smirked, laying back beside her again, fingers laced behind her head.

“Well, if it was that disappointing,” she said, mock-sighing, “maybe next time we should test the hexstrap.”

Caitlyn blinked again, turning to look at her like she’d just grown a second head. “You brought a hexstrap to the cabin?”

“I didn’t,” Violet said, grinning. “But Sett did.”

Caitlyn frowned. “Sett?”

“Yeah. He packed for me, remember? Thought it would be funny. You know, in case the fake honeymoon got… weird.”

Caitlyn stared at the ceiling again. Processing.

A long beat of silence passed.

Then, dryly:

“Is it new?”

Violet turned her head, brow raised. “What, the hexstrap?”

“Yes.”

“Yeah. Still in the box. You wanna see?”

Caitlyn didn’t answer for a moment.

Then: “For educational purposes.”

Violet grinned, already moving to sit up. “Sure, cupcake. Purely academic.”

Caitlyn groaned. “Don’t fucking call me that.”

“Oh, but cupcake,” Violet teased, voice low and saccharine, “you taste so sweet.”

Caitlyn reached for a pillow and threw it directly at her face.

Violet stepped out of bed, the wood creaking softly beneath her feet as she moved, still in her wrinkled, clinging gray pajamas, looking impossibly smug for someone who hadn’t even taken off her shirt to destroy a woman.

Caitlyn remained where she was, reclining against the pillows like a queen who had not, in fact, begged for anything moments earlier. Her arms were crossed, the sheets wrapped strategically around her, and her glare tracked Violet across the room.

“Where are you going?” she asked, tone icy, bored, but her eyes lingered.

Violet tossed a look over her shoulder. “Retrieving our educational tools, Professor.”

She strolled across the room, hips swaying just enough to be irritating, and knelt beside her overnight bag — an overstuffed Louis Vuitton duffel, monogrammed and obnoxious, with a scuffed leather tag and a tiny Hello Kitty charm dangling from the zipper like some kind of inside joke with herself.

She unzipped the side pocket and pulled out a sleek black box, embossed with a subtle silver logo: LANES — her family's company. The words HexStrap Series V gleamed along the edge.

Caitlyn’s eyes narrowed.

“Oh, please,” she said, folding her arms. “Don’t tell me you’re loyal to that thing.”

Violet raised an eyebrow. “Why wouldn’t I be? It’s top of the line.”

Caitlyn scoffed. “Right. Top of the line if you’ve never tried a Kiramman model.”

Violet laughed under her breath and stood, holding the box loosely in one hand. “God, you’re such a snob.”

Caitlyn tilted her head. “I’m a realist. We’ve been in Hexgear production since before your grandmother was in heels.”

“And we’ve been improving your outdated designs since before you learned how to fake a smile.”

They stared at each other again, tension still thick, but now threaded with a new kind of anticipation. The kind that buzzed.

Violet smirked. “So what I’m hearing is… you want to test it?”

Caitlyn’s gaze dropped to the box, then back up to Violet’s face, unreadable.

A beat.

Then: “I’m not scared of it.”

Violet’s grin sharpened. “Good.”

She dropped the box onto the bed with a soft thud.

“Because I wasn’t planning to go easy on you.”

Violet stood at the edge of the bed, eyes fixed on Caitlyn like she was about to perform for an audience of one, which, technically, she was.

Caitlyn sat up a little straighter, the sheet slipping slightly down her chest as she narrowed her eyes.

“What exactly are you doing?”

Violet tilted her head, lips curling. “Oh, I don’t know. You just looked so invested in me, I figured I should give you a proper show.”

Caitlyn rolled her eyes, but didn’t look away.

Violet caught that immediately, smug and glowing in the low light.

“You're staring,” she said, voice a low tease. “Should I be flattered or alarmed?”

“Neither,” Caitlyn muttered.

But her gaze didn’t move.

Violet smiled like she’d already won.

She took her time peeling off her shirt, slow and deliberate, eyes locked on Caitlyn the entire time. Her tattoos revealed themselves inch by inch: across her ribs, winding around her stomach, dipping low on her hips.

Then came the shorts: tugged down with a lazy ease, revealing strong thighs, solid calves, and no underwear. She stood there, completely bare now, muscles shifting under inked skin, nipples pierced with silver that caught the light like a challenge.

Caitlyn’s breath hitched.

Violet smirked. “God, you’re so repressed. You act like you’ve never seen a naked woman before.”

“I’ve seen plenty, actually” Caitlyn said, voice clipped.

“Sure. But not like me.”

That earned her a glare. Sharp, precise, dangerously close to combusting.

Violet finally climbed onto the bed, slow and prowling, like a cat that knew exactly where it was going. She didn’t rush. She crawled forward, knees parting the sheets, until she was beside Caitlyn.

And then, without a word, she slipped a hand under the linen and pulled it back, revealing Caitlyn’s body in full.

Caitlyn didn’t flinch. But her jaw tightened.

Violet looked her over shamelessly. “There she is.”

Caitlyn raised a brow. “You’re so unbelievably arrogant.”

Violet leaned in, lips near her ear. “You like it.”

Caitlyn didn’t answer.

She didn’t have to.

Not when her thighs were already parting again.

They kissed again.

Not with urgency, not yet, but with that slow, deliberate pull that made Caitlyn feel like the world had narrowed down to this: the press of lips, the catch of breath, the way Violet tasted like heat and trouble. Her hand slid to the back of Violet’s neck, fingers tightening there. Violet responded with a soft hum, half amusement, half approval, before pulling back just slightly.

"You're such a menace," Caitlyn murmured.

Violet grinned. “And yet, here you are.”

The kiss deepened for a moment, Caitlyn’s hand tangling in Violet’s hair, pulling her just slightly closer, like she could drown out the insanity of all of this if she held tight enough. But then Violet pulled back, only a little, her lips brushing Caitlyn’s like a tease, and gave her that look. The one that said don’t blink or you’ll miss it.

“I’ll be right back,” she said, voice low.

Caitlyn didn’t answer. Just watched.

Violet slipped off the bed and padded over to where the sleek black box still waited at the edge. She opened it with practiced ease, her movements smooth, confident. Caitlyn tracked every one of them, every flick of her fingers, every slight tilt of her smirk.

The black matte finish of the case gleamed as Violet opened it. Inside, the device sat like something out of a high-end showroom: minimalist, elegant, and absolutely engineered. The LANE Series V HexStrap wasn’t just a toy, it was a piece of luxury-grade Hextech, fully integrated with neural-linked contact pads and a responsive interface that adapted to the wearer’s pulse, tension, and muscular feedback.

Violet lifted it carefully, and the device shimmered to life with a soft, humming glow: violet-blue circuitry lighting up along its sleek base. The shaft itself was thick, anatomically shaped with just enough texture to look like sin. Slight veins traced subtle paths down the silicone, and the head was perfectly molded, somewhere between artistry and threat.

Caitlyn raised a brow. “Subtle.”

Violet didn’t even blink. “You want me to switch to the travel version?”

Caitlyn said nothing. But her eyes followed every movement as Violet stepped into the harness, attaching it to the low magnetic connector just below her abdomen. A soft hiss sounded as the plates fused to her skin, syncing with her system in seconds. The calibration glow pulsed once, and Violet’s breath hitched: not pain, not surprise. Just... sensation.

She looked down, almost amused. “Hello, new favorite accessory.”

The HexStrap wasn’t just decorative. It linked, internally. Violet could feel it now: the tension, the anticipation, the way it responded to her breathing and subtle muscle contractions. It was synced with her, like it had always belonged there.

When she turned back to the bed, Caitlyn was watching, closely. Her hair was messy, her lips red, the sheet slipping low on her chest. Composed, but only barely.

“Well?” Violet asked, voice lower now, heavy with promise. “Still think the Kiramman models are better?”

Caitlyn didn’t move. Didn’t blink. But she did say, with infuriating calm:
“That remains to be seen.”

Violet’s smirk returned full force.

“Oh, I’ll make sure you feel the difference.”

Chapter Text

The jet hummed softly as it cut through the clouds, leaving Lake Tahoe behind like a secret neither of them was willing to name.

They hadn’t spoken since boarding. Not that there was anything left to say. Not after the morning — not after Caitlyn’s voice, clipped and cold, had unraveled whatever heat still lingered between the tangled sheets.

Now, they sat across from each other in the plush silence of the private cabin, surrounded by polished leather and unspoken things. Violet had one leg slung over the other, sunglasses on despite the tinted windows, jaw set like the sky had personally offended her.

She wore oversized, noise-canceling headphones, the kind that swallowed everything, and the volume was loud enough for a faint, tinny leak to reach Caitlyn’s side of the aisle. Anyone watching might’ve guessed she was blasting metal or some anarchist punk anthem to match her inked arms and permanent air of disdain.

But no.

It was Olivia Rodrigo.

She didn’t react when Caitlyn shifted, crossing her legs.

Didn’t flinch when the attendant offered more champagne, which neither of them touched.

She just kept staring forward, head tilted back against the leather, letting the music flood her ears at full blast.

“Traitor” was playing now.

Because of course it was.

There was something so on the nose about it that it almost made Violet laugh. Almost. As if the universe had a flair for tragic irony and a sick sense of comedic timing. She hated when things lined up too neatly — it made her feel like she was in some poorly written indie heartbreak flick. And worse: she wasn’t even the cool villain. She was the idiot who got played by the emotionally repressed ice queen.

Just because they fucked.

Just because Caitlyn had kissed her like that. Looked at her like that. Touched her like—

No. Absolutely not.

It hadn’t meant anything.

It wasn’t supposed to.

Violet’s arms crossed tighter around her middle, her nails digging into the sleeves of her hoodie. She could still feel Caitlyn — the imprint of her mouth, the press of her hands, the way she’d said Violet’s name like it meant something.

God, and it had been good. That was the worst part. Not just good: mind-altering, toe-curling, therapist-mandated levels of good. The kind of sex people wrote songs about and then immediately regretted releasing into the world.

And then Caitlyn had to go and be Caitlyn. Again.

Cool. Composed. That same perfect, emotionally constipated bitch she always was. Making Violet feel stupid for feeling anything at all, for letting her guard down, even a little. For thinking, for half a second, that maybe things were different.

What a joke.

What a fucking joke.

She didn’t look over. She didn’t need to. She could feel her, the steady presence across the aisle, legs crossed, tablet in hand, reading some boring article like she hadn’t just wrecked Violet and walked away whistling.

I’m not in love with her, Violet reminded herself. That’s not what this is. That’s not what this ever was.

She was just her wife.

Just her fake, legal, corporate-mandated wife.

Nothing more.

Nothing.

Right?

Caitlyn sat near the window of the jet, legs crossed, spine straight, hands clasped in her lap like she hadn’t just ruined something that maybe—just maybe—could’ve been different.

The sky outside was pale and endless, but her mind was still in that bedroom.

She hadn’t meant to wake up early. It just happened. Muscle memory, maybe. Or something else.

And when she opened her eyes and saw Violet — mouth parted slightly, hair a gorgeous disaster, arm flung over the pillow like she owned the whole damn world — Caitlyn hadn’t felt contempt. Not even irritation.

Just something warm.

Quiet. Still.

Something terrifying.

She’d watched her for longer than she cared to admit.

When a strand of hair fell across Violet’s cheek, Caitlyn had reached out, brushing it away with a touch too careful to mean nothing.

It scared the shit out of her.

She’d pulled back immediately, heart racing like she’d made a mistake. Because it was a mistake, wasn’t it? Caring. Softening. Letting someone in. Letting Violet in.

That was why she’d said what she said.

It was just sex.

We still hate each other.

It didn’t mean anything.

Caitlyn clenched her jaw, watching the sky blur by.

But the way Violet had looked at her: wounded, deflecting, trying to keep her pride intact, kept flashing in her mind. And that stupid nickname. Cupcake. Caitlyn had hated it. Or at least, she’d always told herself she did. But the truth was... she wasn’t sure anymore.

The silence between them now was punishing. Violet pretended she didn’t care, head tilted toward the window like she couldn’t hear Caitlyn’s heartbeat screaming I fucked it up over and over. And Caitlyn let her. Because what else could she do?

Apologize?

She didn’t know how.

But somewhere, deep in the pit of her stomach, something knotted.

She’d gone too far.

Again.

And the guilt had a familiar taste.

Caitlyn shifted in her seat, eyes flicking briefly toward the back of Violet’s head, where a few red strands had slipped free from her hood.

x-x-x

The SUV was already waiting on the tarmac when they stepped off the jet.

Black. Polished. Obnoxiously sleek.

And parked right beside it — as if summoned by a PR demon from hell — stood Sett and Lux.

Sett wore his usual uniform of designer sunglasses and a sleeveless hoodie, protein shake in one hand, looking like he hadn’t slept in thirty-six hours but could still bench-press a Range Rover. Lux, in contrast, was a vision of beige professionalism — high ponytail, flawless blazer, tablet in hand, her face set in a calm, corporate panic.

They both looked up as Caitlyn and Violet descended the stairs.

And immediately clocked it.

That something-happened energy.

The air between Caitlyn and Violet was unmistakably off. Not the usual passive-aggressive, teeth-bared kind of hostility that simmered between them. This was different. Thinner. Sharper. Like the space between them had been burned clean and left raw.

Sett leaned in toward Lux. “They slept together.”

Lux blinked. “Excuse me?”

“I’m calling it now.” He smirked. “You owe me a hundred bucks.”

Lux narrowed her eyes. “You’re not serious.”

Sett tilted his head. “Look at them. Violet’s got the post sex rage glare and Caitlyn’s doing that thing where she looks like a soulless CEO to avoid feeling anything.”

Lux blinked again, slowly. “Okay, I’m listening.”

“You don’t go that quiet after a flight unless something went very right or very wrong. And knowing them?” He sipped his shake. “Both.”

Violet reached the SUV first, tugging her hood down and squinting against the afternoon sun. She didn’t glance at Caitlyn. Didn’t say a word.

Lux muttered, “God, they’re already in their divorced era.”

Caitlyn followed a few steps behind, posture as straight and unbothered as always, offering Lux a polite nod as she passed.

"Everything’s ready at the house," Lux said as she slid into the seat. "The staff finalized the setup post-ceremony. Closets labeled, rooms stocked, all arranged per the prenup terms."

“Perfect. Thank you,” Caitlyn replied, voice clipped and professional.

Sett slid into the back beside Violet, glancing across the cabin at Caitlyn. “Hope you two are ready for marital bliss.”

Silence.

Violet adjusted her sunglasses and looked out the window.

Caitlyn opened her phone and started reviewing her schedule.

The SUV pulled away from the runway, the driver silent as he guided them through the soft glare of early afternoon San Francisco light: golden, too honest, and entirely unwelcome. The silence inside expanded like fog: slow, inescapable, and thick with everything they weren’t saying.

They didn’t speak.

Not a word.

A few minutes in, Sett reached toward the console between the front seats. “Can you turn up the music a bit, man?” he asked the driver.

A generic pop beat filled the car. It didn’t help.

Lux leaned toward Sett, voice low. “Should we… say something?”

“About what?” he said, smirking. “That our newlyweds are radiating ‘we just had earth shattering hate sex and now I want to kill you again’ energy?”

“Jesus Christ,” Lux muttered.

“Come on. You feel it too.” He gestured subtly with his protein shake. “She won’t even look at her. And she’s listening to music.”

Lux turned her head slightly. “Is that... Olivia Rodrigo?”

“Oh yeah,” Sett said. “It’s good 4 u.”

Lux winced. “Oh no.”

“Oh yes.”

After a block or two, Sett slid his sunglasses down just enough to catch Violet from the corner of his eye.

“Okay,” he said under his breath, “what the hell happened?”

Violet didn’t answer. Just crossed her arms tighter and sank deeper into the seat like she could vanish into it.

“Vi.”

She sighed, loud and irritated. “Drop it.”

Sett raised both eyebrows but let it go. For now.

The driver kept his eyes on the road, wisely silent.

Lux tapped something on her tablet. “We should probably cancel the press interview.”

Sett didn’t look up. “And push the couple shoot. Unless you want Violet to punch someone on camera.”

“Already on it.” Lux exhaled through her nose, scrolling quickly. “God help us if we’re doing damage control before they’ve even unpacked.”

Sett cracked a grin. Welcome to married life, ladies.”

x-x-x

The house in Pacific Heights stood like something out of an architectural digest spread: six bedrooms, two offices, a chef’s kitchen, private gym, heated pool, and closets more spacious than most New York apartments. Everything gleamed with curated perfection. Stainless, silent, soulless.

It was massive. It was beautiful. It was cold.

Just like the marriage.

The SUV rolled to a slow stop at the wrought-iron gates, which opened automatically, parting with the kind of mechanical elegance that made Violet want to throw a brick through something. It wasn’t welcoming: it was rehearsed. Precise. Clinical.

The staff had already been through. The marble floors gleamed. The bedding was folded with military precision. Even the nameplates on the bedroom doors were in place, understated, but unmistakable: C. Kiramman on one side of the house, V. Kiramman on the other.

No shared bedroom.

No shared anything, really. Except for the signatures on a very expensive, very binding contract.

They stepped out of the SUV without a word.

Caitlyn went in first. Her heels echoed sharply across the marble foyer as she moved with surgical grace, not looking back once as she disappeared toward her wing of the house.

Violet lingered for a beat longer on the threshold, duffel slung over one shoulder, lips pressed into a flat, unreadable line.

Welcome home, she thought bitterly.

Caitlyn’s room was cool and immaculate: floor-to-ceiling windows, sleek furniture, the scent of expensive wood polish still hanging in the air. She’d already removed her blazer and hung it on the wall hook, sleeves rolled neatly to her elbows, posture ramrod straight as she stood by the window.

There was a knock.

“Come in,” she said, not turning.

Lux stepped in, tablet tucked under one arm, eyebrows drawn.

“You good?” she asked.

Caitlyn didn’t answer at first. Her gaze stayed fixed on the skyline — pale clouds drifting over San Francisco’s hills like the city was too distant to reach.

“It happened,” she said eventually.

Lux blinked. “Define it.”

“We slept together. For the first time.”

“Oh.” Lux processed that for a beat. “Wow.”

“Yeah.”

Lux stepped farther inside, her voice softening. “And now you’re in here pretending it didn’t matter.”

“Because it didn’t,” Caitlyn snapped — too quickly. Then, quieter: “It shouldn’t.”

Lux studied her. “That’s not what your face says.”

“Lux, I’ve made an entire career out of compartmentalizing. This is no different.”

Lux arched a brow. “If you say so. Just for the record — you’re allowed to feel something.”

“Not for her,” Caitlyn said, jaw tightening. “Not for me. Not anymore.”

She turned back to the window, spine straight but knuckles white where they gripped the sill.

Later that afternoon, two pairs sat in separate rooms, mirroring each other without meaning to. Caitlyn and Lux in the office off the east hall; Violet and Sett slouched in a sitting room off the kitchen, both with coffee neither of them touched.

“So what now?” Caitlyn asked, arms crossed, voice tight. “How long do we have to keep this charade going?”

“Eleven months,” Lux said, already swiping through the contract on her tablet. “Technically ten and a half. The merger would be stable by then. After that, you can legally separate without corporate consequences.”

Caitlyn muttered something under her breath.

“I’m sorry?”

“I said someone’s going to have to institutionalize me if I have to live with her that long. It’s psychological warfare.”

Lux didn’t blink. “I’ll adjust your health coverage accordingly.”

