Summary: She's a Hunger Games victor, but her prize is a golden chain, a constant reminder of her slavery in pretty clothes and expensive jewelry. Her beauty, both a blessing and a curse, has made her a Capitol darling—admired by many but understood by few. And Drew…Drew is just a man, unable to resist being captivated by her, drawn to the mystery behind the facade. Contestshipping AU Hunger Games/Pokemon.
Disclaimer: I found this piece while deleting documents on my computer. I wrote it years ago, but it was missing some edits and details. At this point, I feel like no one will read it because there aren't many people left in this fandom who support this pairing. But it was either this or let it disappear forever. If someone does read it, it's so long that I'll have to split it into three parts. I have at least three more stories about this couple, and if anyone is interested in reading them, let me know so I can revise them and post them.
Also, English is not my first language, and I tried to edit it as best as I could.
MIRRAGE
Part one: Complacency
The fireworks exploded noisily in the air, and the lights bathing the scene were captivating enough to divert attention from her, giving her the chance to escape—even if she ever truly could—if only for a moment.
After all this time, the constant attention from the Capitol's citizens was still overwhelming. More often than not, her visits to the imperious Capitol kept her on constant alert, irking her with every strange move. Needless to say, she could barely sleep during the annual visit for the Hunger Games eve. Not that she fared much better on other days.
The guilt was a side effect of being the winner of the Hunger Games.
Survivor's guilt.
Sometimes she felt foolish for feeling guilty about winning—for living. But she had killed. She was guilty of taking a child from their parents, a brother, or a sister. She thought of Max, of a time when he was tiny and sick, and of the skinny, bruised hand of her mother.
They had a good life now. In the end, how they had obtained it had lost its meaning for everyone but her. The lives lost were now just numbers buried under fresh sacrifices. The memories of her Hunger Games remained vivid in her mind, replaying over and over. To the Capitol, however, those events were nothing more than old pictures locked away in some dark room.
Even though it had completely broken her, time hadn't stopped to let her mend or at least gather the pieces that the Capitol had torn from her. So, she too kept going.
She walked through the corridors of the spacious Presidential Mansion. Some people stared at her; others pointed in her direction, whispering amongst themselves. A bolder few approached her, speaking to her with the intimacy of a close friend. She hated that the most because the first thing people like them tended to do was congratulate her on her victory.
Of course, they would never let her forget.
Then again, for them, it was entertainment. It wasn't their children dying or killing in an arena for others to laugh at. Meeting a victor was like meeting a celebrity. So, she smiled politely, exchanged dull and fake pleasantries, and excused herself as soon as she could.
It was exhausting, humiliating, and infuriating. She hated this place. She hated the people and what they stood for. Above all, she hated President Giovanni and his stupid Hunger Games.
Once she found herself alone—though she was never truly alone; she knew they were watching her through the cameras—she was as isolated as she could be. Her numb cheeks were proof of the fake smiles she had worn all night. The pain in the tender parts of her mouth, bitten raw to hold back tears of rage or unspoken truths, was a constant reminder of what she had endured.
She had learned the power of words long ago and the consequences of using them.
She wasn't going back to that. Never.
When the hissing sound of the fireworks dulled, she knew she had reached the limit of how far she could stray without looking suspicious. Now in the garden—deserted except for a few employees—she let herself feel the wetness on her cheeks before the burning in her eyes alerted her that she was about to break down.
It wasn't new for May to attend events like this—she had been coming to this particular party for years, and many others like it—but this year was different.
She was eighteen now. And in the Capitol, in its president's eyes, that was the desirable age for her to become just another name on the list of the most beautiful and glamorous victors offered up for one of the Capitol's favorite pastimes.
May had kept her face carefully neutral whenever she heard her name spoken in whispered adoration or high-pitched enthusiasm. She knew President Giovanni had discreetly spread the news that their beloved victor would finally be offering the same "services" as others before her. And, as always in the Capitol, rumors spread like wildfire.
She knew what awaited her tonight, and she couldn't help the oppressive weight in her chest. Sadness? Anger? Helplessness? Perhaps all of them. Perhaps something else entirely.
May Maple
The short girl who had been pestering all night – Brianna? – whispered, and Drew almost felt the awe in her breathy tone as she gestured across the room. His gaze followed hers, the name ringing familiar in a way he couldn't quite place. His attention was immediately drawn to a woman making her way through the crowd of privileged and extravagantly dressed attendants in the room.
