Ephemeral

by evanlevan

The mix of curiosity and subtle challenge in Vi's eyes was almost overwhelming, drawing Caitlyn in like a moth to a flame. In a low, flirtatious tone that was almost a purr, Vi said, "You know, if you wanted to spend more time with me, you could've just asked, Cupcake." Caitlyn's cheeks flushed a deep shade of red, and she fumbled for a response. C-Cupcake!

10. You Should Be Afraid

🎶: Bury A Friend - Billie Eilish

The library was quiet, the faint humming of fluorescent lights and the soft rustle of pages the only sounds breaking the stillness. Outside, the rain continued to drizzle, streaking the tall windows with shimmering rivulets. Loris leaned against one of the study tables near the back, his arms folded tightly across his chest. His eyes darted to the entrance before settling on Samantha, who was seated across from him, tapping a pen against her notebook absentmindedly.

"You should be careful around her," Loris said, his voice low but laced with urgency.

The concern in his tone made Samantha look up, her brow furrowing slightly.

"Her who?" she asked, though her tone hinted that she already knew.

"Riven," Loris replied, glancing toward the shadowed corners of the library as if expecting someone to overhear. He shifted his weight uneasily, his voice dropping even further.

Samantha shifted in her seat, her posture stiffening slightly. She glanced at Loris warily, the pen in her hand pausing mid-tap. "Why?" she asked, her tone measured but edged with suspicion. "It's not like she did anything."

Loris moved quickly, pulling out the chair in front of her and sitting down with a quiet scrape against the tiled floor. He leaned forward, lowering his voice further as his hands gestured animatedly. "She's a Noxian," he said, his words sharp and direct.

Samantha blinked, her expression flat as she raised an unimpressed eyebrow. "A Noxian? That's it?" she asked, her tone dripping with disappointment. She leaned back in her chair, crossing her arms as if she'd been promised a juicier revelation. "You're acting like she pulled a dagger on Caitlyn or something. So she's from Noxus—big fucking whoop."

Loris frowned, his frustration evident. "It is a big deal, Sam. You know what they're like. Noxians don't just wander into Piltover for no reason."

Samantha rolled her eyes, her voice taking on a teasing edge. "Oh, right. Because people from Noxus are all secretly plotting world domination—" She scoffed, shaking her head. "Please, Loris. You sound like a drama major trying to make your life sound interesting."

Loris leaned forward, his voice lowering as if to underscore the weight of his words. "Look," he said, gesturing emphatically, "how many Noxians do you know on this campus? Seriously. Three, maybe, in the entire history of Piltover U. And every single time a Noxian even breathes on this place—" He leaned closer, tapping the table with each word for emphasis. "Something. Bad. Happens."

Samantha raised an eyebrow, her smirk fading just slightly as she regarded him. "Bad like... what? A fire in the cafeteria? Someone tripping on the stairs?"

Loris didn't flinch. "Bad like fights breaking out, professors resigning, or whole programs mysteriously shutting down. You think it's a coincidence? I don't."

Samantha hesitated, her teasing expression faltering as his words sank in. She twirled her pen between her fingers, her skepticism now tinged with a flicker of curiosity. "Okay, so let's say you're right, and Riven's some kind of harbinger of doom. What exactly are you expecting me to do about it? Throw her a welcome party and see if chaos erupts?"

Loris exhaled, his gaze fixed on Sam's. "I'm saying keep your guard up. That's all. Just... pay attention. Because when things go sideways—and they will—I want someone else to see it coming too."

Samantha's fingers slowed their twirling of the pen as she mulled over Loris's words, her expression shifting from skeptical to thoughtful. The faint drizzle outside cast moving shadows across the library walls, mirroring the unease creeping into her thoughts. Finally, she sighed, soft but heavy with resignation.

"Okay," she said, setting the pen down and meeting Loris's gaze. "Then do you want me to warn Cait too, or is this just between us for now?"

Loris leaned back slightly, his arms crossing as he considered her question. For a moment, he seemed unsure, his jaw tightening as his gaze drifted toward the tall windows streaked with rain. When he looked back at Samantha, his expression was resolute.

"Not yet," he said, his voice firm.

-୨ ୧-

🎶: Paint The Town Blue - Ashnikko, Arcane League of Legends

The heavy bag swung back and forth, absorbing the relentless force of Vi's punches. She planted her feet firmly on the worn mat, the dull ache in her knuckles a welcome distraction from the storm brewing in her mind. Each jab, each hook, carried the weight of her frustration, the rhythmic thuds echoing through the empty gym.