At the same time, in the other room, Sett leaned against the back of a chair, watching Violet chew absently on the string of her hoodie.

“Eleven months,” Sett repeated slowly. “Think you’ll survive that long?”

“I think I’m gonna set the house on fire,” Violet muttered, chewing a loose thread on her sleeve.

Sett smirked. “You’re already halfway there.”

“She’s insufferable.”

“And yet…”

“Don’t.”

“I’m just saying—”

“Nope.”

Violet groaned and threw a pillow at him.

"Eleven months," she muttered again, this time to herself. "Fucking hell."

Across the house, Caitlyn stared at her own reflection, jaw tight, heart inexplicably heavier.

"Eleven months," she whispered.

And counting.

x-x-x

The first five days passed like a cold war dressed in couture.

They didn’t speak unless absolutely necessary. Glances were exchanged only to glare. Their paths crossed only in shared spaces: the kitchen, the gym, the aggressively overdecorated formal dining room neither of them had requested but that someone, somewhere, had deemed necessary for “optics.”

Still, silence didn’t equal peace.

Violet cooked every night, half out of boredom, half because the kitchen was a cathedral of indulgence that practically begged for worship. She never asked what Caitlyn wanted. She didn’t need to. She remembered. Caitlyn liked her eggs soft, her pasta al dente, her salmon with lemon but no dill.

Caitlyn never said thank you.

She ate like a duchess held hostage: perfect posture, emotionless face, eyes down. As if admitting it tasted good might mean surrender.

Violet didn’t care. (She cared. A lot.)

One morning, Violet was in the gym, headphones in, arms slick with sweat as she deadlifted more than most men dared. Sports bra, shorts, shoes unlaced, tattoos glinting under the overhead lights. She was mid-set, music thundering in her skull, when Caitlyn stepped inside for the yoga mat. 

Caitlyn froze.

Her eyes dragged over Violet’s back. Down the curve of her arms. Her abs. The sharp lines of muscle and ink. That goddamn smirk that lingered even when she wasn’t smiling. Caitlyn’s mouth went dry.

Fuck. My wife is hot.

She grabbed the mat, turned on her heel, and left. The door closed just a little harder than necessary.

Two days later, Violet stepped onto the patio and froze.

Caitlyn was stretched out on a lounger by the pool, sunglasses perched low on her nose, a book in one hand and a glass of something cold in the other. Her blazer was nowhere in sight, because she wasn’t wearing one. She wasn’t wearing much of anything, actually.

Just a bikini.

Black, minimal, devastating.

Her long legs were crossed lazily, one foot dangling just over the edge of the lounge chair, the other tapping idly to some rhythm only she could hear. The sun cast a soft, golden sheen over her skin — not quite a tan, but enough warmth to make her look less like a porcelain figurine and more like something alive and dangerous.

Violet blinked.

Jesus Christ. Her ass alone should come with a warning label.

And her pussy—

Nope. Nope.

Violet bit the thought off so hard it hurt, physically shook her head, and cleared her throat loud enough to startle a bird off the fence.

“You tanning or trying to summon your ancestors?” she called, voice scratchy from disuse and thirst she refused to acknowledge.

Caitlyn didn’t look up. “Not all of us aspire to resemble a rotisserie chicken.”

Violet snorted. “Give it time. I’ll start charging you for shade once your pasty ass starts glowing.”

Still no glance, but Violet caught it — the faintest twitch at the corner of Caitlyn’s mouth. A smirk, held hostage.

Inside, from the second-floor hallway, Sett paused at the glass railing, peering down at the scene with a slow blink.

“Lux,” he stage-whispered, “is this foreplay or psychological warfare?”

Lux, seated nearby, didn’t even glance up from her tablet. “Same thing.”

It was a quiet Saturday night, and Caitlyn was curled up on the massive sectional in the media room, wearing her softest silk pajamas, a half-empty glass of wine on the side table, and a trashy reality show flickering on the screen. Something about cheating couples on a boat. She wasn’t really watching, just letting it fill the silence.

That was when Violet walked in.

Caitlyn turned her head lazily, expecting to see her usual hoodie and sweatpants horror show. What she got instead made her freeze.

Violet looked like sin incarnate.

She was dressed in a tight black tank top that clung to her like a second skin, the outline of her nipple piercings barely visible through the fabric. Her arms, sculpted, tattooed, all muscle and arrogance, caught the low lighting perfectly. High-waisted tailored trousers hugged her hips in a way that should’ve been illegal, and the leather boots gave her another inch or two of height, like she needed more presence.

Everything she wore screamed money and menace. Designer from head to toe, and somehow still managing to look like she didn’t give a damn.

Caitlyn blinked.

Her first thought was: fuck, she’s hot.

Her second was: where the hell is she going dressed like that?

Jealousy flared, fast and unexpected. Caitlyn didn’t even try to smother it: just sat there, jaw clenched, wine forgotten. She hated the idea that Violet was going out. With someone. Somewhere.

A date?

She didn’t ask. Of course she didn’t. That would mean admitting she cared.

But her stomach twisted anyway.

Violet didn’t spare her a glance. She was adjusting something on her phone, calm and unbothered.

Caitlyn shifted, trying not to stare. Trying not to think about the press of Violet’s body under hers. The night they didn’t speak of. The one she was still pretending hadn’t shattered something inside her.

And it pissed her off.

Why did it piss her off?

She didn’t want Violet. She hated Violet. She could list a hundred reasons why Violet was infuriating. Exhausting. Reckless. Loud.

But none of that explained the way her eyes kept dragging back to the sliver of skin above Violet’s waistband. Or the piercings. Or the sharp cut of her jaw under the soft glow of the hallway light.

Or the way Caitlyn suddenly wanted to know who was going to see her like that.

And why it couldn’t be her.

Caitlyn cleared her throat, her voice sharp over the hum of the TV. “Where exactly are you going dressed like that?”

“Clubbing,” Violet replied, breezy as ever, thumbing through her playlists. “Just because I’m married to someone who thinks fun is a quarterly report doesn’t mean I don’t get to enjoy myself.”

Caitlyn narrowed her eyes. “Who invited you?”

“Jinx and Ekko,” Violet replied, sliding her phone into the pocket of her trousers. “And I told Kayn and Sett too. Figured we could use some chaos.”

There was a pause.

And then Violet tilted her head, eyes glinting. “Why? Curious? Careful, Caitlyn, we wouldn’t want to 'rewrite history', would we?”

Caitlyn’s expression didn’t change, but her jaw flexed. “I just asked.”

Violet’s smile faltered, the sarcasm souring on her tongue. “Sure. You ‘just asked.’ Like you ‘just' fucked me and then decided to ice me out like it never happened. Ring a bell?”

Caitlyn blinked, caught off guard.

Violet scoffed softly. “Yeah. That’s what I thought.”

“Violet—” Caitlyn started, then stopped. “That morning—what I said—”

“Was exactly what you meant,” Violet cut in. “You always say exactly what you mean. That’s kind of your whole thing.”

“I didn’t mean—”

Violet snorted. “You called it efficient, Caitlyn, like I’m a goddamn system upgrade. That’s not exactly open to interpretation.”

Caitlyn’s voice was quieter now, but still defensive. “You were making it a thing. I didn’t want to make it a thing.”

“Well, congrats,” Violet muttered. “You killed the thing before it could even exist.”

There was a beat of silence.

“And now you want to come with me? Why? Jealous?” Violet asked, voice biting. “Afraid someone else is going to fuck your wife better than you did?”

That landed.

Caitlyn blinked once, but didn’t react the way Violet wanted her to. She didn’t rise to it. She just looked at her, long, steady, unreadable.

“And you don’t want me to come,” Caitlyn said finally, tone neutral but with something simmering underneath.

Violet hesitated.

She wanted to say no, flat-out. She wanted to throw another insult, twist the knife, tell Caitlyn to go back to her overpriced silk pajamas and whatever reality trash she was watching.

But something about the idea of Caitlyn staying behind made her stomach turn.

She didn’t want her there.

But she didn’t want her not there either.

Violet exhaled, sharp. “Why would I invite you? You’d probably hate it. You hate clubbing. You hate crowds. You hate noise.”

“But I like watching other people embarrass themselves in public. That counts.”

“You just want to follow me around and sulk in the corner.”

Caitlyn raised an eyebrow. “You don’t want me there because you think I’ll ruin your night, or because you’re scared I won’t?”

That one hit too close.

Violet looked away, jaw tight.

Violet’s lips parted to argue, but nothing came out.

She hated this. Hated how Caitlyn could still get to her, even after all of it. Even after that morning. Hated that she wanted her to come. That some small, weak part of her wanted to see Caitlyn outside that house, hair down, dressed up, eyes only on her.

It was pathetic.

“I’m coming,” Caitlyn said, already heading toward her room. “You can wait five minutes or leave without me.”

Violet didn’t move. Just stood there, arms crossed, eyes locked on the hallway Caitlyn disappeared.

“…Fucking hell,” she whispered to herself.

And waited.

After a while, the sound of heels echoed lightly against the marble floor.

Violet looked up, and nearly forgot how to breathe.

Caitlyn stood in the hallway entrance, wearing a fitted black dress that looked like it had been sewn directly onto her body. It clung in all the right places, cinched at the waist, the neckline just low enough to tease without trying too hard. Her hair was loose, cascading over her shoulders in soft, deliberate waves, and her makeup was barely there, but it didn’t matter. She looked expensive. She looked untouchable.

She looked like a problem Violet would never stop having.

For a moment, Violet didn’t say anything. Couldn’t say anything. Her brain stalled out somewhere between the curve of Caitlyn’s breasts and the ridiculous elegance of her collarbones.

And then Caitlyn smirked, just slightly. “What? Surprised I own something that isn’t navy or shamefully practical?”

Violet’s mouth twitched. “Just wondering who you’re trying to kill tonight.”

Caitlyn stepped further into the room, and the air seemed to shift. Violet felt it, all of it. The weight of memory, the weight of want, the reminder of what it felt like to have Caitlyn under her. Around her. That night they didn’t talk about, but that Violet couldn’t forget if she tried.

And God, she’d tried.

Because no matter how hard she worked to keep Caitlyn at arm’s length, there she was again: flawless and frustrating and so effortlessly magnetic that Violet wanted to scream.

She folded her arms, pretending not to care.

“Nice dress,” she said dryly. “Trying to outshine me?”

Caitlyn shrugged, reaching for her clutch. “I don’t have to try.”

Violet hated that her heart skipped.

She watched her turn, watched the way the fabric shifted over Caitlyn’s back, and she thought—not for the first time—this is ridiculous. The power Caitlyn had over her. Had always had. For twenty damn years, she’d been a thorn in Violet’s side, and still, somehow, always managed to get under her skin.

And now, she was married to her.

Temporarily. Legally. Strategically.

But still.

It was ridiculous.

And Violet couldn’t look away.

x-x-x

The music hit like a wave the second they stepped inside — bass thick in the air, pulsing through the floor, strobe lights slicing across the ceiling in dizzy streaks. A blur of glitter, sweat, and bad decisions already in motion.

And cutting right through the noise:

"Come, Mr. DJ, song pon de replay
Come, Mr. DJ, won't you turn the music up?"

Violet didn’t let go of Caitlyn’s hand.

Not because she wanted to hold it, but because the flashes had already started. Paparazzi stationed outside. Influencer types snapping pics near the entrance. People watching. Judging. Expecting.

So they held hands.

For the cameras.

Totally not because Violet’s palm still remembered how Caitlyn’s fingers had felt locked with hers in Lake Tahoe. That would be ridiculous.

Caitlyn, for her part, looked as calm and collected as ever, walking beside Violet like she wasn’t inwardly screaming. Her heels clicked crisply against the concrete, her dress hugging every sharp curve, and her expression said: Yes, I’m better than all of you.

"It goes one by one, even two by two
Everybody on the floor, let me show you how we do"

Violet rolled her eyes and pulled her deeper into the club.

Pop music blared overhead, something sugary and furious, and the VIP area was already half-filled with their chaos brigade.

Kayn spotted them first, leaning against the velvet couch, half a drink in hand. “Well, look who finally showed up—America’s favorite disaster wives!”

“Wow,” Jinx added, throwing her legs over Ekko's lap. “And holding hands? You guys do remember you're legally allowed to look miserable, right?”

“Shut up,” Violet muttered, dropping Caitlyn’s hand as soon as they were out of view.

Sett raised a brow, eyes darting between them. “You two okay?”

“We’re amazing,” Caitlyn said smoothly, taking the nearest seat and stealing Jinx’s drink like it belonged to her. “Totally thriving.”

“You sound like someone who just buried a body,” Kayn noted, sipping his own drink with way too much amusement.

“We didn’t kill each other,” Violet said, sliding in beside Ekko. “That’s progress.”

Ekko glanced between them, then at Sett. “You owe me twenty.”

“No way,” Sett scoffed. “I bet they’d show up alive. Not friendly.”

“I’m not friendly,” Caitlyn said at the exact same time Violet muttered, “We’re not friends.”

That made Jinx howl with laughter. “God, you two are insufferable.”

Violet raised her glass. “Cheers to that.”

"Put your hands up to the ceiling
Everybody get down if you feel me
Come and put your hands up to the ceiling"

And as the music grew louder, the drinks stronger, and the lights blurrier, the tension between them didn’t disappear.

It just shifted.

Unspoken.

Unresolved.

Still there, pulsing under the beat

"Hey Mr. DJ, won't you turn the music up?
All the gyal pon the dancefloor wantin' some more what
Come, Mr. DJ, won't you turn the music up?"

x-x-x

The bass throbbed through the club floor like a second heartbeat, pulsing beneath Caitlyn’s heels as she sipped her drink from the VIP section. Jinx was next to her on the plush velvet couch, nursing a fluorescent cocktail and cackling every time someone below tripped in heels too high for mortal use.

“You know,” Jinx said, swirling her straw, “this place is tragic. I love it.”

Caitlyn hummed, barely listening. Her eyes were locked on the dance floor.

More specifically: on Violet.

The dance floor glowed in flashes of neon and shadow, and Violet moved like she owned every strobe of light that hit her.

She wasn’t just dancing, she was performing.

When “Don’t Cha” kicked in, she tilted her head back, letting her hair fall loose, lips parted as she mouthed the lyrics like they were a personal threat. Her hips rolled with a lazy confidence, slow and teasing, then snapped forward in sharp, practiced pulses, every beat punctuated by a sway of her ass or a flick of her wrist.

"Don't cha wish your girlfriend was hot like me?
Don't cha wish your girlfriend was a freak like me?
Don't cha? Don't cha?
Don't cha wish your girlfriend was raw like me?
Don't cha wish your girlfriend was fun like me?
Don't cha? (Ah, ah, ah) don't cha?"

Her tank top clung to her body like it was custom-painted on, black and unforgiving, highlighting every curve, every shadow of muscle. The outline of her nipple piercings was just visible when the lights hit right, and they did, over and over again.

The beat shifted into “Buttons” and Violet took it up a notch, lowering herself almost to the floor before snapping back up with a smirk that screamed: you wish. Her fingers slid over her own body, dragging slowly down her thighs, pausing at the waistband of her slacks before flicking away, like even she couldn’t handle herself.

"I'm telling you to loosen up my buttons, babe (uh-huh)
But you keep fronting, uh
Sayin' what you gon' do to me (uh-huh)
But I ain't seen nothing"

Caitlyn’s mouth had gone dry.

Every controlled movement, every deliberate roll of Violet’s hips, every tilt of her pelvis: it all screamed power, freedom, sex. Like she knew what she had between her legs and wasn’t afraid to weaponize it. And Caitlyn… Caitlyn hated how her pulse spiked every time Violet moved. She hated how she remembered—felt—exactly what Violet’s body had done to her.

“She knows you’re watching,” Jinx said, leaning over with a wicked smile.

Caitlyn didn’t answer. Couldn’t.

Violet spun again, laughter spilling from her lips as she danced between Kayn and Sett, her arms lifted, her body glowing with sweat, pleasure, abandon.

And when she looked up, just briefly, her eyes met Caitlyn’s.

And held.

A beat. Maybe two.

"I'm telling you to loosen up my buttons, babe (uh-huh)
But you keep fronting, uh
Sayin' what you gon' do to me (uh-huh)
But I ain't seen nothing"

Caitlyn blinked first.

“Oh my God,” Jinx cackled. “You’re so fucked.”

Caitlyn didn’t blink. She was frozen in place, barely sipping her drink.

Jinx leaned against the railing beside her, chewing ice. “You’re staring.”

“I’m observing,” Caitlyn said flatly.

“Mmm. Observing her ass, maybe,” Jinx teased. “You look like you’re one dance move away from writing her name in your notebook and dotting the i with a heart.”

Caitlyn didn’t dignify that with a response. But her grip on the glass tightened.

Then, she saw her.

A woman.

Platinum blonde, confident, barely older than them, dressed in something clingy and crimson. She slid up behind Violet like they’d done it a hundred times before. Whispered something into her ear.

Violet laughed.

Caitlyn’s hand clenched around her glass.

Jinx smirked. “Oh, this is going to be good.”

Caitlyn stood without another word, her drink abandoned on the table as she watched Evelyn slide her hand lower down Violet’s hip.

She’d been watching them for the last five minutes: Evelyn leaning in too close, laughing at things that weren’t funny, touching like she had a right to. And Violet… wasn’t exactly encouraging it, but she wasn’t stopping it either.

Caitlyn’s throat tightened. Her feet moved before her mind could catch up.

Down on the floor, Evelyn’s hand skimmed across Violet’s side, slow and certain. Her nails grazed the exposed skin above Violet’s waistband.

“I don’t think she's watching anymore,” she murmured, lips brushing close to Violet’s ear. “You could disappear with me and no one would notice.”

Violet raised a brow, forcing a smile. “You think I want to disappear?”

Evelyn grinned. “Not disappear. Just… forget things for a while.”

Violet didn’t answer right away. Something about Evelyn’s touch made her stomach twist, not in the usual way. It didn’t feel bad, exactly. But it didn’t feel right, either. Her body wasn’t responding the way it usually did, like some invisible wall had gone up without her noticing.

She was tipsy. And Evelyn was hot. And single. And interested.

So why did she feel like her skin wasn’t hers anymore?

Violet shifted, subtly pulling her waist just out of Evelyn’s reach, a movement small enough to pass as part of the music.

And that’s when Caitlyn arrived, heels slicing through the beat like a knife, voice like frostbite.

“I’m going to stop you right there.”

Evelyn turned, still smiling, clearly unfazed. “Oh? And you are?”

Caitlyn’s eyes didn’t blink. Her smile was faint: dangerous, controlled. “The reason she’s not leaving with you tonight.”

Violet groaned, exasperated. “Seriously, Caitlyn?”

“You looked like you needed rescuing,” Caitlyn said coolly, though her voice betrayed a sharp edge.

Evelyn scoffed. “She didn’t look like she was asking for help.”

“She doesn’t have to,” Caitlyn replied. “She’s married.”

That word again. Sharp. Weaponized.

Violet’s brows pulled together. “Don’t pretend that suddenly means something to you.”

Caitlyn’s jaw clenched. It did mean something: that was the whole damn problem.

She couldn’t stand the way Evelyn looked at Violet. Touched her. Like Violet was available. Like she hadn’t just been pressed against Caitlyn’s mouth last week, gasping her name like it meant salvation.

Evelyn turned back to Violet, lips still curled. “You want me to go?”