Flashes of a young girl with brunette hair and stunning blue eyes, a dirty face, and bleeding hands, sweet smiles paired with fierce determination, flashed in his mind, only to be quickly replaced by the sight of her slender legs – barely concealed by the dramatic slit in her red dress that reached just inches above her hip – guiding her gracefully across the room. Her cold gaze softened by a brilliant smile on her pale pink lips.
She was a victor.
And one of the favorites.
And he could see why she had taken that position. Her beauty was enchanting, commanding attention and simultaneously repelling it. After all, who would dare to compete for such an ethereal being?.
The princess of Hoenn.
"She's so beautiful," Brianna said, her eyes gleaming with hunger and just a hint of envy. "She won her games thanks to her great aim throwing... a ball or something like that. And she's the youngest victor in Hunger Games history!" Brianna squealed, her attempt to sound knowledgeable lost in the childlike awe.
Drew bit his tongue to suppress a snort. He couldn't afford to be rude to the daughter of a councilman – but he rolled his eyes anyway. He couldn't stand when others pointed out facts he already knew. Naturally proud and intelligent, it irritated him when people assumed he was unaware or, even worse, believed they were enlightening him. They were always mistaken.
This particular topic, however, was... intriguing. He still clearly remembered her Hunger Games. That year, the girl had cost his father a small fortune because his favor had gone to a big brute tribute from one of the privileged districts.
At the age of thirteen, her presence in the Games had barely made an impact. To be honest, even with his brilliant mind and photographic memory, he couldn't recall her reaping. But she had been, even then, very beautiful, with the promise of something much more in the future. Sweet-faced, yes. Two trails that, despite earning her a handful of cooing fans at first, weren't enough to draw the attention of sponsors.
That all changed when the scores for the tributes were released, hers ranking among the highest. People went wild, and soon enough, she was on everyone's lips.
May Maple was agile, with a certain gymnastic aptitude and a unique talent for throwing sharp objects. That, coupled with her blooming beauty and natural sweetness, made her the dream of every sponsor. Generous gifts had flooded in – medical supplies, food, but the most expensive was a golden weapon – a boomerang? A Frisbee?
Still, it hadn't explained the pull he had felt toward her. Solidad had chalked it up to a celebrity crush, but he had dismissed the idea immediately. Back then, little May Maple had nothing that could capture his attention. She had shown so much potential, but he was fifteen at the time, and his attention had been drawn elsewhere, May's aura of innocence, even as a mere figure on the television screen, seemed to shield from exploration.
No, it had been something else – a curiosity, not lust, a tender sense of protectiveness. He could never understand it, and it had annoyed him for the longest time. But, like with most victors, once the hype of the Games died down, he had forgotten her. She was a constant presence in the Capitol, of course, still a favorite, with the people eager for news, waiting for her to reveal more of her concealed beauty. Her name was spoken with dreamy expectation and a tinge of envy. But to him, she had lost importance. She was just another victor in a long line of them.
Brianna tightened her grip on his arm – he hadn't even realized she had taken it – her curves pressed against his body in a way that was meant to be sensual but only felt uncomfortable. Her eyes remained locked on the woman in red. "There are people here who would do anything just for the chance to have a little more time with her, to gain even a fraction of her exclusivity. It's almost... unsettling, don't you think? She's like something unattainable, a living doll." Brianna could be shameless, Drew had found, but this particular subject struck him as particularly distasteful.
He knew how the elite of the Capitol behaved—how they would go to great lengths for even the briefest of moments with their favorite victors, seeking a connection that felt more like a commodity than a relationship. But Drew didn't have to rely on wealth to gain favor. His name, appearance, and influence made him desirable without needing to play those games. He wasn't interested in what others were willing to pay for; the Capitol's attention was already his, with no strings attached.
Women threw themselves at him.
For that reason alone, he hardly paid attention to them; they were alluring creatures, but more often than not, they were after his money and the perks of being with a man like him. Not that he hadn't indulged in a few special friendships, but he always chose the typical nameless and faceless girl, someone who presented no attachment and no dramatic scene when it was time to say goodbye. They were distractions, nothing more.
But Brianna was right in one respect: this particular victor was dressed to kill. No doubt the Capitol was trying to showcase her beauty, hoping to direct the attention of the elite in her direction—and they were doing a spectacular job. Every man, and some women, had their eyes glued to her form, greedy hands trailing her skin a little too long after polite pleasantries.