Riven.

The name stuck in her head like a thorn. She hadn't even known the woman existed until that night, and now? She couldn't stop thinking about the way she stood there next to Caitlyn—calm, composed, just... there. Like she had every right to be. Like she belonged.

Vi's fist slammed into the bag with a loud thud.

Who the fuck is she?

The thought burned as her fists moved faster, her breathing heavier. She didn't like it. The way Riven had looked at Caitlyn—not threatening, not disrespectful, but just... too familiar. Too sure of herself. Like she understood something Vi didn't.

What's her deal? Some quiet wanderer just passing through? Sure, fine. But why's she standing so close to Cait? Why does Caitlyn even let her? Cait... she didn't even say anything. Didn't explain. Just stood there, like it was normal. Like it was fine for some stranger to—

She growled low under her breath, landing a heavy cross.

It wasn't fine. It wasn't normal. Caitlyn wasn't just anybody. She was... Vi's breath hitched for a moment. Her punches slowed.

Doesn't matter.

Her fists clenched, the gloves creaking against her knuckles. Riven's not just passing through, is she? No one that sharp, that calm, is ever just 'passing through.'

Another jab. Another hook.

If she thinks she can just walk in and... what? Take up space? Mess with Cait's head?

The thought made Vi's stomach churn. Not jealousy—no, she wasn't jealous. She was just... concerned. Protective. Caitlyn didn't need someone like Riven sneaking around, getting too close. Vi stepped back, rolling her shoulders as she tried to shake the tension. I'll figure her out. If she's trouble, I'll handle it. And if she's not...

She hesitated, her fists dropping to her sides. The faint hum of fluorescent lights buzzed in the background, the only sound aside from her heavy breathing.

If she's not? Then why the fuck does she annoys the fuck out of me so much?

Vi closed her eyes, exhaling sharply. She turned back to the bag, squaring up again. There were no answers here, just more questions. But one thing was clear: Riven wasn't going to get a free pass. Not with Caitlyn involved.

Vi froze as the sound of her phone vibrating cut through the heavy silence of the gym. The familiar, upbeat tune of Paint the Town Blue began to play, echoing faintly against the walls. It was Powder's ringtone—an annoyingly catchy melody Vi had let her little sister choose, even though it clashed horribly with her otherwise no-nonsense attitude.

Her fists unclenched, her arms falling to her sides as she stared at the bag in front of her. The relentless rhythm of her breathing filled the space, heavy and uneven. She closed her eyes, inhaling deeply through her nose, trying to steady herself.

Breathe, Violet, she told herself. Let it go. It's just a call.

She exhaled slowly, the tension in her shoulders easing—though not completely—as the song looped for a second time. Pulling off one glove with her teeth, she yanked the phone from her gym bag and swiped to answer.

"What's up, Pow?" Vi said, her voice still edged with the remnants of frustration, though softened by the effort to sound calm.

There was a brief pause, followed by Powder's unmistakable sarcastic drawl. "Wow, Sis. Such enthusiasm for your baby sister calling in to remind you not to forget the dinner we have at the restaurant. Tonight." Vi can practically hear Powder placing one hand on her hip, tapping her foot. "Am I interrupting your groundbreaking therapy session with a punching bag? Was it about to confess its undying love for you or something?"

Vi snorted despite herself, rubbing a hand over her face as she leaned against the wall. "Something like that," she muttered, her tone still dry but tinged with fondness. She pushed off the wall and began peeling off her remaining glove. "And yeah, don't worry. I remember dinner."

-୨ ୧-

🎶: Use Me (Mija Remix)- PVRIS feat 070 Shake, Mija

The Kiramman estate was as pristine as ever, sunlight streaming through the large bay windows and casting a warm glow over the elegant sitting room. The faint clink of porcelain filled the air as Cassandra Kiramman, ever poised, carefully lifted the teapot and poured tea into two delicate cups. Across from her, Caitlyn sat stiffly in her chair, her fingers laced tightly together in her lap, her posture impeccably straight—a practiced habit that felt particularly constraining today.

"You know, Caitlyn," Cassandra began, setting the teapot down with a faint chime as it met the tray, "I've always believed in giving you the freedom to make your own decisions. To learn from your mistakes. But... this?" She reached for her tablet resting on the side table, her movements brisk as she swiped to Seraphine's HexGram post. Tilting the screen slightly toward Caitlyn, her manicured finger tapped it once for emphasis. "'Campus queen spotted in the wild'? Really?"