Violet hesitated.

Not because she wanted Evelyn to stay,  she didn’t. She hadn’t kissed her. Had barely touched her. Everything about the moment felt slightly off, like she’d stepped into someone else’s skin. But for some reason, her brain stalled, caught in the static between what she should want and what she actually did.

Then she exhaled, sharp through her nose. “Yeah,” she said finally. “I think it’s better if you go.”

Evelyn’s smile twitched, brittle for the first time. “Really?”

Violet nodded, more certain now. “Yeah.”

There was a flicker of something unreadable in Evelyn’s eyes — disappointment, maybe, or just bruised pride — but she recovered quickly.

She turned to Caitlyn with a smirk. “Lucky you.”

Then she leaned in toward Violet one last time, not close enough to touch but close enough to sting. “If you change your mind, I’ll be here for the rest of the night.”

And just like that, she was gone.

The moment she left, the air between Violet and Caitlyn thickened, turned electric. Unspoken words and too much history pressing in from every angle.

Violet turned to Caitlyn, jaw set. “Happy now?”

Caitlyn’s voice cracked. “You looked like you were about to start licking her teeth.”

“She was flirting,” Violet shot back. “I was drinking. That’s literally how clubs work.”

“You’re married.”

Violet stepped closer, tension flaring in her shoulders. “And whose fault is that?”

They stood there, heat coiling between them, furious and too close. Violet could still smell Caitlyn’s perfume, something expensive and sharp, and Caitlyn could still see the outline of Evelyn’s hand on Violet’s waist.

Violet wasn’t even sure why she hadn’t kissed Evelyn. Why she’d pulled back. Why it had felt off, wrong, like a shirt that didn’t fit anymore.

Maybe she knew.

Maybe that was the problem.

Jinx’s voice echoed from the VIP section, cutting through the music. “Are you two gonna kiss or throw punches? Decide fast, I’m starving!”

Neither of them moved.

But Violet’s pulse was racing. And Caitlyn’s fists were curled too tight.

And neither one could stop looking at the other.

x-x-x

The music was pounding, vibrating through the floors, but Caitlyn barely registered it. Her fingers were still warm from where Violet had grabbed her—hard—and dragged her through the crowd like she had a mission. Now they stood in the far corner of the club, tucked between velvet curtains and tinted glass, shielded from most of the lights and eyes. But the noise was still deafening.

Violet let go of her wrist like it burned.

“What the fuck is your problem?” she snapped, breath short, eyes glittering with frustration and tequila.

Caitlyn lifted her chin. “You were being reckless. We’re being watched.”

“Bullshit,” Violet barked. “You didn’t care about that when you were watching me from your throne like I was your entertainment.”

Caitlyn crossed her arms. “Someone had to intervene before you did something stupid.”

“Oh, please,” Violet scoffed, taking a step closer. “Just admit it. You didn’t like seeing someone else’s hands near me.”

“It’s not about that.”

“No?” Violet’s laugh was sharp. “Then what is it about, Caitlyn? Because unless you suddenly grew a conscience, I’m not buying the whole ‘contract clause’ excuse.”

Caitlyn’s jaw tensed. “There are cameras. There are people here who recognize us. We have an image to maintain.”

Violet rolled her eyes, voice low and venomous. “You mean you have an image to maintain.”

“That’s not what I said.”

“That’s what you meant.”

They stared at each other, breathing heavy.

Violet’s voice dropped even further. “You don’t get to play jealous wife when you were the one who pushed me away in Tahoe. You made it very clear what that night was.”

Caitlyn flinched, barely, but enough.

“That night was a mistake,” she said, quieter now.

Violet smiled bitterly. “Sure. But it’s funny how you only remember that when someone else wants a piece of your mistake.”

Caitlyn didn’t reply.

Violet stepped forward again, close enough now that Caitlyn could smell the citrus and smoke on her skin. “You don’t want me. But you don’t want anyone else to have me either. That’s it, isn’t it?”

Caitlyn’s silence was damning.

And Violet saw it, clear as day.

“You’re jealous,” she whispered, almost laughing. “Jesus. You’re actually jealous.”

“I’m not.”

“You are.”

“I’m not,” Caitlyn repeated, sharper now, but her voice betrayed her.

Violet tilted her head, eyes searching. “So what now? You gonna follow me around every night like some watchdog wife, just to make sure I don’t kiss anyone who isn’t you?”

“No,” Caitlyn said tightly. “I just… I don’t want things getting messy.”

Violet’s mouth curved, but it wasn’t a smile. “Newsflash, Caitlyn. Things were already messy the second you climbed into bed with me.”

The music swelled around them, bodies moved on the other side of the glass, but neither of them looked away.

Neither of them moved.

Caitlyn didn’t back down.

“You’ve always done this,” Caitlyn said, her voice low but edged. “Act like everything’s someone else’s fault. Like your impulsiveness is a personality trait and not a time bomb.”

Violet’s mouth curled into a dry smile. “And you’ve always done this: made it about control. Like being the coldest person in the room makes you the smartest.”

“I’m being rational,” Caitlyn snapped.

“No,” Violet shot back. “You’re being safe. You always are. Always pulling away first, always pretending you don’t feel anything so no one else gets the chance to hurt you.”

Caitlyn flinched at that, barely, but it was there.

Violet kept going. “You think I don’t know who you are? You think I haven’t seen this before?”

“I’m not denying it,” Caitlyn said, her voice suddenly quieter. “I know I do this.”

“Good,” Violet said. “And that doesn’t make you right.”

A beat.

And Violet didn’t look back.

She turned on her heel and disappeared into the crowd, her movements sharp, purposeful, but the set of her shoulders betrayed her mood. Furious. Conflicted. Betrayed, maybe. And Caitlyn just stood there, letting her go, jaw clenched, chest tight.

She didn’t go back to the VIP area.

Instead, she headed straight for the bar.

The music thumped through the walls, bass rattling the shelves behind the counter. A blur of bodies danced under strobe lights, sweat and smoke and spilled liquor painting the atmosphere electric. Caitlyn ignored all of it.

She slid onto a barstool and crossed her legs like she wasn’t trying to forget something. Like she hadn’t just watched Violet walk away from her, again.

"Whiskey," she said to the bartender, voice flat. "Neat."

He nodded and poured without a word.

The glass was cold against her fingers. She downed it in one go.

It burned, but not enough.

So she ordered another drink.

And another.

She sat there, posture too straight, hair immaculate, lipstick still perfect, drinking like it might fix something. Like if she could get drunk enough, the images would blur: Violet dancing, Violet smiling, Violet letting someone else touch her, Violet whispering something back and laughing like nothing had ever happened in Lake Tahoe.

Like they hadn’t kissed. Like they hadn’t touched. Like Violet hadn’t made Caitlyn forget every single fucking rule she'd ever set for herself.

She glanced toward the dance floor, just for a second.

And there she was.

Violet. Laughing. Head thrown back, her crop top clinging to her, moving to the beat like she didn’t have a single thing on her mind. Dancing with Kayn and Sett and Ekko, surrounded, but free.

God, she moved like she knew exactly what her body could do.

Caitlyn looked away fast.

She flagged the bartender again.

"Another."

She didn’t care that Lux would have something to say about this in the morning. That this was messy and reckless and entirely beneath her.

She just needed the noise to drown everything else out.

Especially the part of her that whispered, You don’t get to be jealous. You’re the one who pushed her away.

And the part that answered, Then why the hell does it feel like she still belongs to me?

x-x-x

The night stretched on.

Violet kept dancing.

At first, she was committed to the bit: reckless, loose-limbed, laughing too loud, tossing her hair over her shoulder like nothing mattered. Like Caitlyn wasn’t even a thought in her mind.

But she noticed.

Of course she noticed.

Every time her gaze skimmed the edges of the crowd, it landed back on the bar — on Caitlyn, who was still seated there, posture slouching more with every drink, her fingers wrapped too tight around her glass. Alone. Out of place. Untouchable, yet unraveling.

It wasn’t like her.

Caitlyn didn’t drink like that. Caitlyn didn’t do public spirals. She was the type to suffer in silence, behind locked doors and pristine appearances.

And yet there she was. Falling apart in slow motion, pretending it was glamorous.

Violet turned back to the dance floor, grinding against Kayn out of pure spite. But her rhythm slowed. Her focus faded.

She stopped drinking.

Her eyes kept darting back.

When the next song hit, something obnoxious and loud and made for people who wanted to forget, she found herself drifting toward the bar. Not directly. Not obviously. Just... orbiting. Close enough to see. Close enough to step in if something happened. But still distant. Still stubborn.

Caitlyn, on the other hand, had apparently decided she could outdrink her feelings.

And she was losing.

The next drink hit differently. Her cheeks were flushed, her hair starting to fall from its perfect wave, and her voice, sharp as ever, had gained that familiar slur of rich-girl entitlement.

The fifth drink was a mistake. And the sixth was sabotage.

Caitlyn leaned over the bar, brows knit, lipstick a little smudged and her voice cutting through the bass of the club like a blade.

“I said no fucking ice,” she snapped, pushing the glass away like it personally offended her.

The bartender, who looked like he’d dealt with enough heiresses for a lifetime, blinked slowly. “It’s a martini. Ice is kind of part of the deal.”

“Do you know who I am?” Caitlyn said, with the terrifying clarity of someone who absolutely meant to weaponize the phrase.

Violet’s jaw dropped from halfway across the floor.

Oh no.

The bartender, to his credit, didn’t flinch. “Someone who’s had one too many, that’s who.”

Caitlyn narrowed her eyes. “You’re incompetent.”

Violet was at her side in seconds. “Okay. That’s enough.”

Caitlyn turned, confused, but grinning. “Oh, look who finally stopped dancing.”

Violet crossed her arms. “I should’ve stopped you two martinis ago.”

Caitlyn rolled her eyes, slumping dramatically onto the bar. “He gave me ice.”

“You yelled at a bartender,” Violet hissed. “In a public club. With people watching.”

“I did not yell,” Caitlyn said, then immediately yelled, “I was asserting expectations!”

“Right,” Violet muttered, waving the bartender off. “She’s done.”

The bartender nodded, already moving on. “Thank God.”

Caitlyn scoffed. “I’m not done.”

“Yes,” Violet said, turning to her with a look. “You are. Party’s over, princess. Time to go.”

Caitlyn groaned. “Don’t call me that.”

“Don’t make me babysit you.”

“I don’t need babysitting.”

“You tried to fight someone over ice.”

“That’s not what happened.”

“It is exactly what happened.”

Caitlyn leaned closer, squinting up at her. “Why do you even care?”

“I already told you,” Violet muttered. “I hate you. But I also know when you’re about to vomit expensive drinks on a bouncer’s shoes.”

Caitlyn blinked, her eyes glassy but glittering with a drunken challenge. “You think I’m weak?”

“No,” Violet said, sighing. “I think you’re drunk and spiraling and too stubborn to admit you don’t want to be alone right now.”

That shut her up.

For a beat.

Then Caitlyn exhaled,  not defeated, but deflated, and dropped her gaze to the bar.

Violet’s voice softened. “Come on. Let’s get out of here before you start quoting corporate bylaws to the DJ.”

Caitlyn didn’t answer.

But when Violet gently took her wrist, she didn’t pull away.

And as they pushed through the crowd together, past strangers and stares and the pulsating heat of the club, Caitlyn leaned slightly into her side, just enough for Violet to feel the weight of it.

x-x-x

The house was dark and still when they stepped inside, the kind of silence that made Caitlyn’s heels sound too loud against the polished floor. Her steps were uneven, her balance off just enough to make Violet swear under her breath as she caught her by the arm again.

“Jesus,” Violet muttered. “You’re lucky I’m the one dragging your ass upstairs and not the paparazzi.”

Caitlyn gave a quiet, breathy laugh. “You do love playing hero.”

Violet didn’t answer. Just tightened her grip and kept walking, half-guiding, half-hauling Caitlyn through the hallway and up the stairs. Her body was warm and tense beside Caitlyn’s, and it smelled faintly of whiskey, shampoo, and whatever perfume she’d used before the club. Caitlyn’s head was fuzzy, her thoughts running out of order, messy and loud and sharp in places that should’ve gone soft by now.

She wasn’t used to this. Not the drinking. Not the losing control. And definitely not Violet being the one catching her before she hit the ground.

When they reached Caitlyn’s bedroom, Violet nudged the door open with her foot, led her inside, and sat her gently on the bed.

“Stay,” she said, not unkindly. “I’ll be right back.”

Caitlyn blinked up at her. “You’re… coming back?”

“Yeah. Don’t throw up in my absence.”

With that, Violet disappeared down the hall.

Caitlyn tried to stay very still. The world tipped slightly to the left, then back again. Her hands were resting in her lap, fingers tangled together, and she couldn’t quite make herself move.

Everything felt distant. Echoed. Like her thoughts were trapped behind a layer of fog and glass.

When Violet returned a minute later, she had a glass of water in one hand and two aspirin in the other. She crossed the room without ceremony, set them both down on the nightstand, then turned to look at Caitlyn.

“You look like shit,” she said flatly.

Caitlyn managed a crooked smile. “You’ve always had a way with words.”

Violet folded her arms, lingering by the bed but not sitting. “Drink the water. I’m not dragging your ass to the ER because you thought martinis counted as hydration.”

Caitlyn picked up the glass slowly. Took a sip. Then another.

“Thanks,” she said, quieter now.

Violet shrugged. “Didn’t do it for you. Did it for me. Wouldn’t survive the press if you died of alcohol poisoning.”

Caitlyn let out a small, tired laugh and looked down at her hands.

A beat of silence passed.

Then, in a voice she barely recognized as her own, she murmured, “You didn’t have to take care of me.”

Violet looked at her, expression unreadable. “I know.”

Caitlyn’s eyes met hers again, too open, too raw.

“Doesn’t mean I didn’t want you to.”

Violet’s lips parted. For a moment, her face softened. Then it hardened again, like she didn’t trust that softness. Like she couldn’t.

“You should sleep,” she said instead.

“I should.”

Violet turned to go, then paused in the doorway.

Caitlyn was still watching her. Still quietly spinning in a room that hadn’t stopped moving since they left the club.

“Night, Cait,” Violet added dryly, but it lacked its usual bite.

Caitlyn’s eyes followed Violet to the doorway, the glass of water now resting untouched in her hand. Her voice came out quieter than she intended, stripped of all its usual polish.

“Violet.”

She paused.

Caitlyn hesitated, then said, “Stay.”

Violet turned her head slightly, just enough to meet her gaze. “What?”

“Just for tonight.” Caitlyn cleared her throat. “I don’t want to be alone.”

Violet blinked, once. Her face didn’t betray much, just a slight pull at her brow, a twitch of disbelief.

“You realize you sound ridiculous, right?”

“I know.” Caitlyn exhaled through her nose. “I don’t care.”

Violet leaned against the doorframe, crossing her arms. “You’re Caitlyn goddamn Kiramman. Ice queen. Perfect posture. You probably sent your childhood nanny a contract before you let her hug you. And now you’re asking me to—what—cuddle?”

Caitlyn cracked a small smile, eyes tired. “Don’t flatter yourself. I’m not asking for a cuddle. I’m asking you not to leave.”

A long beat.

Violet looked at her, truly looked. Caitlyn was lying there in a slightly wrinkled silk slip, makeup smudged around her eyes, hair a mess. She didn’t look powerful. She didn’t look smug. She looked… like someone holding herself together with threadbare string.

And Violet, despite every bitter grudge and every sharp memory, felt something stir in her chest that wasn’t just resentment.

It was worse.

It was care.

“This doesn’t mean anything,” Violet muttered.

“I know.”

“And you’re still a pain in the ass.”

“I know that too.”

Violet rolled her eyes, muttered a curse under her breath, and walked back in. She toed off her boots, pulled a hoodie nearby over her head, and slid into the other side of the bed without ceremony.

As she settled under the blanket, she added, “If you talk in your sleep, I’m punching you.”

Caitlyn didn’t laugh, but her smile widened just a little. She turned her face toward the ceiling, let out a long, shaky breath, and whispered:

“Good night, Vi.”

Violet hesitated, then said, softer than she meant to:

"Night, cupcake.”

They lay in silence, backs turned, bodies not quite touching.

Still apart, but no longer drifting.

Something had begun to shift. Gently. Quietly. Unmistakably.

Chapter Text

Caitlyn woke up to the distinct, pulsing throb of a hangover building behind her eyes, the kind that made her regret every sip, every shot, every choice from the night before.

She blinked up at the ceiling, momentarily confused about why everything smelled faintly like perfume and regret. Then she registered the soft breathing beside her, the tangled red hair barely visible under an oversized hoodie.

Of course.

Violet.

Caitlyn exhaled through her nose and sat up slowly, wincing. Her body protested every movement, her dress was still clinging uncomfortably to her skin, one strap half fallen down her shoulder, makeup smudged under her eyes like war paint that lost the battle. Her hair was a mess, and her earrings felt like small weapons trying to kill her from the lobes inward.

She looked down at herself and sighed. "Charming."

Dragging herself out of bed with the grace of a mildly concussed flamingo, she padded toward the nightstand and grabbed the glass of water Violet had left the night before. Still half full. She took a long sip, then spotted the aspirin packet left neatly beside it.

God. Of course Violet remembered that.

Caitlyn popped one dryly, grimaced, then made her way over to the vanity, sinking onto the cushioned bench like her body had been personally wronged by gravity. She stared at herself in the mirror like she was judging a crime scene.

Behind her, Violet mumbled something incoherent in her sleep and rolled over, tugging the edge of the comforter with her. She was still wearing the same tailored pants and that damned black tank top, but now topped with an old gray hoodie. Caitlyn’s hoodie.

Of course.

She rolled her eyes.

"Ridiculous," she muttered.

Ridiculous that she cared.

Ridiculous that Violet had taken care of her last night. Had pulled her away from a full-blown scene at the bar. Had led her upstairs, gotten her water, sat by her like she gave a damn. And now, now she was just… there. Sleeping. Like this was some domestic, harmless, casual thing.

Caitlyn snorted quietly to herself. There was nothing casual about any of this. About Violet. About how it felt to wake up next to her. Even when they were both a mess.

Especially when they were both a mess.

She leaned closer to the mirror, grimacing at the eyeliner disaster under her eyes.

"Note to self," she muttered dryly. "Take your damn makeup off before passing out next time."

From the bed, Violet shifted again, muttering something into the pillow.

Caitlyn didn’t look back. She wasn’t ready for that yet.

Because if she looked, she might remember how it felt to be touched by her. Held by her. Stupid, idiotic comfort that she didn’t ask for, and definitely didn’t need.

Except maybe… she had.

And that was the most irritating thought of all.

She stepped away from the vanity, aspirin dulling the edges of her hangover but not the ache somewhere deeper, somewhere she refused to acknowledge.

Violet was still asleep, curled up with the comforter in yesterday’s clothes and Caitlyn’s hoodie, because of course she’d just claim whatever she wanted. One leg was bent, arm flung over her head, her breathing slow and even. There was a smear of mascara under one eye and a faint crease from the pillow pressed into her cheek.

Caitlyn paused at the foot of the bed, arms loosely folded. Her eyes scanned over the mess that was Violet: the scattered red strands half stuck to her cheek, the faint constellations of freckles across her nose and cheeks, the glint of silver piercings in her ears and nose. Every chaotic detail was still, for once, utterly quiet.

It was unsettling. Like Violet had been temporarily disarmed by sleep.