Usually, he would have been disgusted by their ludicrous performance.
But not this time. He couldn't fault them.
Her body draped lavishly in silks of sparkling red, tightly hugging her breasts and flat abdomen, shaping a delicious profile, fabric firmly secured around her neck. Long, loose curls of rich chocolate color, swept into a high ponytail, revealed the creamy surface of her bare back.
A sight to behold indeed.
As some of his friends approached him, he lost sight of the beautiful girl, and in the roar of laughter and the distraction of conversation, he soon forgot all about the red dress and soft brown hair.
Mostly.
He had never thought of seeking her out, he definitely wasn't looking for her, but he found her nonetheless.
Her back was to him, and for a moment, she looked completely defeated - Oh, the irony - Gone was her firm posture and calm demeanor. The rational part of him urged him to turn around and leave, but something in the pit of his stomach was pushing him to do exactly the opposite. More curious about the warm sensation burning inside him than the girl herself, he got close enough to make his presence known.
Drew's eyes flicked over her form, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. "Didn't expect to find someone like you hiding back here," he said, his tone light but laced with curiosity. "What's the matter? Don't like the spotlight?"
She lifted her head and straightened, her movements stiff and rigid as she adjusted herself into a more dignified posture. A mechanical action, practiced.
Drew wasn't prepared for how breathtakingly beautiful May was up close. He had seen plenty of attractive girls in his time, but nothing like this. From a distance, she was stunning, but now, standing in front of her, he felt a sharp sense of disbelief. She turned to face him, and her lips twisted into a cold, somewhat calculated smile, but it did nothing to mask the power in her gaze. Her bright eyes locked onto his, emotionless yet stunning, and there was something about the fire in them that pulled him in like a moth to a flame. It was a slow dance of flames shining in her eyes, the ghost of a hidden passion, the promise of a fiery temperament carefully controlled but ready to explode at the slightest provocation.
Her beauty was overwhelming, and he was taken aback. Her skin, flawless and almost porcelain-like, shimmered in the dim light, and the way it contrasted with the deep red of her dress made everything else fade into the background. The sheer radiance of her presence left him momentarily breathless. The kind of beauty she had was rare, the sort that made him feel almost... insignificant. He had always thought of himself as someone who could handle any situation, but seeing her this close? It was disarming. She wasn't just beautiful—she was a goddess in a mortal world.
Beautiful.
Breathtaking.
But then he saw it—something that jolted him out of his momentary awe. Beneath the beauty, beneath the confidence, there was exhaustion. The kind of exhaustion that wasn't just physical, but deeply emotional. He could see it too, in the resignation that clouded her burning eyes, in the way her face briefly faltered at the sight of him, and the muscles around her mouth seemed strained to keep the smile in place.
"I suppose the spotlight can be a bit much at times,"
Despite everything, she greeted him in a polite, soft voice, her words sweet, yet Drew could catch glimpses of dread and annoyance lurking beneath her practiced smile. It was like a well-rehearsed act, and for a second, Drew couldn't help but feel the pull of it. But it was that act, that mask, that made his smirk twist into something darker.
"Shouldn't you be enjoying all the perks of the Capitol by now? I mean, really, why waste this opportunity? You've won, haven't you? Now's your chance to live it up. After all of them think you deserve it"
He could feel his own discomfort rising with every second of silence, but he couldn't bring himself to admit the real reason he was so defensive. It was easier to put on the act, to be cruel, to try and put her back in her place. But deep down, Drew knew he was hiding from the truth: that May, in all her beauty and complexity, had shaken something inside him he wasn't prepared to face.
"Well the, I guess you´re trying to measure if I, well, deserve it. You want to see if I'm as perfect as you've heard, right? " She said in a sweet voice.
He could appreciate the stunning display of her appearance and mannerisms, but he couldn't quite believe it. He was too observant not to notice there was something beneath the person she had constructed.
And he was less thrilled when she awaited his response with a patient smile, though he could taste the bitterness within her.
"You must really enjoy this, huh? All those Capitol parties, the glamour, the attention. I bet you never thought you'd be the center of it all, did you? Coming from the District, I'm sure it's like a dream come true. But let me tell you, it's not as special as you think. You're just another face in the crowd here, nothing more." He smirked, his words dripping with condescension.