Caitlyn exhaled softly through her nose, reaching for her teacup calmly, though her fingers trembled slightly as they grazed the fine porcelain handle. She brought the cup to her lips, letting the steam rise between them as she measured her words. "Mother, it's just Seraphine being Seraphine. She's... dramatic. It's harmless."

Cassandra's brow arched, a precise and practiced motion that carried all the weight of her disapproval. She picked up her own cup, turning it delicately in her hands before taking a small sip. "Harmless?" she repeated, setting the cup back onto its saucer with an audible clink. "Do you realize how this looks? The Kiramman name splashed across a post with hashtags like #MissingButGorgeous and #SearchPartyGoals? Caitlyn, it's not exactly the image we're trying to project."

Caitlyn's lips pressed into a faint grimace as she lowered her cup back to the table, her hand lingering a moment too long on the saucer before withdrawing. "I didn't ask her to post it," she said, her voice quiet but firm.

"No, of course you didn't," Cassandra replied sharply, leaning back into her chair with a measured exhale, her hands folding neatly in her lap. "But you gave her the material, didn't you? Wandering off, not answering your messages, leaving your friends to panic—what exactly were you doing, Caitlyn?"

Caitlyn sighed, her shoulders drooping slightly as though the weight of her mother's words were physically pressing down on her. She picked up her teacup again, cradling it between both hands this time as though seeking comfort from its warmth. She stared into the pale amber liquid, her gaze distant. "I needed space," she admitted, her voice soft and raw. "I didn't realize I... I needed the quiet. Even for a moment."

Cassandra blinked, her carefully composed mask cracking ever so slightly as she straightened in her chair. Her hands unfolded, one resting lightly on the arm of her seat while the other hovered as though she wanted to reach out but thought better of it. "You needed the quiet," she echoed, her tone gentler now. "Caitlyn, you could have told me."

Caitlyn's fingers curled tighter around her teacup, the delicate porcelain cool against her palms. She didn't meet her mother's gaze, her attention locked on the faint ripples forming in her tea.

Cassandra tilted her head, studying her daughter with a mix of curiosity and concern. After a beat, she shifted slightly, leaning forward to rest her elbow on the arm of her chair, her chin brushing against her knuckles as she spoke. "And the... person you were found with? Riven, was it?" Her words were soft but probing, and her sharp eyes flickered with interest. "Who is she, exactly? I don't recall ever hearing you mention her before."

Caitlyn's grip on the teacup tightened fractionally, her knuckles paling as she finally straightened her posture. She placed the cup carefully back onto its saucer, and folded her hands together on her lap. "She's just... someone I met," Caitlyn replied as-matter-of-factly. "She helped me get back to campus, that's all."

Cassandra's lips pursed faintly, her nails tapping softly against the armrest as she considered the response. Her gaze lingered on Caitlyn, searching for something unspoken. "Interesting," she said at last, her voice light as though she were simply commenting on the weather. She picked up her own teacup again, as she brought it to her lips for another small, contemplative sip.

After a quiet moment, she set the cup down with deliberate care, her gaze steady on Caitlyn. "You need to be more mindful of your actions, Caitlyn. Especially around this... Riven."

Caitlyn tilted her head slightly, her curiosity piqued. "Why?" she asked. It wasn't a protest, but the genuine question of someone seeking to understand.

Cassandra sighed softly, her shoulders relaxed slightly as though conceding something. "Because," she began carefully, her tone measured, "Riven is Noxian."

Caitlyn's eyebrows lifted ever so slightly, but she said nothing, waiting for her mother to continue.

"She is under the care of the Konte family," Cassandra added, her voice taking on a thoughtful cadence. "A noble family from Ionia. Their reputation is impeccable, known for their peacekeeping efforts and extensive work in agricultural development. But Riven…" Cassandra paused, her expression growing distant for a moment. "Her background is more complicated."

Caitlyn's gaze didn't waver, her attention fixed on her mother. "What's she doing in Piltover, then?"

"The Konte family has recently expanded their business here," Cassandra explained, her voice softening slightly. "They've partnered with one of the city's research institutes to develop advanced farming technology—something that could blend Ionian environmental practices with Piltover's engineering. Riven transferred here with them."

Cassandra's expression tightened subtly, though her voice remained calm. "Her presence may be justified, but her Noxian origins cannot be ignored. That nation's history with Piltover—and Ionia, for that matter—is hardly forgotten. People will talk, Caitlyn. And as much as you may want to see the good in someone, you must also consider what their past might bring."