She didn’t mean to stare. But she did.

Lake Tahoe came back in fragments, uninvited and far too vivid. The sheets. The silence. The way Caitlyn had woken up beside her in the morning and nearly stopped breathing. The way she’d slipped out of bed like she was escaping something dangerous. Because it had felt dangerous. Intimate. Too real.

So she'd left.

Because that’s what Caitlyn always did when things stopped feeling like a game.

But this morning?

This morning, she just stood there, barefoot on the cool floor, heart beating steady, not running.

No fear clawing up her throat. No excuses loading in her mind.

Just her. And Violet. And a silence that didn’t feel like avoidance this time.

It felt like a truce.

And that might’ve been worse.

Because she didn’t know what to do with it.

So Caitlyn took a step toward the bed. Then another. She wasn’t thinking, not really, just moving on instinct, on something soft and unfamiliar tugging at her ribs.

And then she did something she didn’t expect.

She climbed back into the bed.

The sheets were still warm. Violet hadn’t moved. Caitlyn settled on her side, careful not to get too close, but close enough to watch the rise and fall of Violet’s breathing. Her heart thudded—quietly, stupidly—and she didn’t try to push the feeling away this time.

Twenty years.

They’d known each other for over two decades. That thought landed heavy.

There were very few people who had seen Caitlyn really angry. Fewer who had seen her scared. Even fewer who had seen her cry.

Violet had seen it all.

And Caitlyn had seen her, too: at her worst, at her loudest, at her quietest. As a bruised teenager and a reckless twenty-something and whatever this version was now. She had seen Violet fall, fight, rise, disappear. And always come back louder.

And now she was sleeping in Caitlyn’s hoodie like it was her own.  

Caitlyn stared at her for a long moment.

The piercings. The scar on her eyebrow. The freckle on her jawline. Things that had never changed. Things Caitlyn had memorized without ever meaning to.

She exhaled slowly, like she was afraid to break the air between them.

And for once, she didn’t feel the need to run. She just stayed there, quiet and still, with the weight of two decades pressing gently between them.

And then Caitlyn did something else unthinkable.

She reached out.

Fingers hesitant at first, like touching something fragile, something sacred. She brushed a stray strand of hair away from Violet’s face, letting her hand linger just a second longer than necessary. Her knuckles grazed the curve of her cheek, the soft skin warm beneath her touch.

Violet didn’t stir.

She was still fast asleep, breathing slow and even. And somehow, that made it easier. Easier to let herself feel. To soften. To be someone she wouldn’t dare be in daylight.

There was no audience here. No one to catch her unraveling.

So Caitlyn let her hand drift down, the backs of her fingers tracing gently along Violet’s jaw, then her temple. Just a quiet, featherlight touch. Just enough to remind herself she was real.

Because Violet asleep wasn’t loud or stubborn or impossible.

She was stillness. She was softness.

And Caitlyn didn’t have to be afraid of being seen.

Not here.

Not like this.

Not when Violet wasn’t looking.

She stayed like that for minutes, just tracing gentle paths across Violet’s cheekbone, her brow, the edge of her jaw. Like memorizing a map she’d technically known her entire life, but only now was bothering to really learn.

And with every quiet stroke, every breath Violet took, it hit her harder.

God. I’m so fucked.

The thought wasn’t sharp. It wasn’t panicked. It landed with the slow, weighted certainty of truth. The kind you couldn’t shove down anymore.

She liked her.

She liked Violet.

Not just the fire and the chaos, the way she stormed into every room like she owned the air. Not just the tattoos or the crooked grin or the way she never backed down from anything.

She liked the Violet who fell asleep in stolen hoodies.

The one who snored when she was too tired to care.

The one Caitlyn had known her whole life, and somehow, only now could see clearly.

And she liked her.

Not in a passive way. Not in a this-will-pass way.

She liked her in the way that terrified her. In the way that made her chest ache just sitting here.

Caitlyn exhaled, barely a whisper.

“Shit.”

Chapter Text

She let herself fall.

This time, the kiss wasn’t reckless. It wasn’t a challenge. It moved slower, deeper — careful in a way that only comes when too much has gone unsaid. It was full of everything they’d buried beneath years of eye rolls, insults, slammed doors, and the kind of almosts that haunted quiet nights.

Caitlyn’s hand slid up to Violet’s jaw, thumb brushing just under her ear like she was afraid she'd disappear. But Violet didn’t move. She leaned in instead — closer, steadier — fingers curling into Caitlyn’s waist as her knees threatened to give.

They had kissed before. Moments soaked in adrenaline, hidden in shadows. But this?

This felt like they weren’t pretending anymore.

When they finally pulled apart, Violet opened her eyes slowly. Her lips were still parted, breath uneven.

And Caitlyn… Caitlyn was looking at her like she had never wanted to look away.

No defenses. No bite. Just her.

And Violet hated how much it undid her.

They were still close enough to feel the heat between them, to hear the way their hearts refused to settle.

Close enough to ruin it all, if they wanted to.

But, maybe, finally, they wanted the same thing.

Violet broke the silence first, her voice rasped and uncertain. “Are you actually sure about this?”

It came out sharper than she meant. She was too used to rejection, too used to bracing for impact. Some part of her expected Caitlyn to flinch, to retreat, to remind her — gently — that people like Violet weren’t chosen when it really mattered.

But Caitlyn didn’t flinch. She met her gaze head-on.

“About you? Yeah. I am.”

Violet blinked. Her chest tightened, like something inside her was trying to claw its way out. She didn’t know how to hold it.

“Since when?”

Caitlyn exhaled through her nose. “Probably longer than I’m ready to admit.”

And it was true. Of course it was. This thing — this inconvenient, infuriating thing — had lived beneath her skin for years. She’d buried it in distance and dry sarcasm and polite coldness. Because feeling too much knocked her off balance, and Caitlyn hated losing her footing more than anything.

Violet didn’t respond at first. Then, softer: “You’ve pushed me away a lot.”

“I know.”

The simplicity of it made Caitlyn’s stomach twist. She had. Again and again. Not because she didn’t want Violet, but because wanting her had always felt like handing over the last piece of armor she had.

And Violet — impulsive, unpredictable, bright-burning Violet — was the one thing Caitlyn had never known how to protect herself from.

“So what’s changed?” Violet asked.

There was no bite in her voice. Just weariness. Like she was asking for something to believe in and didn’t expect to find it here.

Caitlyn glanced down at their intertwined fingers. Her pulse thudded fast in her wrist.

“Nothing, really. I’ve just... stopped pretending it’s easier not to feel anything.”

It wasn’t a revelation. It was just true. She was tired. Tired of pretending she didn’t care, tired of holding back every soft instinct like it was a liability. Tired of watching Violet and pretending she didn’t want her in every possible future.

Violet tilted her head, eyes narrowing. “Is it hard? Feeling stuff?”

Caitlyn gave a short, humorless laugh. “For me? Yeah. I don’t like not being in control.”

Violet bit the inside of her cheek, surprised by how honest that was — and by how much it made sense. Caitlyn was all clean precision and sharp corners. She probably practiced emotions the way Violet practiced jabs: over and over until they didn’t sound like mistakes.

“And I’m what — chaos?” Violet asked.

“You always have been,” Caitlyn said, then, quieter, “But not only that.”

Violet blinked, caught off guard.

“You’re the one who sat with me on the bathroom floor at that house party senior year,” Caitlyn said, eyes steady on hers. “I was sick, embarrassed, couldn’t even stand up straight, and you just stayed. Held my hair back. Got me water. Didn’t make a joke. Didn’t leave.”

Violet blinked, caught off guard by how clear Caitlyn’s voice was. Not dramatic, just honest.

“You remembered my favorite flowers,” Caitlyn went on. “That day after our fake lunch date, you bought them from that street vendor outside the restaurant. Didn’t make a big deal out of it. Just handed them to me like it was nothing.”

Violet shifted her weight, suddenly too aware of her own hands.

“And the ring,” Caitlyn added, voice quieter now. “The one you picked for the engagement, I love it. You knew exactly what I’d want, without asking. You always know.”

Violet’s mouth opened slightly, like she wanted to say something, but nothing came out.

“You’re loud, and reckless, and yeah — chaotic as hell,” Caitlyn said. “But you’re also... kind. In ways people don’t always notice.”

A beat of silence passed between them. It wasn’t uncomfortable. It was raw.

So Violet, in classic Violet fashion, tried to break it with sarcasm.

“Well, shit. You’ve gone soft on me”, she smirked, though it didn’t quite reach her eyes. “Next thing I know, you’ll be writing me poems.”

Caitlyn just raised an eyebrow. “Would that be so terrible?”

Violet stared at her, and for a second, let herself feel the warmth blooming in her chest.

“God, I liked you better when you were emotionally repressed.”

“Too bad,” Caitlyn said. “I’m working on it.”

Violet rolled her eyes, but her fingers reached out anyway, brushing against Caitlyn’s again.

She didn’t pull away. Neither of them did.

And maybe that was the point.

The second kiss came easier: no hesitation, no second-guessing.

It stretched long and languid, then quickened as hands wandered. Mouths parted. Breaths hitched. Their bodies curved toward each other like magnets giving up the fight.

Caitlyn’s fingers slipped beneath the hem of Violet’s shirt. Violet pulled her closer by the spine like she was anchoring them both to this moment.

They broke apart for air, breathless and flushed.

Violet grinned. “You’re so into me.”

Caitlyn laughed softly against her lips. “Oh, please.”

“You are,” Violet insisted, already stealing another kiss. “Like, tragically.”

“Right,” Caitlyn murmured, mouth still grazing hers, “and you’re so emotionally well-adjusted.”

“I’m charming,” Violet said, trailing kisses down her jaw. “Undeniably lovable.”

“You’re a disaster.”

“And yet,” Violet said, drawing back just enough to meet her gaze, “you’re still here.”

Caitlyn rolled her eyes, but her hands tightened at Violet’s waist.

“Shut up.”

“Make me.”

And so she did.

The kisses turned heavier — slow, hungry, heady in the way that said: we’ve waited too long to be careful now.

Violet’s knee hit the edge of the bed just as Caitlyn’s fingers slid into her hair, pulling her in for another kiss that didn’t ask permission. Then the mattress caught Violet’s back and her legs gave out, not from surprise, but from the sheer weight of everything finally happening.

They fell together — a graceless, perfect collapse. Caitlyn landed on top, thigh wedged between Violet’s legs, one hand braced on the bed, the other still tangled in her hair like she couldn’t bear to let go.

Violet’s hands were already all over her, gripping tight at Caitlyn’s ass, fingers digging in with intent. There was no hesitation now, just momentum.

“You just like being on top,” Violet muttered, breathless, cocky.

Caitlyn grinned against her mouth. “Please. Like you’d let me if you didn’t want it.”

“Oh, I want it,” Violet said, tugging her closer, voice low and rough. “Don’t worry about that.”

Caitlyn kissed her again, slower this time, deeper, like she was laying claim. Her hips rolled once, just enough to make Violet gasp, just enough to make her smirk. Then she did it again, deliberate and slow, and Violet’s fingers clenched against her body like muscle memory.

The tension crackled between them, all friction and heat and unfinished sentences.

Caitlyn leaned in, her mouth brushing down Violet’s jaw and over her neck, words warm against her skin. “You know what’s unfair?”

Violet’s eyes flickered open, barely focused. “What?”

“That I’ve said how I feel…” Her hips moved again, more insistent this time, a rhythm starting to build. “And you haven’t said a damn thing.”

Violet let out a breathy laugh, strained. “You think this is the time for that conversation?”

Caitlyn hummed — lazy, smug — lips trailing just below Violet’s ear. “Why not? I’m on top of you and emotionally vulnerable. Feels like the perfect time.”

Another kiss. Another roll of her hips.

Violet exhaled sharply, head tilting back against the bed. Her body arched into it without thinking.

“You’ve got terrible timing,” she murmured.

“And you’re terrible at talking about your feelings,” Caitlyn said, a grin playing against her throat. “So I’d say we’re even.”

Violet’s hands slid up Caitlyn’s sides, then back down, dragging her closer, anchoring her in place. “If I say anything now, it’s because you’re grinding the truth out of me.”

“Good,” Caitlyn whispered. “As long as you say it.”

Violet didn’t.

Not yet.

Instead of answering, Violet grabbed Caitlyn by the dress and yanked her back in, kissing her hard, messy and deep, the kind of kiss that didn’t care about rules or breath or timing.

Caitlyn didn’t stop.

Her hips kept moving in slow, deliberate rolls, drawing friction from every inch of contact. Violet’s breath hitched. Her fingers curled tighter around Caitlyn’s waist, nails pressing into the soft dip of her back like she was anchoring herself there.

“You’re not getting out of this,” Caitlyn murmured against her collarbone, her voice velvet-smooth and relentless. “I want to hear you say it.”

Violet shut her eyes. Her jaw tensed. “Are you serious right now?”

“Mmhmm.” Caitlyn’s lips trailed along her neck as her hips pressed down again — slower this time, more controlled. “You made me say it. Fair’s fair.”

Violet swallowed hard. Her legs were already wrapped tight around Caitlyn’s waist, her body betraying her resolve completely. Her heart? Still barricaded behind years of defense mechanisms and unfinished sentences.

“You know how I feel,” she muttered.

Caitlyn didn’t budge. “I want to hear you say it.”

A breath escaped Violet’s lungs, shaky and uneven. Her arms pulled Caitlyn closer, but her face turned slightly, like she couldn’t meet her eyes and survive it.

“You already know,” she whispered.

“I do,” Caitlyn said, and then — slower now, teasing — “but it hits different coming from you.”

The words dug in. Violet’s eyes opened. Her throat burned. Her chest ached in that painful, quiet way it always did when she was trying not to feel something too loud.

Then, finally, she exhaled, low and ragged. “I’m obsessed with you.”

Caitlyn froze. Just for a second.

“I always have been,” Violet continued, eyes on the ceiling, too afraid to look at her. “It’s fucking annoying.”

Caitlyn’s lips parted — not to speak, but because hearing it like that, real and unfiltered, knocked the air from her lungs.

Caitlyn didn’t respond right away. She didn’t need to. The sound of Violet’s voice — raw, grudging, completely exposed — had stolen the air from the room.

“You happy now?” Violet asked, half-defiant, half-drained. “Is that what you wanted to hear?”

Caitlyn lowered her forehead to Violet’s, voice barely a breath. “Yeah.”

And then she kissed her — not out of want, but out of relief. The kind of kiss that happens when someone finally stops running and just… stays.

And Violet didn’t pull away.

They stayed like that, tangled and warm, breath shaky, hearts still trying to catch up to their mouths.

Violet’s confession hung in the air between them, unpolished and real. Caitlyn didn’t press for more. She just kissed her again, softer now, like she finally didn’t have to pretend she wasn’t all in.

But eventually, Caitlyn pulled back just slightly, her brows knitting as a flicker of reality returned to her eyes.

“Okay,” she murmured. “As much as I don’t want to stop…”

Violet raised an eyebrow, still breathless. “Then don’t.”

Caitlyn gave her a look. A very Caitlyn look. Then gestured vaguely at the chaos between them. “We’re still in last night’s clothes. My eyeliner’s halfway to my jaw. You’ve got glitter in your hair and my lipstick all over you."

Violet grinned, shameless. “I was going for ‘morning-after chic.’”

Caitlyn snorted. “You look like you rolled out of a music video in 2009.”

“That’s a compliment and you know it.”

Caitlyn shook her head. “We need a shower. Like, an actual one. With soap. And boiling water. And possibly holy water.”

“Use mine.”

“We’re using my bathroom.”

“Why?” Violet asked, already smirking.

“Because my products are better. I’m not putting whatever gas-station mystery bottle you own near my hair.”

Violet gasped, clutching her chest dramatically. “Wow. So I’m good enough to dry hump, but not good enough to shampoo with?”

“My conditioner is imported,” Caitlyn said, deadly serious. “My scalp has standards.”

Violet rolled her eyes. “Fine. Your bathroom wins. But just know, you asked for this.”

Caitlyn narrowed her eyes. “What does that mean?”

Violet didn’t answer.

Instead, with zero warning, she sat up, grabbed Caitlyn under her thighs, and lifted her clean off the bed.

“Vi—” Caitlyn’s breath hitched. “Are you serious?”

“You wanted a luxury experience,” Violet said, rising smoothly to her feet. “I’m just providing five-star service.”

Caitlyn blinked down at her, legs instinctively wrapping around her waist. Her hands found Violet’s shoulders, gripping tight. “You’re carrying me.”

“Observant,” Violet said, already walking toward the hallway.

Caitlyn let out a breathless laugh, leaning into her. “You’re gonna regret this when your back gives out.”

“Too late,” Violet said, smirking as she walked toward the hallway. “I’m already in too deep.”

Caitlyn didn’t respond right away.

She just looked at her — really looked — and let the smile settle.

“Yeah,” she said softly. “You are.”

Neither of them spoke again.

The hallway was quiet, their bodies pressed close, Violet’s bare feet brushing against the hardwood with each step.

And underneath it all, something warm and steady started to hum.

Something that, for once, didn’t feel fake at all.

x-x-x

Violet nudged the door open with her foot, carrying Caitlyn into the bedroom like it was nothing, like it was second nature. Caitlyn didn’t protest. She just held on, arms looped around Violet’s shoulders, cheek resting briefly against her collarbone, eyes closed for a breath like she could stay there forever.

The room smelled like her. Clean. Expensive. And beneath it all, something soft and floral that Violet would never admit she liked.

Caitlyn pulled back slightly, tipping her head. “Bathroom’s through there.”

“Yeah, no shit. I’ve been in here.”

“Not like this,” Caitlyn said, voice lower now, a pointed kind of softness that made Violet’s pulse thrum.

Violet didn’t answer. She just tightened her grip, crossed the plush rug without looking away from her, and pushed open the bathroom door.

Inside, it was all sleek tile, glass panels, and diffused golden light. Elegant. Serene. Too pretty for what they were about to ruin it with.

She set Caitlyn down gently — reverent, almost — and the moment Caitlyn’s feet touched the floor, she surged forward, kissing her again. No more teasing. No more pretense. It was sharp with urgency now, messy with need, like everything they’d said had finally caught up with everything they felt.

Hands roamed fast, greedy. Mouths opened. Hesitation disappeared.

Caitlyn stepped in close, fingers hooking into the collar of Violet’s hoodie first. She peeled it off slowly, dragging the fabric down her arms, letting it slip from her hands and fall to the floor. Then, her fingers slipped beneath the hem of Violet’s black tank top, dragging it up slowly, knuckles grazing over warm skin, over ribs and scars and muscle. She tugged it over Violet’s head, tossed it aside, and didn’t stop. Her hands moved back in immediately, retracing lines she already knew, relearning them like instinct.

Violet guided her backward with gentle insistence, until Caitlyn’s back hit the cool edge of the counter. Her own hands slid down, catching at the hem of Caitlyn’s dress.

“This thing’s ridiculous,” she muttered into her mouth.

“You liked it.”

“I like what’s under it.”

Caitlyn laughed — breathless, wrecked — and lifted her arms without protest as Violet dragged the dress up, inch by inch. It clung at her hips, stubborn, but Violet got it off, eventually letting it fall to the tile like it didn’t matter anymore.

Her hands found Caitlyn’s waist, then slid lower, mapping familiar curves she’d spent too long pretending not to think about.

“You’re still overdressed,” Caitlyn murmured, voice low and thick with want.