It was a sudden epiphany the moment he realized he couldn't figure this girl out—the sadness, the bitterness, the pain, the smiles, the politeness… everything that didn't add up to reveal her true character. And it struck him like a sharp stab in his side because he was smart, he was observant, and he should have been able to read her like a magazine and be done with it. It was even worse that this realization was accompanied by a pair of shining deep blue eyes.
He was barely aware, yet not the least bit surprised, when his words struck a nerve. For a moment, it seemed she might maintain her façade, but then something fiery flickered in her eyes. That was when he knew he had said the right thing—the perfect thing to disarm her, to make her reveal something genuine.
"And why, you Capitol brat, do you think you can come here and just insult me? Who do you think you are?" Her teeth were gritted, a flush across her cheeks, and her eyes were positively flaming. It was so damn funny, and kind of cute in all honesty.
"Doesn't matter who I am, does it? What matters is who you are, victor, and where you are. Or rather, where aren't you?" he replied smoothly. "You really should be enjoying the Capitol while it lasts, shouldn't you? After all, it's the only place you'll get treated like royalty." he said, his voice dripping with sarcasm.
He regretted his words the instant she pulled back, her walls rising again.
"Of course, you do look like you lack the brains or grace to belong at those kinds of parties. I'd be running away if I were you. Thank God I'm not."
He smirked, though the trace of arrogance in his voice carried a hollow edge. It was a feeble attempt to regain footing—a correction that landed weakly and only deepened the rift.
Even though she was more guarded, she didn't retreat; she responded. "Keep talking. I'm sure it's entertaining for you asshole"
The girl with the flaming blue eyes spat at him. He should be upset—since never in his life had anyone dared speak to him like that—but instead, it was strangely refreshing.
Fascinating.
He was finally seeing her—well, a bit of her anyway—and he liked it. In all his years, he had never come across something so real.
Not like the plastic girls of the Capitol.
She was daring him.
"Don't worry, I'll be sure to keep you entertained." He smirked again, his voice dripping with mockery.
The tension between them was palpable. Drew could feel the spark between them, a mix of irritation and intrigue. He couldn't help but push her, testing how far he could go.
With a sudden, almost careless gesture, Drew plucked a rose from the nearby bouquet and tossed it in her direction, the motion fluid and deliberately slow. He couldn't quite explain why he did it. He just did.
The rose landed softly near her feet, an almost mocking gesture. He studied her closely, waiting for her reaction. The gesture was clearly perceived as sarcastic—a taunt more than a gift.
She glanced at the rose, then back up at him, her lips curling in disdain. "Cute," she muttered, but there was no hiding the venom behind it.
He smirked again. "You're welcome." She took that as her cue to leave.
"The name's Drew, by the way," he called after her, though he wasn't sure if she heard. Well, that had certainly been… interesting.
The Capitol's decadence wrapped around Drew like a heavy cloak, its polished surfaces and artificial smiles pressed down on him. He leaned against one of the gilded columns, swirling the champagne in his glass without ever taking a sip. The crowd's laughter and chatter felt distant, hollow, like a play he had watched too many times to care about.
He always knew. Drew wasn't naive, and he certainly wasn't blind. The Capitol's narratives about the victors, the districts, and their own benevolence never fooled him. Behind the glamour was exploitation, and beneath the triumphant stories of Hunger Games survivors lay scars no amount of gold could heal.
But it never mattered to him.
It wasn't that he believed the lies—he simply didn't care enough to challenge them. The Capitol was his world, his reality, and its flaws were just background noise. He lived comfortably within the system because questioning it too deeply required effort, discomfort, and a confrontation with things he'd rather ignore. It was easier to drink the champagne, wear the tailored suits, and play his part in the endless spectacle.
Until now.
May stood near a group of Capitolites, her chocolate-brown hair caught the light in soft waves, pulled high into a ponytail. Her sapphire-blue eyes scanned the room with a sharpness that Drew couldn't ignore. She smiled when addressed, nodded at the right moments, but something felt off—something tense beneath her polished exterior.
He couldn't stop wondering: Was she really there because she wanted to be? Did she even like the Capitol elite? Or was her attendance a careful performance, a duty forced upon her as part of her victory? The thought left a bitter taste in his mouth. He wondered if she despised these people, if she hated how they fawned over her, how their admiration rang hollow. May was from District 11—the district of harvests—one of the poorest, most exploited. Everything about her should have been swallowed up by this room, lost among the Capitol's garish displays and meaningless chatter. But she wasn't lost. She didn't belong there, and yet she stood with more presence than anyone else.