Violet gave a crooked grin. “Fix it.”

And Caitlyn did, hands moving to the clasp of Violet’s trousers, working them open with deft fingers, sliding them down like she was unwrapping something she’d waited too long to touch again. The fabric hit the floor with a soft, final sound. Forgotten.

They kissed again — slower now, deeper — the kind of kiss that didn’t ask for permission anymore. Skin met skin. Their bodies pressed close, flush and warm, and the years between them unraveled fast.

Violet broke the kiss just long enough to trail her mouth along Caitlyn’s cheek. Her fingers found the delicate lace at Caitlyn’s hips, black, sheer, familiar.

She kissed the corner of her mouth as she hooked her thumbs into them and slid them down slowly. Purposefully. Watching the way Caitlyn’s breath caught, eyes fluttering shut, the way her body leaned in like it needed more — now.

The lace slipped down her thighs. Fell. Gone.

Caitlyn’s hands didn’t hesitate either. She moved lower, down Violet’s stomach, grazing over the boxer briefs that sat snug on her hips.

She paused. Looked up once. “Seriously? Boxer briefs?”

Violet smirked, lazy and unapologetic. “They’re comfortable. You judging my underwear now?”

Caitlyn shook her head, a ghost of a smile on her lips. “No. I’m taking them off.”

And she did, slow and unhurried, fingers slipping under the waistband, dragging the fabric down inch by inch. More skin. More heat. More of the history between them revealed in silence.

Violet stepped out of them with ease, nothing cocky now, just present. Caitlyn’s hands lingered at her hips, resting there like she needed to keep touching her, even when there was nothing left between them.

And then — stillness.

They looked at each other. Really looked.

Not for the first time, they’d seen each other like this before, in Tahoe, in shadows, in moments too fast to hold on to.

But this wasn’t fast. This wasn’t just heat.

This was intentional.

This was real.

They stood in the middle of Caitlyn’s bathroom, breathing unevenly, skin prickling, eyes locked. Violet’s hands rested lightly on Caitlyn’s waist. Caitlyn’s thumbs pressed into Violet’s hips. Neither moved.

And somehow, in all the silence, this felt louder than anything they’d said.

Because this wasn’t just sex anymore. Wasn’t a dare or a relapse or something they’d bury in morning-after silence.

This was a confession.

Unspoken, but visible in the way Caitlyn’s eyes traced Violet’s body like it meant something. Like she meant something. And Violet…

Violet could barely breathe.

Because she’d spent so long pretending it didn’t matter. That Caitlyn didn’t matter.

But here she was. No armor. No distance. No jokes.

Just her.

And Caitlyn was looking at her like she was the only thing that had ever made sense.

Violet swallowed, barely finding her voice. “This is…”

“I know,” Caitlyn whispered.

She reached up, tucked a loose strand of hair behind Violet’s ear — gentle, reverent.

And for a moment, they just stood there, suspended in that quiet — where the silence wasn’t empty but full. Full of every unfinished sentence, every unsent text, every stolen glance and broken rule and messy, real, impossible thing that had brought them here.

Then Caitlyn leaned in, voice barely audible, lips brushing against her cheek.

“Come here.”

And Violet did.

Their bodies pressed together, all skin and heat and no space left between them. Violet leaned in first this time, kissed her hard, deep, like she meant it. Like the words were too much to say out loud but too big to keep in anymore.

Caitlyn responded immediately, mouth parting, letting Violet in with a soft gasp against her lips. Their tongues met, slow, tentative, then urgent. Tasting. Learning. Remembering.

Violet’s hands slid up her back, nails dragging lightly, and Caitlyn let out a sound that cracked open the air between them.

The kiss turned messier. Wetter. Desperate in a way that had nothing to do with lust and everything to do with time, with how long they’d waited, how much they’d denied, how badly they wanted.

They breathed into each other. Moaned into each other’s mouths. Caitlyn’s hands framed Violet’s jaw, thumbs pressing just below her ears, holding her in place like she didn’t want to miss a single second.

Violet groaned — low, needy — and Caitlyn swallowed it like it belonged to her.

“Fuck,” Caitlyn murmured between kisses, panting now. “You—you kiss like it’s a fight.”

Violet smiled against her lips. “That’s ‘cause it kinda is.”

Caitlyn huffed out a laugh, breathless, then pulled back just enough to breathe.

Her pupils were blown wide. Her chest rose and fell fast. But her voice was steady when she spoke.

“Shower,” she said, rough and certain.

Violet raised a brow. “You sure that’s all you want?”

Caitlyn didn’t answer, she just laced their fingers together and stepped back, guiding them slowly toward the glass-walled shower at the far end of the bathroom. Still close. Still touching. Her free hand reached behind her and turned the handle; hot water burst from the showerhead with a sudden hiss, steam curling up immediately around them like a veil.

She looked over her shoulder, strands of hair already sticking to her temple, and tugged Violet in after her.

The heat wrapped around them instantly, water hitting their shoulders, their backs, a steady, comforting pressure. The sound filled the room, a soft roar like static, muting everything else. But they didn’t stop kissing. Even beneath the stream.

Their mouths met again, wet and open and slow. Tongues moving with lazy precision, not rushed now, just thorough. The kind of kiss that made the air feel too thick. That didn’t need to prove anything. That just was.

There was no cold left between them. Only steam and skin.

The water poured down over them, hot and steady, steam curling around their bodies.

Caitlyn reached for the shampoo without a word, squeezing it into her palm and working it through her hair, fingers slipping through dark strands, building a lather. Her eyes fluttered shut, head tilted back slightly, water streaming over her collarbones, down her back in clean, shining rivulets.

Violet watched. Silent. Captivated.

Even now — even half-wrecked from want — Caitlyn moved like something elegant, untouchable. Violet had always hated how much that pulled her in.

“You know,” she murmured, letting her fingers drift along Caitlyn’s waist, light as breath, “your shampoo still smells smug.”

Caitlyn huffed out a quiet laugh. “It’s sandalwood and bergamot.”

“Exactly.”

Violet stepped in closer, chest brushing Caitlyn’s slick back, arms sliding around her. She reached up to help rinse, fingers combing through Caitlyn’s hair with care, tilting her head under the spray until the suds ran clear.

Caitlyn let out a soft, almost involuntary sound. A sigh, deep and content and unguarded.

Once her hair was clean, Violet leaned in and pressed a slow kiss just behind her ear. Then another. Then another, tracing a line along the curve of her neck, the slope of her shoulder. Water and skin and warmth. Every kiss was soft, reverent. Deliberate.

Caitlyn’s breath hitched.

Violet’s hands began to move again, slower now, deliberate. One slid around to Caitlyn’s front, up her ribcage, until it cupped one of her breasts. Then the other.

She kissed just under Caitlyn’s ear as her hands moved, thumbs grazing over soft, sensitive skin. She squeezed gently, then again, her fingers catching on Caitlyn’s nipples and pressing just enough to make her gasp, a quiet, involuntary sound that echoed softly in the steam.

Caitlyn leaned back into her, eyes still closed, lips parted.

Violet’s mouth stayed on her neck as her hand slid lower, past her stomach, down the curve of her hip, until she found the heat between Caitlyn’s legs, already slick from more than just the water.

She didn’t rush.

She touched her like she meant it.

Like she knew.

Violet’s fingers moved slowly at first, teasing, barely brushing along Caitlyn’s inner thigh, just enough to make her shift, breath catching in her throat.

She smiled against Caitlyn’s damp skin, her lips close to her ear. “Relax.”

Then, finally, she let her fingers find Caitlyn’s clit — soft, deliberate circles, slow enough to make it maddening. Her other arm held Caitlyn steady against her, palm flat against her stomach, grounding her.

Caitlyn let out a quiet gasp, hips twitching slightly, but she didn’t pull away.

The circles continued — gentle, coaxing — and Caitlyn’s breath grew heavier, chest rising and falling with each pass. Then came the first moan, soft and low, slipping from her lips before she could stop it.

Violet’s smile deepened.

She kissed the side of Caitlyn’s neck, then higher, right behind her ear.

Caitlyn let her head fall back, resting on Violet’s shoulder, eyes fluttering closed. Her arms reached behind her, hands gripping Violet’s thighs for balance as she surrendered to the rhythm building in her.

Violet kissed her temple.

Then, without a word, she slid one finger inside her, slow, steady, careful.

Caitlyn’s body tensed, a soft gasp escaping her throat, followed by another moan as Violet added a second finger — deeper this time.

Violet moved her fingers slowly, curling just enough to find what she was looking for.

“You feel so good,” she whispered, her voice low and rough in Caitlyn’s ear.

Caitlyn didn’t answer, couldn’t. Her mouth was open, breath stuttering as Violet kept working her, one hand inside her, the other still circling, stroking, teasing.

Held together in the heat, in the sound of the water, in everything they’d finally stopped pretending they didn’t want.

Violet didn’t stop, she just picked up the pace.

Her fingers moved faster now, thrusting into Caitlyn with more purpose, her palm pressing tight against her clit in messy, steady circles. The wet sounds of her hand moving and the rush of the water blended into something heady, dizzying.

Caitlyn’s moans grew louder, less restrained. Her hands gripped Violet’s thighs tighter behind her, nails digging into bare skin. Her head was still resting on Violet’s shoulder, mouth parted, cheeks flushed, breathing uneven.

“Fuck,” she breathed, barely a word, more a sound. “Vi—”

“You sound so good like this,” Violet whispered into her ear, her voice thick, her breath hot against Caitlyn’s skin. “So fucking good.”

Caitlyn didn’t respond. Not with words.

There was no smirk, no sharp comeback. Just her body, open, trembling, taking it.

Violet felt the way she was pulsing around her fingers, how Caitlyn’s thighs shook ever so slightly with each thrust. She leaned in closer, kissing the side of her jaw, and whispered, “You want more?”

Caitlyn managed a shaky nod.

So Violet gave it to her — slipping a third finger in, slow and steady, stretching her open.

Caitlyn let out a broken moan, louder now, echoing off the tile. Her whole body tensed around Violet’s hand, her breath catching in her throat as the added fullness made her legs weak.

Violet held her tighter, one arm across Caitlyn’s stomach, her other hand fucking into her harder now, deeper — curling her fingers just right.

“That's it,” Violet murmured. “Take it. You’re so fucking tight like this.”

Caitlyn whimpered, her voice no longer polished, no longer composed. Just raw sound, spilling out of her in waves as Violet pushed her closer and closer to the edge.

She didn’t want to stop. Didn’t want it to slow. Didn’t want anything else but this.

Violet kept going, fingers deep and steady, her palm never leaving Caitlyn’s clit. She moved with purpose now, no more teasing, just pressure and rhythm and heat.

Caitlyn’s moans turned into desperate little gasps, her body tightening, hips rolling back into Violet’s hand without thought, only need. Her head stayed dropped against Violet’s shoulder, neck arched, eyes shut tight, mouth open.

“Vi—fuck—” she choked out, voice barely there.

“I got you,” Violet whispered against her ear, kissing her temple. “Let go.”

And Caitlyn did.

Her whole body tensed, legs trembling as the orgasm hit her hard, deep. She cried out — loud and sharp — the sound echoing in the steam-fogged bathroom as she came around Violet’s fingers, pulsing and shaking and barely holding herself up.

Violet didn’t stop right away. She eased her through it, slow and gentle now, fingers working her through every wave, every aftershock, until Caitlyn finally slumped against her, spent and quiet and warm.

Violet kissed the side of her face. “Still with me?”

Caitlyn just hummed in response, her breath shallow, her hands still gripping Violet’s thighs.

Violet slowly slipped her fingers out, held Caitlyn for a moment longer, then brought her hand up — slick and glistening — and, with a smirk, licked her fingers clean.

She grinned. “Still sweet. Like a cupcake.”

Caitlyn, still catching her breath, didn’t even lift her head. She just let out the most exhausted eye roll imaginable and muttered, “You’re insufferable.”

Violet pressed a kiss to her cheek. “Yeah, but you love it.”

Caitlyn didn’t answer. She just leaned back into her, letting the water wash over them, steam curling around their bodies, heartbeats finally slowing.

And in the silence, neither of them needed to say a thing.

x-x-x

After the heat faded into something steadier, quieter, they stayed beneath the spray, arms wrapped around each other, breath syncing up in the steam. There was no rush now. Just warm skin. Soft silence.

Then Caitlyn reached for the soap.

“Alright,” she said, brisk. “Turn around. You smell like me and poor decisions.”

Violet huffed but obeyed, spinning slowly under the water. “I smell like satisfaction. You’re welcome.”

Caitlyn rolled her eyes but didn’t argue. She lathered the soap in her hands, then began sliding her palms slowly across Violet’s back — up her spine, across her shoulders, then down again.

“You know,” Caitlyn said, almost thoughtful, “you have a ridiculous amount of muscle for someone who lives like a raccoon with a ridiculous money access.”

Violet snorted. “I lift heavy things.”

“Like what? Your ego?”

“No,” Violet said dryly, “but I was lifting your high-maintenance, so...”

Caitlyn didn’t dignify that with a response. Her hands kept moving, now gliding lower — tracing the curve of Violet’s waist, thumbs brushing the edges of her hips.

“I’m just saying,” she murmured, too casual, “you’ve got a great ass.”

Violet turned her head, smirking. “Oh, please. Have you seen yours?”

Caitlyn blinked, all mock innocence. “Mine?”

“I’m obsessed with it,” Violet said without an ounce of shame. “It’s actually rude.”

Caitlyn tried to hold a straight face. She failed. “So that’s why half your compliments come when my back is turned.”

“Exactly. I’m a visual learner.”

They both laughed, the kind of laugh that was easy now, familiar, soaked in steam and something warmer.

Caitlyn pressed a kiss to Violet’s shoulder before rinsing the soap from her back, fingers dragging gently down her skin.

“You’re still insufferable,” she murmured.

“And yet,” Violet said, glancing back at her with a grin, “here you are. Washing my back. In love with me.”

Caitlyn rolled her eyes again, but she didn’t deny it.

She just kept washing.

When the last of the soap had rinsed off Violet’s skin, Caitlyn reached for the shampoo.

“Sit still,” she said, already working the cap open.

“Now you’re giving me orders?”

“Let’s not pretend you don’t secretly love how bossy I am.”

Violet rolled her eyes but tilted her head forward, water cascading down her neck. Caitlyn’s fingers slid into her hair, working the shampoo in gently, massaging her scalp with surprising tenderness.

Violet didn’t say anything at first, just closed her eyes, letting herself feel it. The steam. The warmth. The hands she never thought she’d crave this way.

“You’re good at that,” she murmured after a while.

“I know,” Caitlyn replied, smug. “And your shampoo probably smells like a gas station.”

Violet chuckled. “Better than smelling like a fancy hotel lobby.”

They kept the teasing light, but something in the air had shifted. It was softer now, less armor, more ritual.

Caitlyn’s fingers slowed a little, nails gently scraping against Violet’s scalp as she rinsed the shampoo out. And Violet stayed still. Let her.

Then she turned around, eyes meeting Caitlyn’s under the stream of water. “Your turn.”

x-x-x

Of course, it was never going to stay soft for long.

They’d taken their time, fingers tangled in hair, water slipping down flushed skin, kisses pressed to damp shoulders and spines. But they weren’t built for tenderness alone.

There had always been something beneath it.

Want.

Years of it.

Years of tension held behind gritted teeth and narrowed eyes.

Of arguments that lasted too long and glances that lingered even longer.

Of pretending they didn’t memorize each other’s mouths mid-fight. Of pretending they didn’t care.

They weren’t pretending anymore.

So when they stepped out of the shower — dripping, flushed, wrapped in towels and something heavier than steam — the softness was already thinning.

Caitlyn walked ahead, towel wrapped carelessly around her, water still tracing its way down her legs. She moved the way she always had — elegant, maddeningly self-possessed — and Violet followed with the same hunger she’d spent years choking down.

But there was no one else in the room now.

No cameras. No cold war. No need to keep the distance polite.

Violet half-dried her hair with one hand, eyes fixed on Caitlyn’s back as she made her way toward the bed.

And then—

Caitlyn let the towel drop.

No performance. No hesitation. Just the quiet rustle of fabric hitting the floor.

Violet stilled.

Her gaze dragged down, shameless: over long legs, curved hips, the sculpt of her back, the slope of her shoulders, the swell of her ass.

Everything Violet had imagined in a dozen feverish, guilt-ridden nights.

Except now she didn’t have to imagine it.

Now she had it.

She didn’t speak. Didn’t move. Just stood there with the towel slung over her shoulder, eyes fixed like she was trying to memorize every line, every inch, or maybe stake a claim.

Caitlyn turned slightly, glancing back over her shoulder, eyebrow lifted. “You’re staring.”

Violet’s voice came low. Rough. Honest.

“Obviously.”

“You’ve seen me naked before.”

“I know, but not like this.”

And that — that truth — knocked something loose in Caitlyn. She blinked, the posture shift so slight it was almost imperceptible. But Violet caught it.

That flicker. That sharp inhale.

That moment when being seen landed somewhere deep.

Violet stepped forward slowly, eyes never leaving her. Heat pulsing under her skin like a second heartbeat. She let the towel slip from her shoulder, fingers grazing Caitlyn’s waist as she closed the space between them.

“We’ve done soft,” she murmured, voice like gravel. “Now I want everything else.”

The gasp.

The unraveling.

The kind of kiss that left marks.

Not from anger.

From want.

From the need to know what Caitlyn looked like wrecked and not by accident.

By design.

She wanted to decorate her in fingerprints.

To learn her reactions like a favorite song: on repeat, every note memorized, and still never enough.

Caitlyn didn’t speak. She didn’t need to.

She just turned fully to face her.

And kissed her, deep and hungry, mouth open, nothing gentle about it.

There was no mistaking it anymore.

They weren’t enemies.

Not now.

Not when Caitlyn clutched Violet’s jaw like she was something to be held onto. Not when Violet pulled her close with both hands and kissed her like she’d waited a lifetime to stop pretending she didn’t want to.

No, they weren’t enemies now.

They were just fire and friction and every repressed urge finally set loose.

x-x-x

They didn’t leave the house that Sunday.

Not for food. Not for air. Not even to pretend they had responsibilities beyond the four walls they now, inexplicably, called home.

They stayed in bed until the sun was high, naked, tangled, already sore from the hours before. And neither seemed remotely interested in stopping.

Violet had Caitlyn on her back first — one hand wrapped around her throat, the other lifting her thigh, fucking her deep and slow with her fingers while Caitlyn bit her own wrist to keep quiet. She failed. Her moans filled the room, open and desperate, her body trembling under every whispered curse Violet growled into her ear.

Then they switched. Caitlyn rode her hard, knees pressing into the mattress, hands braced against Violet’s chest, movements sharp and focused. Her hair was a mess, her eyes blown wide with intent as she leaned down and bit Violet’s shoulder, dragging a sound from her throat that sounded dangerously like surrender.

But neither of them was finished.

Hours later, halfway to the kitchen, Violet pressed Caitlyn against the hallway wall. Mouth on her neck. Fingers already slipping between her thighs. Caitlyn let her — panting into her shoulder, one leg hitched around her waist, whispering, “Don’t stop. Don’t you fucking stop—”

Eventually, they made it to the couch.

Caitlyn on her knees, back arched, arms stretched over the cushions while Violet fucked her from behind: one hand gripping her waist, the other buried in her hair. Caitlyn came hard, face pressed into the pillow, saying Violet’s name like it hurt.

But the turning point — the moment everything escalated — came when Violet opened the black case in Caitlyn’s closet.

“Oh, so this is the infamous Kiramman model,” she said, already grinning as she lifted the hexstrap with both hands.

Caitlyn, wrapped in a robe and drinking water, didn’t blink. “Deluxe edition. Launched last quarter.”

Violet let out a low whistle, turning the strap in her hands. “I’ve seen the ads. Jinx wouldn’t shut up about the thrust algorithm.”

Caitlyn raised an eyebrow. “It’s our highest-rated intimacy device. Precision-calibrated. Patent-pending.”

“You’re really proud of this thing, huh?”

“I helped design it.”

That made Violet pause, then smirk. “Of course you did. You Kirammans and your obsession with control.”

Caitlyn didn’t deny it. Just took another sip of water and said, “Think you can handle it?”

Violet strapped it on, adjusted her stance—and froze for half a second. The interface activated with a low hum, syncing almost instantly. She exhaled through her nose.

“…Oh.”

Caitlyn’s smirk widened slightly. “Told you. It’s seamless neural feedback. Feels like it’s part of you, doesn’t it?”

“Yeah,” Violet said, shifting her hips, eyes darkening. “Too real. Like—I can feel everything.”

“You’re welcome.”

Violet glanced toward the bed, then back at her. “Where are the condoms?”

Caitlyn tilted her head, calm as ever. “No need. I can set it to a non-reproductive cycle. Hex-calibrated hormonal shielding. Very safe.”

Violet stared at her for a beat. “You’re so hot when you say insane shit like that.”

Caitlyn shrugged, finishing her water. “Then get on with it. I’m waiting.”

Violet smirked, rolled her shoulders, and jerked her chin toward the mattress. “On your back.”

Caitlyn didn’t argue. She just dropped the robe, crawled back into bed, and spread her legs.

The hexstrap was smooth. Strong. Precise. Violet fucked her deep and steady, one hand on Caitlyn’s thigh, the other pressed to her stomach, feeling her clench with every thrust. Caitlyn came fast — then again — begging through gritted teeth, nails tearing at the sheets.

Later, they tested it on the dining table.

Caitlyn bent over the polished wood, one hand gripping the edge, the other pinned beneath Violet’s palm. Violet pushed in hard, relentless, and the vibrations of Caitlyn’s moans rattled the silverware.

Then — the backyard.

Yes, outside. Late afternoon. Hidden behind the high fence, sunlight slipping through the trees. Caitlyn sat on Violet’s lap in one of the loungers, riding the strap slow and deep, her head tipped back, eyes closed, lips parted. Violet kept her hands firm on her hips, letting her take what she wanted.

By the time the sky turned pink, they were wrecked. Muscles sore. Thighs shaking. Bodies covered in fading fingerprints and fresh bruises.

Night came.

They showered again, mostly for survival.

Somehow, they ended up in the guest room — again. Caitlyn rode Violet until her legs gave out, overstimulated and whimpering, forehead pressed to Violet’s chest, murmuring incoherencies.

And still — still — Violet kissed her like it was the first time.

It was past midnight when they collapsed in Violet’s bed. Not by accident.

By choice.

Caitlyn had quietly decided this was where she wanted to sleep.

The room was warm, dim, lit only by the streetlamp glow through the window. The sheets were a mess. The air smelled like skin and sweat and something softer now, something settled.

Caitlyn lay draped across Violet’s chest, cheek resting in the crook of her neck, her breathing slow and even.

Neither spoke for a while.

Violet’s fingers moved gently through Caitlyn’s hair, her other hand tracing the curve of her spine. Caitlyn didn’t ask for more.

She just curled in closer, one leg tangled between Violet’s, arms loosely wrapped around her like it had never been a question.

“You okay?” Violet murmured eventually, voice low and quiet.

Caitlyn nodded against her skin. “Mhm.”

“Comfortable?”

A small, sleepy smile. “I’m exactly where I want to be.”

Something in Violet’s chest clenched: soft and sharp all at once. She didn’t reply. Just kissed the top of Caitlyn’s head and held her tighter.

The silence that followed wasn’t awkward.

It was warm. Familiar. Earned.

Caitlyn exhaled deeply and let herself fall quiet. She didn’t move. Didn’t speak. Didn’t retreat behind wit or logic or posture.

She just stayed, breathing in time with Violet, letting the weight of the day settle in her bones.

And when she finally fell asleep — deeply, safely, fully — Violet stayed awake just a little longer.

Holding her.

Letting it feel real.

x-x-x

Morning came slowly.

Soft gray light filtered through the blinds in Violet’s bedroom, casting long, quiet shadows across the rumpled sheets. The air was still warm from the night before,  the fever of it now softened, replaced by something quieter. Skin against skin. Breath against breath. Warmth shared between two bodies remembering how to rest.

Violet was still asleep, her chest rising in a steady rhythm, one arm slung over Caitlyn’s waist, her body curled protectively around her,  the bigger spoon, even in sleep.

Caitlyn had woken first.

Not with a start, but with that slow-dawning kind of awareness: the weight of an arm across her, the press of thighs behind her, the sound of someone breathing near. Real.

It took her a second to remember. Where she was. Who she was with.

But when it clicked, there was no panic.

Just stillness.

Violet’s body was solid behind her, warm and steady. Caitlyn could feel the rise and fall of her chest, the faint pulse at her wrist, the soft breath against the back of her neck. Every movement, every sound, every heat-soaked inch of her was grounding. Strange. Terrifying, in that quiet way new things always are.

They hadn’t talked about what any of it meant.

Not out loud.

And yet — here they were.

Caitlyn didn’t move at first. She just felt. The way Violet held her. The way they fit. Like this wasn’t the first time. Like it wouldn’t be the last.

Eventually, she shifted — slowly, carefully — turning within the loose cradle of Violet’s arms.

Violet stirred anyway.

Her brows twitched. Nose scrunched. Then her eyes blinked open, slow and heavy with sleep.

Caitlyn smiled before she meant to.

“Hey,” Violet muttered, voice rough and low. “You’re awake.”

“I am,” Caitlyn whispered, lifting a hand to rest gently on Violet’s side. Her fingers brushed over the tension there, the familiar line of muscle beneath soft skin.

It still surprised her, sometimes. The strength Violet carried — not just in her body, but in how fiercely she cared. How deeply she stayed, once she decided to.

Violet let her eyes fall closed again, face nuzzling into Caitlyn’s shoulder like she belonged there.

“I thought you didn’t like sharing a bed,” she mumbled, half-smiling.

“I thought I didn’t either.”

Silence settled between them again. But it wasn’t awkward. It was filled. With limbs and breath and the kind of uncertainty that didn’t feel threatening anymore.

Whatever this was — it didn’t fit neatly into any of the shapes they’d known before. It wasn’t clean. Or predictable. Or easy to define.

But neither of them pulled away.

And that had to mean something.

Violet didn’t fall back asleep. She couldn’t. She was too aware of everything,  Caitlyn’s breath against her collarbone, the hand resting light on her waist, the way Caitlyn hadn’t moved, hadn’t retreated, hadn’t put distance where Violet used to expect it.

And yet the fear was still there.

Smaller now. But there.

Not the loud, sharp kind, the quieter one. The one that sat under her ribs, asking what if. What if Caitlyn changed her mind. What if this faded. What if it wasn’t built to last.

Because Violet knew what it felt like to want someone too much.

And wanting Caitlyn — someone polished and composed and chosen — had always felt dangerous. Especially when Violet was still learning she could be wanted without having to burn everything else down first.

But Caitlyn had stayed.

She’d curled into her during the night. She’d kissed her like it meant something. She hadn’t flinched. Hadn’t run.

And Violet wasn’t pretending this didn’t matter anymore.

Because it did.

God, it did.

She liked her wife.

No — she really fucking liked her.

The thought landed hard. But not in a way that scared her. Not like before. Now it just… settled.

She glanced down. Caitlyn was blinking slowly, still half-asleep, her breath soft, her cheek pressed to Violet’s collarbone.

Violet hesitated, then cleared her throat. “Hey.”

Caitlyn looked up. “Hmm?”

Violet ran a hand down her back, then let it settle. “I was thinking.”

“Dangerous,” Caitlyn said, already smirking.

Violet rolled her eyes, but her mouth tugged into a grin. “I wanna take you out.”

Caitlyn blinked. “Like… on a date?”

“Yeah.”

Her voice was quieter now. But steady.

Caitlyn tilted her head slightly, skeptical in that way Violet knew too well. “Like, a real one? Not a press thing? Not a ‘we’re tolerating each other for optics’ event?”

Violet laughed softly. “A real one. No photographers. No stylists. No PR team.”

Caitlyn studied her face, genuinely, searching.

And Violet let her.

She reached up, brushed Caitlyn’s chin with her thumb. “We’ve never had one, you know. A date. We went straight from forced proximity to fake rings to sex and trauma-bonding.”

“Very romantic.”

“Exactly,” Violet grinned. “I think it’s time we did something backwards. Like… normal.”

Caitlyn stared at her for a beat. Then nodded, slowly.

“I’d like that.”

Violet let out a breath she didn’t realize she’d been holding. Her shoulders softened. Her hand stayed where it was.

“Cool,” she said, voice rasping slightly. “It’s a date.”

Then she smirked. “Seven sharp. I’ll be in the living room. Don’t be late.”

Caitlyn raised an eyebrow. “Are you assigning me a call time for our first date?”

“You made me soft,” Violet said, shrugging. “Now I’m giving you structure. Deal with it.”

Caitlyn groaned and dropped her head against Violet’s chest. “God, you’re infuriating.”

“Seven,” Violet repeated, kissing the top of her head. “Dress like you’re trying to seduce your fake-wife-turned-girlfriend.”

“I’m going back to sleep.”

“You better not,” Violet said, smiling into her hair. “You’ve got plans now.”

And Caitlyn smiled too — not out of habit, not because she was supposed to.

But because she meant it.

Because yeah — it was new. And weird. And terrifying.

But it was real.

And she wasn’t going to miss it.

x-x-x

A few hours later, the front door creaked open as Sett and Lux stepped inside, juggling phones, folders, and the low-grade exhaustion that came with managing two of the most emotionally unpredictable people on the West Coast.

They were used to chaos.

Violet’s chaos, mostly, spontaneous, loud, occasionally flammable. And Caitlyn’s chaos, which came in the form of tightly wound schedules, curt emails, and a perfectly sharpened eyebrow raise.

What they walked into… wasn’t either of those.

Instead, the scent of garlic and something buttery floated in from the kitchen, warm and unexpected.

And laughter.

Actual, genuine, overlapping laughter.

Sett slowed mid-step, brow furrowed. “That can’t be right.”

From the kitchen doorway, they caught a glimpse of the impossible: Caitlyn and Violet, barefoot, dressed in soft, comfortable clothes, standing side by side at the counter, chopping vegetables and bickering over seasoning.

Though… it wasn’t really bickering.

It was something gentler. Teasing. Playful.

“Basil goes in after the sauce simmers,” Caitlyn was saying, placing a leaf delicately into the pan.

Violet snatched one off the counter and popped it into her mouth. “You’re just saying that because it was in some overpriced cookbook written by a man who probably microwaves his coffee.”

“It’s called research.”

“It’s called pretentiousness.”

Caitlyn shot her a mock glare and flicked a bit of flour in her direction. Violet yelped and retaliated with a flick of water from the sink, grinning like a kid who’d just won something.

And then Caitlyn laughed.

Not politely. Not performatively.

Really laughed.

Sett and Lux froze in the foyer, staring like they’d just witnessed a unicorn doing taxes.

“…They’re laughing,” Lux whispered, like it was a glitch in the simulation.

“They’re touching,” Sett added, aghast.

They watched as Caitlyn reached around Violet to stir something in the pot, her hand brushing across her back. Violet leaned casually against the counter and bumped her hip into Caitlyn’s, and Caitlyn — Caitlyn — smiled.

Not the tight-lipped, camera-ready smile. A real one.

Sett leaned in, voice low. “Wanna bet they slept together again?”

Lux didn’t blink. “Fifty says Violet started it.”

Sett snorted. “You’re wrong. That smug little post-coital smirk on Caitlyn? That’s I made the first move energy.”

“You’re delusional.”

“Fifty.”

“You’re on.”

They stood there a moment longer, watching as Caitlyn tried to wrestle a knife out of Violet’s hand while Violet insisted she was cutting it “her way.” The two were bickering, laughing, shoulder to shoulder like it was the most natural thing in the world.

Lux tilted her head slightly. “You know… if this is what marriage looks like, maybe it’s not that bad.”

Sett raised a brow. “You’ve clearly never tried to share a bathroom with Violet.”

They both grinned.

And for a moment, neither of them said anything else.

Because whatever this was — domesticity, detente, delayed emotional detonation — it wasn’t fake.

Not anymore.

Later that afternoon, after the quiet hum of lunch and the softness that lingered in its wake, Caitlyn and Lux stood on the back patio, mugs warm in their hands. The sunlight had turned mellow, stretched long across the garden, painting everything in that golden, late-day hush.

Lux sipped slowly, watching Caitlyn over the rim of her cup. “So,” she said, casually enough to sound innocent. “Is this real?”

Caitlyn didn’t answer right away. She was staring at the trees, the gentle sway of branches, her fingers loose around her mug. “I think it is,” she said at last.

Lux nodded once, but her shoulders didn’t relax.

“Just… be careful,” she murmured. “Not because I don’t think she’s trying. But because you don’t always protect yourself when you should.”

Caitlyn gave a quiet, half-smile. “You think I don’t know the risks?”

“I think you pretend they don’t apply to you,” Lux replied, stepping closer. “But they do. You’re not just Caitlyn. You’re a Kiramman. You carry a name the company still leans on. Your image is currency. And if this falls apart…”

“I know,” Caitlyn said, voice firm, low. “I’m not doing this blindly.”

“I’m not saying you are,” Lux said. “But I know what happens when Violet spirals. And if she does — if she runs, or lashes out — you’ll be the one left holding the mess. Again.”

Her voice softened just a fraction. “Just don’t lose yourself in this. We can’t afford that. You can’t afford that.”

Caitlyn looked down into her mug. The words echoed too easily.

But she lifted her eyes again, steady this time. “I’m choosing her, Lux. Fully aware of the fallout.”

Lux tapped her fingernail against the ceramic. “Are you sure this is a good idea?”

Caitlyn didn’t respond. Not immediately.

So Lux pressed, gently. “The press has quieted. The merger’s stable. But it started as a lie — one we carefully staged, rehearsed, spun. It worked because it was fake. Strategic. Contained.”

“She’s not fake,” Caitlyn said, quiet. “Maybe she never was.”

Lux inhaled slowly. “And that’s exactly why I’m worried.”

Caitlyn turned toward her.

“Feelings crack things open,” Lux went on. “They make everything unstable. Fragile. This wasn’t supposed to matter. And now it does. If it ends… it won’t just be painful. It’ll be loud. Headlines. Press statements. Stock adjustments. PR bloodbaths.”

The words settled deep in Caitlyn’s chest, heavy and familiar — like the weight of all the things she’d spent her life keeping under control.

She glanced at her hands, then back at Lux, managing a flicker of a smile. “It’ll be okay.”

“You sure about that?”

“No,” Caitlyn admitted. “But I want to try.”

Lux didn’t answer right away. She just looked at her — really looked — and Caitlyn felt the weight of that scrutiny more than she’d expected to.

Finally, Lux nodded. “Alright. Just... don’t let wanting her cost you everything else.”

Caitlyn’s smile faltered, but didn’t fall. “I won’t.”

She wasn’t sure if that was true.

But she wanted it to be.

Inside, Sett leaned against the kitchen counter, arms crossed, watching Violet rinse out a glass. She was humming to herself.

That alone made him suspicious.

“You look calm,” he said, narrowing his eyes. “Suspiciously calm.”

Violet glanced at him, unfazed. “Maybe I’m evolving.”

Sett snorted. “Nah. You’re in love. And I need to know how bad it is.”

Violet rolled her eyes. “Relax.”

“I’m serious, Vi. I work for your father. And your name still carries a multi-million-dollar legacy. If this thing with Caitlyn tanks, it’s not just your feelings that get wrecked. It’s legal teams, investor calls, shareholder panic.”

Violet dried her hands and leaned back against the sink, arms crossed. “I’m not going to crash it.”

“Not even if she panics? Pulls away because the optics get messy?”

“I don’t scare easy, Sett.”

He softened. “I know. That’s what worries me.”

He stepped a little closer, lowering his voice. “You’ve never run — not from fights, not from chaos, not even from your own worst instincts. But this girl…”

Violet’s jaw twitched, then loosened. “She’s not just some girl.”

Sett nodded. “I figured as much.”

“The merger’s still fresh. There are people out there convinced this marriage was all smoke and mirrors,” he continued. “If you two fall apart now — if it gets ugly — there’s a lot more than reputations at stake.”

“I get it,” Violet snapped, sharper now. “Believe me.”

“Do you?” Sett asked gently. “Because when things get real, you tend to set fire to everything and watch it burn. That’s fine when it’s just you on the line. But this time…”

Violet turned her face away. The sink gleamed in front of her, cold and clean.

She didn’t speak for a moment.

Then, quietly, “She’s not just some girl, Sett.”

Sett studied her. “You really think this could work?”

“I do.”

“And what if she freaks out? Gets overwhelmed?”

“I won’t let her.”

He raised an eyebrow. “That’s not how people work, Vi. Especially not people who’ve been trained to carry the weight of entire legacies.”

“I know,” she said, finally turning to look at him again. “But I’d rather risk everything than pretend I don’t want her.”

Sett stared for a beat. “Then why are you smiling like that?”

Violet looked down at the counter, then smirked.

“Because we’ve got a date tonight.”

Sett blinked. “Wait. A real one?”

“No cameras. No statements. Just dinner. Just her.”

Sett shook his head, slowly, like he was witnessing something apocalyptic. “You’re gonna give me a goddamn ulcer.”

But Violet was already brushing past him, her smirk still in place, shoulders relaxed, something almost steady in her eyes.

She didn’t run from anything.

Not even love — not when it finally looked her in the eye.

Chapter Text

Violet was sweating. And not in the fun way.

She stood shirtless in front of the mirror, arms crossed, glaring at her closet like it had personally insulted her. Which, honestly, it kind of had. Because how the hell was she supposed to dress for a date with her wife?

A real date. Not a photo op. Not a PR dinner. Not some smirking handshake with the devil in a designer dress to prove their fake marriage wasn’t cracking under the weight of mutual loathing and unresolved sexual tension.

This was something else entirely.

That morning, Caitlyn had been in Violet’s bed—sleep-tousled, warm, infuriatingly calm—when Violet, trying to sound casual, suggested a real date.

Caitlyn had looked at her and said, simply, “I’d like that.”

And that was it. Just calm agreement. Like it was casual. Like it wasn’t a direct assault on Violet’s nervous system.

Now it was 6:14 p.m., and Violet’s palms were sweating. Her brain was running laps. Her closet was officially her worst enemy.

“This is so fucking stupid,” she muttered, yanking a black button-down off its hanger. She held it up, hated it instantly. Too stiff. Too serious. Too I’m secretly terrified of being in love with you even though it’s already way too late.

She threw it onto the bed and tried again. Tank top? Too casual. Leather jacket? Too gay. Wait—no. Caitlyn liked that one.