Drew felt the weight of it, a sudden disquiet he couldn't shake. She had endured the Games, survived the Capitol's cruelty, and yet there she was, still standing, still fighting. It made everything else feel shallow, fake, and Drew didn't know how to look away. There was something real about her, something that made the Capitol's glitz seem even more grotesque.
"Drew."
The voice cut through his thoughts, and he turned to see Brianna approaching. Her fiery orange-red curls bounced with every step. Brianna's perfume lingered in the air, a soft blend of roses and vanilla, a scent that was both sweet and unsettling.
"There you are," she said, sliding her arm through his with the practiced ease of someone who'd done it a hundred times before. "I've been looking everywhere for you. Honestly, you have the worst habit of disappearing."
"I wasn't hiding," Drew said, his tone nonchalant as he returned his gaze to the room.
Brianna tilted her head with a playful smile. "Oh, please. You'd blend into the wallpaper if you could. So, what's got you so distracted this time?"
Drew didn't answer right away, but his eyes betrayed him, flicking briefly back to May. Brianna followed his gaze, her own smile sharpening as it landed on the other woman.
"She's remarkable, isn't she?" Her words were laced with admiration, but Drew wasn't fooled. Beneath the praise, he heard the bite of jealousy. Brianna admired May, yes, but not in the unselfish way she wanted him to believe. She admired her beauty the way someone admires a rival—a reminder of her own insecurities.
He stared at her as a response before shamelessly shifting back his attention to the brunette. Out of the corner of his eye, he caught a glimpse of Brianna's faint tension in the corners of her mouth. He didn't miss the slight shift in her demeanor, the way her body language betrayed something deeper—something sharper.
"She has everyone talking," Brianna continued, her tone airy but too deliberate to be casual. "She's… captivating, don't you think?" She wasn't just marveling at May; she was measuring herself against her. And what made it worse—what stung Brianna most—was that Drew's attention wasn't on her.
"You're quite taken with her," she said, her voice polite but pointed.
"Taken with her? Don't be ridiculous. I admire her, that's all. It's impossible not to, really. But—" She paused, her gaze sharpening. "You're the one staring, Drew. What is it about her that's caught your attention?"
Drew's jaw tightened, but he kept his tone even, casual. "You brought her to my attention, if I recall."
"And now you can't stop looking," Brianna shot back, her laugh like the tinkling of glass.
"She's interesting," Drew said finally, his tone neutral.
"Oh, come now, Drew. That's hardly a compliment. Look at her—those eyes, that hair. She's a walking masterpiece. No wonder the Capitol can't get enough of her. You don't think she's stunning?"
"She's more than striking," Drew said, his voice calm but pointed.
Brianna's smile faltered, just for a heartbeat, before she recovered. "Oh? I didn't realize you were so invested."
"I'm not," Drew replied coolly, though his tone carried an edge of finality. "But I can recognize something real when I see it."
He could see the cracks beneath Brianna's polished facade—the flicker of doubt in her eyes, the way her smile didn't quite reach them anymore. She wanted him to say something reassuring, to make her feel like she was still the center of his world. Ha. She never was.
Brianna's eyes flickered, the briefest sign of surprise before she smoothed her expression. "Real," she repeated, her laugh airy but brittle. "I suppose that's one word for it. Though I'm not sure someone like her fits here, don't you think? She's… different."
"She doesn't need to fit," Drew said, his gaze hardening. "That's what makes her stand out."
Brianna blinked, caught off guard by the sharpness in his response. "Well, aren't you full of opinions tonight?" Her tone turned slightly defensive, though she kept her smile intact. "I was just making an observation. No need to get worked up about it."
Drew didn't respond immediately, his attention already drifting back to May. Brianna's presence, her carefully crafted charm, suddenly felt suffocating, a stark contrast to the quiet authenticity that May exuded.
Brianna lingered a moment longer, her smile never quite reaching her eyes, but she remained close to Drew. "You're right, of course," she said with a forced lightness. "I suppose I just found her… intriguing, as well."
Drew's gaze shifted back to May, but this time, something was different. Brianna's words hung between them, and the weight of her jealousy felt palpable. Yet she stayed there, in the company of Drew, the tension in the air thickening with each passing moment.
Once again, Brianna's offended remarks about him not paying her any attention—something he did not even feel sorry about—pulled him away from his lalaland. This time, Dawn took pity on him and saved him from the demanding girl who thought that, because her father was rich and powerful and a friend of Drew's father, he owed her something.