God, Caitlyn. With her stupid perfect posture and her condescending little smirks and her inexplicably gentle hands. Caitlyn, who made Violet feel like a threat and a sonnet all at once. Caitlyn, who would walk into their living room at exactly 7:00 p.m. and see her like this: spiraling over a first date they should’ve had years ago, back when they were still teenagers competing for everything. 

They’d already had sex. Multiple times. Violet had the bite marks to prove it—somewhere near her hip, probably still healing.

They were married. Publicly. On purpose. With paperwork. Joint tax forms. A mortgage. Shared groceries.

And still, this—the date—was what was short-circuiting her.

Because it wasn’t strategy. Wasn’t theater. Wasn’t pretend.

This was her asking Caitlyn out because she wanted to. Because she always had. Even back when all she did was glare at Caitlyn’s perfect cheekbones and imagine kissing her just to shut her up.

She had never admitted that to anyone.

Not even herself, until little time ago.

She dragged a hand down her face and groaned at her reflection. “You’re pathetic.”

And yeah. She kind of was.

Because she wanted this.

Bad.

She finally settled on the black tank top and the same leather jacket Caitlyn had once complimented in that criminally neutral tone—“It suits you”—which meant she absolutely meant it. As she shrugged it on, her phone buzzed on the bed.

Incoming FaceTime: JINX

Violet sighed. “Of course.”

She picked up, and Jinx’s face appeared instantly, upside down, blue hair wild, wearing one of Violet’s stolen hoodies like it belonged to her.

“You’re a menace,” Jinx announced.

Violet raised a brow. “That’s your opener?”

“Nope,” Jinx said, flipping herself upright. “I called because Sett told me what happened. You and Caitlyn. Finally.”

Violet blinked. “He what?”

“Sett reports to me now,” Jinx said proudly. “He knew I’d want the intel. And honestly? You took forever.”

“I didn’t realize I was on a timer.”

“You weren’t. But come on, Vi. You’ve been in love with that girl since forever. You just had to get married, nearly kill each other, and emotionally damage everyone in a 10-mile radius first.”

Violet rolled her eyes. “Ekko said the same thing.”

“Because we’ve been saying it,” Jinx groaned, waving a spoon covered in something violently pink. “I’ve had a bet with Ekko since middle school. And now look at you. Sweating over an outfit like it’s prom night.”

“It’s a date,” Violet muttered, adjusting the tank. “Not a Hallmark special.”

“Oh no?” Jinx grinned. “Tell that to the existential crisis forming on your forehead.”

Violet flipped her off.

Jinx just laughed. “You’re dead when Mom finds out.”

That shut her up. Violet hesitated, the grin falling off her face. “You think they’ll actually care?”

Jinx blinked. “Dad’ll say something. You know he will.”

“I don’t give a shit,” Violet said, even though her voice didn’t sound nearly as solid as she wanted. “They shoved that company down my throat. Like I was born to wear a tie and die in an office.”

“I know,” Jinx said, voice softer now. “I was there. I watched them do it.”

Violet swallowed, jaw tight. She didn’t talk about that. Not really. But Jinx knew. Jinx always knew.

“I’m not gonna lose her,” Violet said. It surprised even her.

“You better not,” Jinx said. “She’s the only person who makes you shut up and smile. That’s rare. Like, medically concerning.”

Violet groaned. “Okay, goodbye.”

“You look at her like she hung the fucking moon—”

Click.

Call ended.

Violet stared at her reflection again, breathing shallowly.

She still didn’t know what kind of future she wanted. But for the first time in her life, it felt like she was choosing it. Not chasing it. Not running from it.

Maybe that future started at 7:00 p.m., in a house that had somehow stopped feeling like a set.

She grabbed the leather jacket.

And smiled, just a little. But real.

x-x-x

Caitlyn adjusted the collar of her blouse again, lips pressed into a flat, determined line that didn’t quite hide the way her pulse was fluttering. Her phone, currently balanced against a candle and threatening to tip over any second, showed Mel on FaceTime: lounging like a queen in what appeared to be cashmere, a wine glass in hand and a perfectly sculpted brow arched in familiar, judgmental amusement.

“You’re fidgeting,” Mel said. “You never fidget.”

“I’m not fidgeting.”

“You are. And it’s honestly adorable. Are you actually nervous?”

Caitlyn exhaled slowly through her nose. “It’s not nerves. It’s just… It’s our first date. A real one. That’s all.”

Mel took a sip of wine, expression infuriatingly pleased. “With your wife. You already live together. You’ve had sex. Repeatedly, if the Sett Gossip Network is at all reliable.”

Caitlyn narrowed her eyes. “Why does Sett know anything?”

“Because Sett is nosy and emotionally underpaid.”

Caitlyn made a face and returned to her cufflinks, trying not to let her hands tremble. She didn’t do nervous. She did crisis response. Boardrooms. Public appearances. Dinner with people who smiled with their teeth but not their eyes. She’d been on more dates than she could count. The kind with expensive menus, dim lighting, and zero emotional investment. She’d kissed girls in marble hallways and art galleries and backstage greenrooms. It had never been this.

This felt like handing over her heart wrapped in silk and hoping no one dropped it.

God, she hated metaphors.

And she hated that Violet — of all people — had this effect on her.

Violet, who had been driving her insane since they were six. Violet, who once dedicated a middle school soccer goal to her just to be petty, complete with finger hearts in front of the entire damn school. Violet, who was loud and infuriating and unfairly beautiful. Violet, who had been her first kiss.

She should’ve known back then. When she spent three weeks pretending it meant nothing, even as her brain replayed it like crime scene footage with new theories daily.

But Violet had always been more than chaos. She was also steady hands after a party. Thoughtful gestures disguised as jokes. The only person who could make Caitlyn laugh when she wanted to break things.

Her wife.

Her date.

Mel was watching her now, quietly, curiously. “Does your mom know?”

Caitlyn froze, her fingers stilling at the hem of her blouse. “No.”

Both of Mel’s eyebrows shot up. “Oh, sweetie. You know she’ll find out.”

“I’m not telling her anything until I know what this is.”

“She’s going to sniff it out the second you say something kind about Vi in public.”

Caitlyn groaned, already bracing for the inevitable.

“You know how she is,” Mel said, voice softer now. “She likes control. And your father just—”

“—follows orders,” Caitlyn muttered. “I’m aware.”

“She won’t like this,” Mel said. “She didn’t even like your haircut in college.”

“Well, she’ll survive,” Caitlyn said, but her stomach twisted anyway.

Mel tilted her head, wine glass now resting on her knee. “Just... be careful, okay? Not with Violet. With the system around you. If this falls apart, they won’t care who gets hurt. They’ll spin it, weaponize it. You know how fast they turn affection into scandal.”

Caitlyn nodded once, gaze locked on her own reflection. “I know.”

“And yet,” Mel prompted.

“I’m still going,” Caitlyn said, letting the smallest smile break through. “Because it’s her.”

Mel’s mouth curved. “You’re braver than you look.”

“Good,” Caitlyn said. “Let’s hope she thinks so too.”

She caught her reflection again — poised, composed, and still visibly shaken beneath it all. She hated that she cared this much. Hated how obvious it felt, even in silence.

“She’s not just anyone,” she murmured before she could stop herself.

Mel squinted. “What was that?”

“Nothing,” Caitlyn said quickly. “Just… I don’t know how to do this.”

“You don’t have to,” Mel replied. “You already did the hard part. You let her in.”

Caitlyn blinked at that, unsure if she wanted to smile or cry.

“I’m still mad at you for being emotionally literate,” she muttered.

“You’re welcome,” Mel said smugly. “Now spin for me. I want to see what dangerous looks like.”

Caitlyn rolled her eyes but stood, giving a reluctant turn. Soft navy blouse, tucked into tailored slacks, minimal makeup. Hair down for once. Violet liked it that way, though she’d never said it out loud, just stared a second too long.

Mel made an appreciative sound. “You look hot. Like ‘break up a dynasty’ hot. Like ‘make a senator cry’ hot.”

“Perfect,” Caitlyn said dryly. “That’s exactly the brand I was aiming for.”

“You’ll be fine,” Mel said, voice a little gentler now.

Caitlyn glanced at the clock. 6:43 p.m.

Seventeen minutes.

She picked up her earrings, hands steadier now.

She was Caitlyn Kiramman. She didn’t panic.

Except apparently, she did. For Violet.

Only for Violet.

The girl who had been her rival in every life she could remember.

The girl who kissed her like she was a secret worth keeping.

The girl who — for better or worse — was hers.

And tonight, for the first time, she’d get to be Violet’s.

x-x-x

Violet was already downstairs when Caitlyn emerged from the bedroom.

She was pacing. Not dramatically, more like a tight, anxious loop between the kitchen island and the couch, shoulders tense, jaw set. Her leather jacket hung over a black tank top, like she couldn’t decide if she was going to a dinner date or a fight. Her hair was still slightly damp, probably from where she’d run her hands through it for the twentieth time.

The moment she heard footsteps on the stairs, she froze.

And then Caitlyn appeared.

Navy blouse tucked into perfectly tailored slacks, hair loose around her shoulders, silver earrings catching the light with every step. Cool. Composed. Ridiculously beautiful.

Violet forgot how to function.

“Whoa,” she said, too fast and way too loud.

Caitlyn raised a brow. “Whoa?”

“I mean—” Violet cleared her throat and shifted her stance. “You look nice.”

Caitlyn stopped in front of her, eyes skimming over her outfit. “So do you.”

Violet scratched the back of her neck. “I don’t usually get this nervous.”

“Oh?” Caitlyn’s lips curved. “Is that what this is?”

“I’m fine.”

“You were pacing.”

“I pace when I’m excited,” Violet lied smoothly.

“Your hand’s shaking.”

“It’s the leather. It vibrates when it senses emotional weakness.”

Caitlyn let out a laugh — soft and quiet, like she couldn’t believe this was her life now. Her smile turned gentle as she leaned in, brushing a kiss against Violet’s cheek — light, grounding, warm.

“You don’t have to be nervous,” she murmured. “It’s just dinner.”

Violet swallowed. “Yeah. First date. Super casual. Just me and my—”

She stopped.

Caitlyn tilted her head, amused. “Your…?”

“Don’t.”

Caitlyn’s grin spread like wildfire. “Your wife?”

“Oh my god, shut up.”

“Your beautiful, charming, smart—”

“Okay, I’m leaving you here.”

“You invited me.”

“You tricked me.”

Caitlyn stepped closer. “You offered.”

“I was vulnerable.”

“You’re always vulnerable around me.”

Violet tried to glare. Failed. “You’re annoying.”

“And you’re blushing.”

“Am not.”

Caitlyn reached up, brushing her fingers along Violet’s jaw. “You ready?”

Violet let out a breath. “As I’ll ever be.”

And somehow, just like that, the decades of snide remarks, fake rings, and buried feelings boiled down to this one fact: they liked each other. Liked liked. The kind of stupid, terrifying, butterflies-in-your-stomach liking that turned the world sideways.

God help them both.

Outside, the car was already waiting, sleek and black and pretentious as hell. Violet would never admit how much she liked it.

Caitlyn raised an eyebrow. “We’re doing chauffeurs tonight?”

Violet opened the door with a mock bow. “Only the finest for my fake wife on our very real date.”

Caitlyn climbed in first, all elegance and control, sliding across the leather seats like a Bond girl Violet had somehow tricked into marrying her. Violet followed, a little less gracefully, sinking into the seat with a sigh.

The silence that followed wasn’t awkward. It was almost... companionable.

Until Caitlyn turned to her. “Still nervous?”

“No.”

“You were pacing.”

“Don’t start.”

Caitlyn smirked. “So. Where are we going?”

Violet hesitated. “I, uh… I asked Lux. About your favorite places. Picked one from her list.”

Caitlyn blinked. “You asked Lux?”

“Don’t make it a thing.”

“It’s already a thing.”

Violet slouched a little in her seat. “You’re gonna make fun of me.”

Caitlyn smiled, eyes soft. “You’re trying to impress me.”

“You’re unbearable.”

“And you’re obsessed.”

Violet didn’t argue. Not really.

Caitlyn turned fully toward her now. “Let me get this straight. You asked Lux what I like, dressed like the human embodiment of a butch thirst trap—”

“Do not finish that sentence.”

“—and now you’re taking me to dinner like you’re about to propose again.”

Violet groaned into her hands. “Why am I doing this.”

Caitlyn leaned in, lips brushing the edge of her ear. “Because you like making me happy.”

Violet’s breath caught.

And then, Caitlyn pulled back, deadpan. “Also, you’re kind of a slut for praise.”

Violet blinked at her. “I take it back. I hate you.”

“No, you don’t.”

Violet narrowed her eyes. “You’re lucky you’re hot.”

“And you really don’t hate me.”

The car rounded a corner, the city lights flickering over their faces, sharp blue and warm gold, casting them in alternating halves of shadow and clarity. And for one fragile, perfect second, everything felt… easy.

Like this was something that could last.

Violet tapped her fingers against her thigh. “I almost didn’t ask Lux, you know. Felt like cheating.”

Caitlyn tilted her head. “How is learning what I like cheating?”

“You have scary CEO vibes. I figured I was supposed to just know. Telepathy. Intuition. Trial by fire.”

Caitlyn let out a short laugh. “Please. I’m flattered you asked. That’s… thoughtful.”

Violet side-eyed her. “Are you malfunctioning?”

“I can be sincere.”

“You’re literally blinking like a robot right now.”

Caitlyn made a face. “I’m trying, okay? You said this was a date. I’m in date mode.”

“Oh my god,” Violet groaned. “You have a mode?”

“Of course. It’s very efficient. I compliment your taste, listen actively, make seductive eye contact—”

“Don’t say seductive eye contact out loud.”

“—and by dessert, you’re in love with me.”

“I’m already married to you,” Violet muttered.

Caitlyn smirked. “Then we’re ahead of schedule.”

They rode in silence for a moment, but it wasn’t heavy. It was that new kind of silence — the kind that didn’t need filling.

Then Violet added, voice lower, “Thank you. For this. For trying.”

Caitlyn glanced at her, softer now. “I wanted to.”

Violet’s eyes lingered on hers. “You didn’t used to want to try. Not with me.”

“Yeah, well.” Caitlyn looked back out the window, her voice quieter. “I was an idiot.”

“Sometimes,” Violet said lightly, “you still are.”

Caitlyn smiled, one corner of her mouth pulling up.

Violet looked at her again. “You really picked that shirt just to mess with me?”

Caitlyn raised an elegant brow. “It’s calculated. Corporate seduction.”

“Jesus Christ.”

“I’m embracing my power.”

“Honestly? I thought you’d wear a blazer and scowl at me the whole night.”

“Oh, I brought the scowl,” Caitlyn said. “I’m just saving it for when you inevitably make a scene.”

Violet leaned back in her seat, arms crossed. “Joke’s on you. I plan to behave tonight.”

Caitlyn looked her up and down slowly. “Mm. I give it twenty minutes.”

“You’re so full of yourself.”

“And yet, here you are.”

Violet let out a laugh, real, surprised, slightly shaky. “God, this is so weird.”

“I know.”

“We’ve done everything backwards.”

Caitlyn’s voice softened. “Doesn’t mean it’s wrong.”

Outside, the car slowed to a stop. The driver announced their arrival.

Violet looked out at the restaurant, then back to Caitlyn.

“Ready?” she asked.

Caitlyn didn’t answer right away. She was watching her again, that look she always gave Violet when she thought she wasn’t watching back. The kind that was far too open for someone who used to hide everything behind a perfect smile.

Then she nodded. “Yeah. Let’s go.”

They stepped out together — wife and wife, finally walking into their first real date.

And the night hadn’t even begun.

x-x-x

The restaurant was dimly lit, expensive in that smug, self-satisfied kind of way that said we don’t need to try too hard, because you’re already impressed. Violet trailed behind the host, weaving through tables that looked like they cost more than most condos, acutely aware of Caitlyn’s footsteps just a few paces behind her.

It felt like walking toward her own execution.

If executions came with linen napkins and curated wine lists.

When they reached the table, Caitlyn thanked the host with a warm, practiced smile and slid into her seat like she belonged there. Like she belonged everywhere.

Violet, by contrast, sat like she might bolt if someone brought up childhood trauma.

Caitlyn glanced around, visibly pleased. “Nice choice.”

“Thank Lux,” Violet muttered. “Apparently you have, like, five favorites. I picked the least pretentious one.”

“I’m touched.”

“You should be. I googled the menu and everything.”

Caitlyn’s smile turned sly. “You googled a menu? For me? That’s dangerously close to romantic.”

Violet made a face. “Don’t ruin it.”

But it was romantic. Way more than she was ready to admit, even to herself. Because this wasn’t just dinner.

It was a date.

A real one.

With Caitlyn Kiramman, her wife, her nemesis, her complication since they were six years old. The girl she’d spent half her life pretending not to want.

And now she was sitting across from her in tailored slacks and a blouse that Violet was very aware of, looking at her like none of this was a joke.

Caitlyn was watching her closely, like she could see the thoughts flickering behind her eyes. “You okay?”

Violet nodded too fast. “Yeah, just… weird. Being here with you. No cameras. No PR vultures. No staged affection. Just…”

“Us,” Caitlyn said, voice soft.

Violet huffed. “Yeah. Gross.”

Caitlyn didn’t laugh. She just looked at her — calm and steady, like she wasn’t going anywhere. And that... that was almost worse.

Violet reached for her wine, swirling it like she was pretending to care about notes of cherry and oak or whatever. “I used to think I hated you,” she said, not looking up.

“I’m aware,” Caitlyn replied smoothly. “The daily verbal abuse was kind of a giveaway.”

“No, I mean—” Violet paused, then sighed. “I needed to hate you. It made it easier. To be around you. To compete. To not fall on my face every time you looked at me like you were reading a book you’d already memorized.”

Caitlyn’s expression softened. “You never fell on your face.”

“Not literally.”

Caitlyn tilted her head, and Violet could feel it then, like a memory hitting her in the ribs. Sixteen and furious. Twenty and reckless. Twenty-seven and married, still pretending none of it mattered. Always pretending.

“And now?” Caitlyn asked quietly.

Violet’s throat tightened. “Now I’m sitting across from you at some overpriced place I’m convinced you’ve brought half of California to, wondering if it’s too late to learn how to not screw this up.”

Caitlyn leaned forward, elbows resting lightly on the table. “It’s not.”

“You say that like you know.”

“I do.”

Violet studied her. Not the outfit, not the makeup, not the façade — her. And for once, there was no wall. Just Caitlyn. Tired and sincere and all-in.

“You’re really not nervous?” she asked.

Caitlyn hesitated. Just enough.

“I’m nervous,” she admitted. “But I want to be here. With you.”

Violet stared at her glass, then at Caitlyn’s hands, steady, careful, deceptively warm.

“I told you back in the car, we’ve done this all backwards.”

“Maybe,” Caitlyn said. “But I don’t think there’s a right way.”

Violet gave a crooked half-smile. “I used to think you were cold. Like, frosty bitch levels of emotional distance.”

“Used to?”

“You’re still dramatic,” Violet added. “But now it’s kind of hot.”

Caitlyn laughed, really laughed, the sound low and genuine, like it had been waiting for an excuse to come out. Violet couldn’t help but smile back, even if it felt like surrender.

This wasn’t a truce. Wasn’t some PR illusion.

It was them. Messy. Still bruised around the edges. Still healing in private.