They found Solidad in one of the salons with her fiancé, Robert. Dawn didn't lose the chance to start a conversation with them, but Drew only half-heartedly listened.
Solidad giggled softly. "Maybe if you tell me what you're looking for, I could help you," she said. Even though her voice sounded dispassionate, he did hear the sly humor behind her practiced elegance. "Or who," she added, narrowing her eyes in a calculating way. At his lack of response, a knowing smile graced her lips.
He realized, only because of her observation, that he had indeed been looking for someone -again- in the crowd. But he guessed there was no point denying it.
"Someone," he admitted, his face a perfect mask of apathy. Solidad was not fooled.
"I never thought I'd live to see the day some lady caught your attention," she joked lightly, but Drew could hear the undertones of cunning interest. "Aren't you going to tell me, your most dearest friend, who this lucky girl is?"
Drew exhaled sharply, the only sign of his discomfort in his perfectly polished façade. "It's nothing like that, Solidad. I'm merely curious."
"Yet, that's more than you've ever given a girl… ever," she countered.
Soledad's words hung in the air, heavy with unspoken truths that even he was reluctant to acknowledge. The conversation between them faded into the background, his mind occupied with a certain victor, her name still echoing in his thoughts: May Maple.
Unconsciously, he looked over the crowd, his eyes scanning for her, even as a tight knot twisted in his chest.
Solidad's voice interrupted his thoughts again, her playful smirk cutting through his reverie. "So, are we going to stand here all night pretending you're not obsessed with this girl, or are you going to do something about it?"
Drew snapped his gaze back to her, the mask of indifference quickly falling back into place. "I'm not obsessed," he said, but even he could hear how hollow the words sounded.
"Sure, sure," Solidad teased, her eyes dancing with amusement. "So why don't you just go talk to her? Maybe I could take a look at this grand mysterious girl. She must be something else to have caught your attention."
The implication made him uneasy, a sharp tension settling in his chest as he became suddenly guarded. Solidad, ever perceptive, noticed the shift in his demeanor. Knowing him better than anyone, she casually advised him to try the canapés, diverting the conversation and giving him space to collect himself. She wouldn't let the matter drop, but she was smart enough to know when to pick her battles.
A mix of anger and confusion churned uncomfortably in his stomach. Could Solidad be right? Was he really interested in that victor? In a woman from the districts? She was undeniably beautiful, almost otherworldly, but she was still just a peasant, wasn't she? The thought gnawed at him, leaving an unsettling tightness in his gut.
He grabbed a glass of whiskey, the burn of the alcohol doing little to soothe the storm inside him. He resolved to bury the thought and return to his usual distractions. With forced composure, he plunged back into the frivolous conversations and shallow interactions of the evening. As he moved through the crowd, he carefully controlled his path, deliberately avoiding any chance encounters with her, trying to ignore the growing, shameful pull toward someone he would never allow himself to acknowledge.
Drew stood at the edge of the president's private drinking room, the chatter and laughter of the Capitol elite swirling around him like distant background noise, a sharp contrast to the turmoil churning in his chest. The conversations flowed effortlessly around him, but he couldn't escape overhearing the whispers—talk of who would buy the Princess of Hoen's first night. A dark, suffocating feeling tightened around his chest as he caught snippets of the crude jokes they made, laughing as if it were nothing more than a game. He couldn't understand why it bothered him so much. Maybe it was because of the brief exchange he'd had with her earlier that night, that fleeting moment when she had seemed like a person, not just a prize to be auctioned.
His gaze wandered to Soledad, who was deeply engaged in a conversation with her fiancé, laughing a little too loudly, oblivious to the storm raging inside Drew. She had always been indifferent to the shallow amusements of the elite, never fully embracing them, yet never truly rejecting them either. Her cold detachment—her ability to blend seamlessly into this world—felt just as damaging as being an active participant in it. Only hours ago, he had been just like her, lost in the frivolous distractions of this world. But now, everything felt different. For the first time, he questioned the very foundation of it all—the Capitol's entire system built on the idea of owning people, of turning them into mere commodities.
And May... May wasn't supposed to be one of those things. Not after witnessing her so…real. She wasn't an object to be traded or bargained for. The thought of her being auctioned off, reduced to nothing more than a possession for the highest bidder, felt utterly wrong. Drew had never intended to see her as more than a mere object, but after that brief encounter, he realized how deeply he had come to view her as a real, tangible person. And now, to be part of this—to be complicit in a system that turned her into a prize for sale—felt suffocating, as though he were drowning.
At that moment, Drew wasn't sure if it was the dangerous thoughts swirling in his mind or the alcohol clouding his judgment—or perhaps a mix of both—that made him snap. Without thinking, he moved impulsively toward Cassidy, President Giovanni's secretary, the one responsible for managing all these kinds of affairs.
As he approaches, Drew casually mentions, "I had a brief encounter with the princess of Hoen earlier… She seems… intriguing. I'd like to spend more time with her, if possible."
Cassidy raises an eyebrow, a smile curling at the corners of her lips. "Well, sir, I never took you for someone who enjoyed this kind of... diversion" she responds without hesitation. "But of course, I'd be delighted to arrange that."
Drew's mind flashes with the weight of his words, but both of them understand the unspoken implication.
"I'm open to all sorts of diversions, and I'm bored. This seems like it could be quite an... unique experience," Drew replied, his tone casual, though there was a cold edge beneath it.
"Well I'll ensure the details of your encounter are delivered discreetly," Cassidy said with a satisfied nod. "President Rocket is quite fond of you; consider this a personal gift for being such a loyal supporter of the Capitol. I'm sure he'll be thrilled that you're willing to… indulge in this little diversion."
Drew wasn't entirely sure why he had made the decision, why he felt this sudden and intense need to intervene. But something inside him told him it was the right choice. As he turned to leave, a familiar voice stopped him in his tracks.
"Drew, really? You're getting involved in this? This is a messy matter" Soledad's voice cut through the air, laced with concern.
Of course, she was overhearing, but Drew couldn't bring himself to care. He turned to face her, finding her expression guarded, yet tense, as though she was already forming an opinion in her mind.
His own expression remained stoic as he met her gaze. "I'll handle it."
The uncertainty in Soledad's voice didn't faze him. However, something in his face must have betrayed his resolve because her expression shifted, from one of contemplation to sudden realization. She understood. She knew exactly who the mysterious girl from earlier was.
Later that evening, Drew stepped off the elevator and made his way toward the penthouse he'd been directed to. The silence around him was profound, broken only by the soft hum of the air conditioning—a stark contrast to the constant, bustling noise of the Capitol. His heart pounded in his chest as the weight of the situation finally settled in, like a heavy stone pressing down on him.
The penthouse was magnificent, as expected. It was everything Drew had come to expect from the Capitol: opulent, extravagant, and cold. Yet, it wasn't the grandeur of the place that caught his attention. No, it was the woman sitting tensely in front of the mirror. She heard him arrive and turned to face him, her expression one of genuine surprise for a fleeting moment before settling into a guarded stare. It was clear from her face that she didn't know how to react.
He wanted to make a sly remark, to deflect the tension with sarcasm, but he understood the gravity of the situation and, for once, chose to let her lead the interaction. But she didn't. She remained quiet, passive, and defensive, as if waiting for him to make the first move. It felt like a battle, one he was determined not to lose. His approach would be to make her break first, to make her uncomfortable.
He leaned against the small table nearby, casually picking up a glass of wine, and just stared at her.
He wasn't prepared for his own reaction to her. She was dressed for the occasion—gone was the revealing attire from earlier. Now, she wore something far more exposing, a sheer white silk that clung to her body, outlining her ample chest. Her pink nipples, hard beneath the fabric, were a cruel reminder of just how exposed she was. Drew couldn't help but feel a wave of desire surge within him, a hungry, primal urge rising in his stomach, pulling him downward, downward…
He forced himself to look at her face, trying to regain control, trying to remind himself that this was not supposed to be about that. But even when he looked into her eyes, he saw no shame. Instead, there was serenity, defiance. His gaze drifted lower once more, expecting her to shrink away under his scrutiny. But she didn't.
May's gaze was steady, her posture stiff but defensive. She knew exactly what kind of game was being played here, and she wasn't backing down.
After a long, tense silence, she finally spoke. Her voice was cold, measured. "I just want you to know that it doesn't matter what happens here tonight," she said, her tone sharp yet calm, like a blade hidden beneath velvet. "You don't own me."
Drew looked at her, a mixture of desire and frustration swirling inside of him. He clenched his jaw, determined to keep his composure. He wasn't here to let her see the turmoil inside him, not yet. Drew exhaled slowly, a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding. "I don't want to own you, May Maple," he said quietly, the words softer than he intended, yet honest. "I just… I didn't want anyone else to."