The candle between them flickered, catching the curve of Caitlyn’s cheekbones and the shimmer in her eyes. She looked like trouble. She looked like home.

“You’re different tonight,” Violet said, voice low.

“So are you.”

“No I’m not,” Violet muttered. “I’m still a mess.”

“You’re my mess.”

Violet groaned. “Stop that.”

“Stop what?”

“Being soft. Being sincere. Saying the kind of shit that makes me feel things.”

Caitlyn smirked. “Why? It’s clearly working.”

Violet tried to scowl but it cracked into a grin halfway. “You’re unbearable.”

“And yet,” Caitlyn murmured, “here you are.”

And she was, over and over again, through fake ceremonies and public chaos and weeks of pretending. Violet had kept showing up. Maybe because, deep down, she’d always been waiting for this version of Caitlyn. And maybe Caitlyn had been waiting for her.

That thing between them — the thing they never named — it had always been there.

Only now, finally, they were letting it breathe.

x-x-x

Violet’s phone lit up for the fourth time in under ten minutes.

She didn’t even flinch. Anyone who knew her knew better than to expect a reply while she was mid–dinner and mid–wife-appreciation.

Caitlyn had just said something mildly sarcastic and devastatingly accurate — Violet was still pretending it hadn’t gotten under her skin in that hot, embarrassing way — and she picked up her fork and kept eating.

Another buzz.

She finally glanced down at the screen.

[sett]

vi.

your dad’s asking if you’re actually “seeing” Caitlyn now. his words

and the Kirammans apparently want a status update too?

i’m not HR

i’m not your emotional damage control

please answer

Violet sighed, rolled her eyes, and locked the phone again.

“Everything okay?” Caitlyn asked, sipping her wine.

“Sett’s being dramatic.”

“Makes sense. He works for you.”

Caitlyn’s own phone vibrated a second later.

[Lux]

Cass is trying to schedule a call with you.

She also asked me to confirm whether you’ve ‘developed feelings.’

Should I forward her a copy of your diary next?

Caitlyn snorted under her breath.

Violet arched a brow. “Lux?”

“Wants to murder me, probably.”

“That’s fair.”

They both lifted their glasses.

“Should we be worried?” Violet asked, tone almost flippant.

“About our assistants plotting a coup?”

“About our parents plotting a press release.”

Caitlyn shrugged. “Later problem.”

Violet smirked. “God, we’re irresponsible.

Caitlyn clinked her glass against Violet’s. “Married and irresponsible. Cheers.”

They drank.

Their phones buzzed again.

Neither checked.

By the time dessert arrived, miniature pastries that looked like museum exhibits and tasted like sugar and ego, something in the air had shifted. Not loudly. Just a quiet undertow, dragging them a little deeper.

Caitlyn set down her fork, eyes settling on Violet. “Do you remember the debate meet sophomore year?”

Violet looked up, suspicious. “Which one? The one where I wore combat boots with the uniform, or the one where I called the judge a coward to his face?”

“The second one,” Caitlyn said, smiling. “Obviously.”

Violet smirked. “I stand by it. He was a coward.”

“You were impossible,” Caitlyn said, shaking her head, but there was warmth in her voice now. Something old, something honest. “And brilliant. You didn’t care about rules or reputation. And I… couldn’t stop looking at you.”

Violet blinked, caught off guard. “You hated me.”

“I told myself I did,” Caitlyn corrected softly. “You were loud. Reckless. You dyed your uniform tie neon pink. I was raised to despise people like you.”

“And?”

“I didn’t,” she admitted. “But I didn’t know what to do with the way you made me feel. You were unpredictable. Sharp. You laughed in the face of everything I was taught to protect. You saw through me. Even then. And I didn’t know what to do with that.”

Violet was quiet now, her fingers slowly spinning her wine glass by the stem. She remembered that version of Caitlyn perfectly: pressed blazer, perfect grades, colder than marble. Always composed. Always watching her like she was something dangerous.

She just never thought Caitlyn was watching because she wanted to.

“I had a crush on you,” Violet said suddenly. “In prep school. Like, an actual, full-blown, ‘write-your-name-in-my-notes’ kind of crush.”

Caitlyn blinked. “You what?”

Violet shrugged. “I’d never admit it then. I was too busy trying to win every argument. But you used to walk around like you were too good for the rest of us. Like nothing could touch you. And I think I just… wanted to be the one who could.”

Caitlyn was staring at her now, visibly thrown. 

No sarcasm. No comeback. Just... stunned.

“I don’t know what to do with that information,” she said flatly.

“Live with it,” Violet said, eyes glinting. “Welcome to your consequences.”

They both laughed then, but beneath it, something settled. A foundation.

They’d been circling each other for years.

And for the first time, neither of them was running.

Because they weren’t circling anymore. They were sitting across from each other, full of years and confessions and the kind of history that never really left.

Halfway through dessert, Violet set down her fork, squinted at Caitlyn, and said, “Okay. Real talk. Why the hell did you kiss Maddie Nolen in high school?”

Caitlyn blinked. “Excuse me?”

“Don't play dumb.” Violet leaned back in her chair like she was preparing for a debate. “She had a weird fringe, and her hair was, like… Cheeto orange. Not even a cool orange. Like—‘accident in a dye bottle’ orange.”

Caitlyn tried not to laugh — failed. “Oh my God.”

“I’m serious,” Violet said, stabbing a pastry. “You had that whole dark academia princess aesthetic, and then you chose her?”

Caitlyn sighed dramatically. “You really want to know?”

“Yes.”

Caitlyn’s voice dipped quieter. “I think… I kissed her because you weren’t an option.”

Violet blinked. The fork in her hand stilled.

“I mean, not like that,” Caitlyn rushed to clarify, cheeks tinting pink. “You were always yelling at me, or trying to trip me in the hallway, or telling everyone I had a stick up my ass—”

“I was right about that,” Violet cut in, but softer now.

Caitlyn smiled faintly. “Probably. But the thing is… you were all I could see. And I think I wanted you to notice. So I kissed other people. All types,” Caitlyn continued. “Blonde, punk, theater nerd, debate champion, girls with septum piercings and deep daddy issues.”

“Oh my God,” Violet groaned.

“But none of them stuck,” Caitlyn continued, quieter now. “Because it was never about them. Not really.”

Violet frowned, fork frozen mid-air.

Caitlyn looked down for a second, then back up, steady. “I think… I was trying to prove to myself that you weren’t the only one. That whatever I felt for you could be distracted away. Diluted.”

“And?” Violet asked, voice softer now.

“And it never worked,” Caitlyn said simply. “You were always in the room anyway. Even when you weren’t. I’d kiss someone and then spend the night wondering what snide comment you’d make about it.”

Violet stared at her, eyebrows slightly raised,  not mocking this time, but thoughtful. “You were sabotaging your own dating life over me?”

Caitlyn didn’t flinch. “More than once.”

There was a beat of silence before Violet exhaled, a quiet laugh catching in her throat. “God. That’s... terrifyingly relatable.”

Caitlyn tilted her head, curious. “Yeah?”

Violet shrugged, eyes on her fork as she nudged a piece of pastry around. “I used to make out with girls just to prove you didn’t affect me. Or to prove I didn’t care. Or to piss you off. I don’t even know which came first.”

Caitlyn met her eyes. “Did it work?”

“Not really. Halfway through I’d be thinking about your stupid jawline and that annoyingly perfect hair and how badly I wanted to shove you into a wall.”

Caitlyn’s voice went dry. “So. Foreplay.”

Violet groaned. “We were disasters.”

“Were?”

“Fine. Are. But at least now we’re married disasters. With health insurance and joint legal liability.”

Caitlyn nearly spit out her wine.

Violet grinned wider and leaned in. “I’m just saying, this whole thing might be fake on paper, but your hands don’t lie. And your mouth? Absolute weapon. Honestly, I should be suing.”

Caitlyn’s face turned a very pretty shade of pink. “Can you not give a detailed sex review over desert?”

“Why?” Violet teased. “Embarrassed?”

“No,” Caitlyn said, clearing her throat.“Because I’m trying very hard not to think about what you did to me last night and failing miserably.”

Violet leaned in, her voice low and shameless. “Then maybe don’t look at me like that.”

Caitlyn didn’t say anything, just stared at her, quiet and burning.

Violet smirked. “Thought so.”

They fell into a charged silence, and when their fingers brushed on the table, Caitlyn didn’t pull away.

Because yeah — they were disasters.

But now they were disasters who kissed like they meant it, fought like foreplay, and kept ending up in bed like it was inevitable.

And maybe they'd finally stopped pretending that wasn’t exactly what they’d always wanted.

x-x-x

Caitlyn leaned against the cool marble of the bathroom counter, her fingers trailing absentmindedly along the edge of the sink. Her lipstick was a little faded — not that she cared. Not tonight.

She caught her own reflection in the mirror and smiled. Not the kind she usually wore. Not polite, not poised. This one was soft. Stupid, even.

God, she was really doing this. A real date. With Violet.

And it was… nice. Better than nice. It felt like something she didn’t realize she needed until she was already knee-deep in it — and maybe that was the scariest part. But also, for once, she didn’t want to overanalyze it. For once, she was glad she'd let herself feel something. Take a risk. Just this once.

Her phone buzzed again on the counter.

Then again.

Then a third time — long, insistent.

She exhaled slowly and picked it up.

MOTHER.

Of course.

Caitlyn leaned against the bathroom sink, phone pressed to her ear, her other hand gripping the counter to keep her grounded.

“Hi, Mother.”

A beat. Then Cassandra’s voice — calm, clipped, and unmistakably displeased.

“So it’s true, then. You’re on a real date.”

Caitlyn blinked slowly. “I didn’t realize my personal life was now a matter for corporate review.”

“It is when your personal life could tank a merger,” Cassandra said smoothly. “You’re not just dating, Caitlyn. You’re blurring a contract.”

Caitlyn bit down the urge to roll her eyes. “Violet and I got married to save the companies. We’re saving them. And the public loves us.”

“For now,” Cassandra countered. “They love the fantasy. You think they’ll still love you when everything becomes messy? When real feelings start interfering?”

Caitlyn’s jaw tightened. “I’m not some teenager who can’t manage her own emotions.”

“Then stop acting like one,” Cassandra said, her voice like ice under silk. “I saw the photos from Saturday. You. Drunk. In a club. Yelling at Violet like a scandalized housewife. That’s not control. That’s not what we agreed to.”

Caitlyn was quiet for a long second. When she spoke again, her voice was low. “I didn’t realize being human was such a liability.”

Cassandra’s voice didn’t rise, but her words were sharp. “You don’t get to be human. Not in this. Not when our names are on every headline, every contract, every whisper in the boardroom. And certainly not when you’re emotionally involved with someone as volatile as Violet.”

“Don’t call her that.”

“I’m calling her what the entire industry does when you’re not around to romanticize it.”

Caitlyn’s grip on the sink tightened. “I’m not going to defend my wife to you, Mother.”

“Good,” Cassandra replied crisply. “Because tomorrow morning, you’ll be in my office at ten. And you’ll explain this entire… situation. Preferably before Violet burns it all down with another impulsive decision.”

“That’s not going to happen.”

“Isn’t it?” Cassandra said, and Caitlyn could hear the doubt threaded through her perfectly modulated tone. “You always were the one with potential, Caitlyn. Don’t throw it away trying to save someone who doesn’t care about the same things.”

Caitlyn’s voice was soft, but steady. “She cares. Just maybe not about what you think matters.”

There was a pause. Then the line went dead.

Caitlyn stared at her phone, breathing in through her nose.

She was still staring when the bathroom door opened, and someone else stepped in. She offered a strained smile, washed her hands for show, and left the restroom.

Back to the table. Back to Violet.

Back to the risk that suddenly felt even more real.

And, somehow, more worth it than ever.

x-x-x

Violet had just taken another sip of wine, still half-smiling from whatever dumb, perfect thing Caitlyn had said before slipping away to the bathroom — when someone slid into Caitlyn’s seat like it was hers by right.

Violet didn’t even have time to process the sudden shift in air before someone slid into Caitlyn’s seat like she owned the place.

And she didn’t need to look up.

She didn’t need to look up to know it wasn’t Caitlyn.

And then, a voice she recognized instantly.

“Well, well,” Sarah said lightly. “What a surprise. Didn’t expect to see you here. Or maybe I should’ve.”

Violet looked up slowly, jaw already tight. “You lost?”

Sarah smiled like she hadn’t heard the hostility. “Just waiting for a friend. Thought I’d say hi.”

Red hair. Impossibly flawless skin. Diamond earrings you couldn’t buy in stores. Tits that could start a war. A silk dress clinging like it had somewhere to be.

Of course it was her.

Sarah didn’t wait for an invitation. She never did. She just sat, like she belonged, like this wasn’t a romantic dinner Violet had been sweating bullets over for hours.

Like Violet hadn’t once hijacked a phone call during their fake honeymoon in Lake Tahoe and made it sound like she and Caitlyn were still sleeping together.

“Nice place,” Sarah added, glancing around. “Kind of nostalgic, actually. Caitlyn and I used to come here all the time. This was our spot.”

Violet blinked once. “You say that like I care.”

“You don’t have to,” Sarah said with a little shrug. “I just figured you’d want to know what kind of ghosts you’re sharing a table with. She used to order the same wine, you know. Always said it paired well with—”

“If you say your tits, I swear to God—”

Sarah laughed, soft and smug. “I was going to say gnocchi. But sure. You’ve got the attitude I remember.”

Sarah leaned in just a little, eyes glittering. “I do miss her, sometimes. But she never stays anywhere long, you know? Caitlyn doesn’t fall in love. She doesn’t commit. She conquers. Then moves on.”

Violet forced a smile. “Wow. Did you rehearse that line or does it just come naturally to people who peaked during Ivy League networking brunches?”

Unbothered, Sarah kept going. “Honestly, I’m just curious. Where are the paparazzi? I figured you two only dine in public when there’s a headline to be made.”

“No paparazzi,” Violet said coolly. “Just dinner. With someone I like.”

Sarah’s mouth twitched. “So it’s real.”

“Yeah.”

Sarah hummed, then tilted her head. “That’s cute. Genuinely. But just be careful. Caitlyn doesn’t… do real. Not like this. She doesn’t fall in love.”

“She’s not in love with you,” Violet snapped before she could stop herself.

Sarah’s expression didn’t change — not really. But something sharp flickered behind her eyes.

“Touché,” she said smoothly. “Still, I’d be careful if I were you. We hooked up a lot, Vi. I know what she looks like when she’s just having fun. And what she looks like when she’s about to ghost.”

“Wow,” Violet muttered. “So much wisdom for someone who got left behind.”

Sarah smiled like it didn’t bother her. “You think you’re different?”

“I know I am.”

“Right,” Sarah said, brushing imaginary lint off her dress. “Because Caitlyn Kiramman always breaks tradition for a tattooed girl with a temper and a middle finger problem.”

Violet leaned forward now, voice low and dangerous. “She begged to stay in my bed last night. With her head between my legs. So yeah — I’m feeling pretty damn confident about being the exception.”

Sarah’s jaw twitched.

But then, she smiled again, sugary, venomous.

“Careful, Violet. Exceptions have a tendency to expire.”

A pause.

Then Sarah’s voice softened, deliberately, like a knife that wanted to be mistaken for a kiss. “Violet, let's be honest. You really think she’s going to risk everything for you? A merger? Her name? Her parents? Caitlyn doesn’t fall. Not like that.”

Violet didn’t flinch. But she could feel it, that quiet little burn of something ugly and ancient and raw at the base of her spine. Jealousy, maybe. Or the memory of Lake Tahoe and that smug fucking voice saying something like:“Miss me?”

Sarah glanced toward the bathroom. “Tell her I said hi. Or don’t. I’m sure she’ll remember me eventually. We were… thorough.”

She stood, adjusted her dress like the scene hadn’t touched her at all, and turned away.

“Oh,” she added over her shoulder, “if the merger tanks because Cait gets too distracted by whatever this is, just know my company will be the first to buy out your father's stock. No hard feelings.”

She walked off, heels sharp, hair bouncing.

And Violet?

Violet sat in that silence for a long moment, fists clenched under the table, pulse hammering in her ears. She hadn’t felt this kind of possessive fury in years, the kind that burned.

And below the anger, something quieter. Colder.

Fear.

Because as much as she hated Sarah…

There was a part of her that was still afraid Sarah might be right.

And when Caitlyn came back, Violet didn’t say a word at first.

“You okay?” Caitlyn asked, sliding into her seat, her smile softening at the edges as she took in Violet’s expression.

Violet lifted her wine glass again. “Peachy,” she said. “Your ex just dropped by to reminisce about all the times you two banged after fettuccine. Totally normal, totally classy.”

Caitlyn blinked. “Sarah was here?”

“Sat right where you are,” Violet said, tapping the table. “Said this used to be your spot.”

Caitlyn groaned softly, running a hand down her face. “Of course she did.”

“She also mentioned you don’t fall in love. Ever. So that was… enlightening.”

Caitlyn looked at her — really looked — her expression flickering like she might say something important. Something that mattered.

But her phone buzzed once.

Then again.

And again.

[Lux] 

Cass scheduled a formal session with the board.

Tomorrow morning. 10AM sharp.

No press. No Violet.

She’s calling it a “strategic recalibration.” 

Also, she asked me to “print the photos” from last saturday.

You know which ones.

Caitlyn didn’t blink, but something in her posture went sharp. Still. Her phone screen lit her face like the cold glow of an interrogation lamp — not surprised, just bracing.

Across the table, Violet’s phone buzzed.

She pulled it out slowly.

[sett]

your dad called a meeting. official. at the main office.

you’re expected at 10. alone.

he said he “hopes you’re clear on your obligations.”

also said the Kirammans have been “allowed too much influence.” whatever that means.

do not go in there tired or hungover. eat something before. i’m serious.

Violet stared at the screen a moment, then locked the phone and set it down, slowly, deliberately.

Caitlyn looked at her. “So. It’s happening.”

Violet nodded once. “Separate meetings. Of course.”

“They want to divide and conquer.”

“They’ve been waiting for the chance,” Violet muttered. “Now they’re doing it officially. Boardroom edition.”

The air shifted. The buzz of the restaurant dulled to a hum, candles flickering against wine glasses that no longer felt celebratory.

It wasn’t a surprise. They’d known this was coming. Known that their families had been watching — quietly, critically — waiting for a moment to reclaim the narrative.

Now the moment had arrived. On schedule. With calendar invites and custom headers.

Caitlyn traced the rim of her glass. “I think they’ll try to remind us whose names are on the buildings", she added with a dry laugh.

“Yeah,” Violet said. “I just didn’t think it would feel like this.”

A beat passed and then:

“Think they’ll make it about the merger?” Caitlyn asked, but she already knew the answer.

“They’ll make it about everything,” Violet replied. “The company. Optics. Legacy. The scandal of me corrupting their perfect daughter.”

Caitlyn snorted. “Pretty sure I did the corrupting.”

Violet glanced at her, jaw tight. “You think they’ll try to break this?”

Caitlyn didn’t answer right away.

She didn’t need to.

Because they already knew. Had known, quietly, that this was never going to go uncontested. That eventually, the people pulling strings behind glass doors and legacy empires would step in.

And now they had.

The meetings were scheduled. The lines had been drawn.

Neither of them said it out loud.

Not here. Not tonight.

Not while they were still clinging — stubbornly, silently — to the possibility that this thing between them might still be stronger than the people trying to end it.

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