"Why?" she asked, her voice barely a whisper. "Why do you care?"
He paused, caught off guard by her question. "I don't know," he admitted, his voice laced with uncertainty. "I just… I don't want to see you treated like this. It's not right."
May's gaze flickered toward him briefly before their eyes locked. For a heartbeat, everything else seemed to fall away. Her lips twisted into a practiced smile, the one she always wore to mask the turmoil inside. Drew didn't look away. He couldn't. There was something in her gaze—something raw, something that dared him to look deeper, to see beyond the walls she had built.
He stepped forward, closing the distance between them with each stride. May didn't move, but the air around them crackled with an unspoken tension.
"Well then, tonight you decide how I'm treated, don't you?" she said, her voice calm, yet sharp, like a blade hidden beneath silk. "You can take whatever you want. After all, I'm sure you've been eyeing me all night."
Drew stopped right in front of her, a half-smile tugging at his lips, despite himself. "Maybe I'm just tired of watching you from a distance," he replied smoothly, his gaze unwavering.
May scoffed, the bitterness in her voice cutting through the silence. "You're not the first to say that," she muttered, her arms crossing over her chest as though to shield herself from his gaze.
Drew took a step closer, his focus sharpening. The fire in her eyes was still there, though it was buried beneath layers of exhaustion, and something else—something sadder, something more fragile than he had expected.
"Why do you keep doing this?" he asked softly, his voice low, almost gentle. "Why pretend you're fine, when you're clearly not?"
May looked away for a moment, her jaw tightening. She didn't answer immediately, and for a second, Drew wondered if she would at all. But then, in a voice so quiet he almost didn't hear it, she said, "Because no one cares. Not really. I'm just another animal behind glass, another number in a circus act, performing for an audience that only sees the spectacle."
Her words hung in the air, and for the first time, Drew felt the full weight of them. There was no mockery, no bitterness—just a deep, weary exhaustion. It tightened something in his chest, something he couldn't name.
"You're wrong," he said, surprising himself with the force of his words. "I care."
May's eyes flicked back to his, her gaze flickering with something vulnerable for just a moment before quickly hiding it behind her usual walls. She let out a bitter laugh, shaking her head. "You don't care," she said firmly, though the words sounded more like a defense than a truth. "You just want to know why I'm not like the rest of them. The perfect Capitol darling. The beautiful victor. The one they all drool over."
Drew stepped closer still, his voice lowering. "Maybe I don't want the perfect Capitol darling. Maybe I just want to understand who you really are."
For a long moment, there was nothing but the sound of their breathing, the distant hum of the Capitol party a soft backdrop to the strange, fragile connection growing between them. May stood there, her defenses faltering, her eyes searching his as if weighing the truth of his words.
"Maybe you'll understand someday," she said softly, her voice tinged with something like hope. But then her eyes harden again, the walls slamming back into place. "But it's not going to happen tonight."
Drew was a winner—a title he had earned not through privilege or status, but through sheer talent and relentless hard work. Nothing had ever been handed to him simply because of who he was; every victory was fought for, every success carved out with determination. He was not the kind of man who could easily accept defeat.
Yet tonight, with a quiet sense of disappointment settling deep into his bones, he allowed himself to do just that. For the first time in a long time, Drew let the weight of failure wash over him. It wasn't the kind of surrender born from weakness, but rather a reluctant acknowledgment that some battles could not be won—not tonight. Not when even he wasn't sure what he was after, what it was he was truly seeking, or why he wanted it so desperately.
She turned away, sitting on the edge of the bed, her gaze fixed on the far wall. As Drew walked past her, she tensed, perhaps bracing herself for the worst. Instead, she was startled by the gentle weight of a warm, expensive coat draped over her shoulders. The faint scent of roses lingered in the air.
Drew barely glanced at her, offering her a measure of modesty. It was, at least, the one thing he could give her tonight.
For the rest of the night, she stayed on the bed while he settled on the couch, his back to her. She could see him, but he couldn't see her. Yet, if he felt the weight of her gaze lingering on him, he didn't let it show.
And though he closed his eyes, the image of her chocolate hair brushing against her bare back stayed with him, haunting him long after the night had ended.
The next morning, May woke up alone, still covered in the purple coat, with a single red rose lying beside her pillow.
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