Caitlyn absorbed the words quietly, her fingers tightening briefly against the fabric of her skirt. "So... you don't trust her."

"It's not about trust," Cassandra said firmly, her eyes locking onto Caitlyn's. "It's about caution. Riven may well be genuine, but she carries the weight of where she's from. And that weight could easily shift onto you if you aren't careful."

Caitlyn looked down at her tea, her reflection rippling faintly in the amber liquid. "I understand," she said after a long pause. "I'll be careful."

"Good," Cassandra said simply, her posture relaxing slightly as she reached for her cup again. "Just remember, Caitlyn—one misstep in our world can echo far beyond what you intended. Choose your steps wisely."

-୨ ୧-

🎶: Le Point Zero - Freedom Fry

The restaurant, El Liberado, was one of the more upscale spots in Piltover's city center, blending sleek industrial design with warm, rustic touches. Polished steel panels framed walls of rich oak, and the soft, golden lighting created an inviting yet sophisticated atmosphere. Through tall windows, the city's glittering skyline stretched out, rain trailing down the glass like shimmering veins.

Vi stepped inside, and the room seemed to subtly shift, her presence drawing attention without effort. She adjusted the cuffs of her casual bomber jacket—a dark, well-fitted piece that framed her broad shoulders perfectly—while a plain white tee and dark jeans gave her a clean, laid-back edge. Her sneakers were understated but stylish, completing a look that was casual yet undeniably handsome. The sharp confidence in her stride and the way her burgundy hair caught the light only added to her appeal. Heads turned, some subtly, others not, as she moved through the room with an air that was effortlessly commanding, a quiet intensity in her blue eyes.

At the table sat Powder, her short, choppy blue hair framing her face with a playful edge. The sharp bangs accentuated her expressive features, and her mischievous smile lit up as she leaned forward in animated conversation with Claggor and Mylo. Vander, the largest of the group, was nursing a glass of something dark and strong, his imposing presence somehow softened by the faint smile on his face. Ekko sat nearby, idly tapping his fingers on the table, his sharp eyes darting around the room as he waited.
"Vi! Finally!" Powder's voice rang out, cutting through the low murmur of the restaurant. She waved with unbridled enthusiasm, nearly knocking over a basket of complimentary bread in her excitement.

Vi's lips curved into a lopsided grin, her striking gaze locking on her sister as she strode over with the easy confidence of someone who knew how to own a room. "Alright, alright," she said as she approached, her voice low and smooth. She reached out to ruffle Powder's choppy hair affectionately before sliding into the seat next to Vander. "Nice place. Didn't think we'd snag a table here."

Vander chuckled, his deep voice rumbling warmly as he set his glass down on the table. "Well, you've got Ekko to thank for that," he said, nodding toward the young man seated across from him. "Kid's got connections. Benzo came through for us big time."

Ekko shrugged nonchalantly, though the small, pleased smile tugging at the corner of his lips gave him away. "Benzo co-owns the place," he explained, leaning back in his chair with an easy confidence. "Figured we might as well take advantage of it."

"Good call," Vi said, shooting Ekko an approving grin. She draped her arm casually over the back of her chair, her posture relaxed as she surveyed the group. "This place is a hell of a step up from the usual spots. Fancy as hell."

"Too fancy," Mylo piped up, a teasing smirk on his face as he gestured at the polished silverware. "I mean, look at this—two forks? What's that about? I can barely handle one."

Claggor leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms with a knowing grin. "That's because you're supposed to use one for eating, Mylo, not for pointing at people like a lunatic."

Powder snorted, leaning forward as she grabbed a bread roll from the basket. "It's for people who actually know how to eat without looking like barbarians, Mylo. You wouldn't get it."

"Barbarians?" Mylo shot back, feigning offense. "Says the girl who just inhaled three rolls before anyone else could grab one."

-୨ ୧-

As the dinner progressed, the lively conversation at their table filled the air with laughter and teasing. Powder was mid-rant about why she deserved more bread rolls than anyone else, Ekko was playfully poking holes in her logic, and even Mylo had joined in with his usual sarcastic quips. Vi leaned back in her chair, her arms draped lazily over the backrest, her sharp blue eyes casually scanning the room as the banter rolled on.

And then she saw her. What the fuck?

A familiar figure, seated at a nearby table, slipped into one of the plush chairs with the quiet ease of someone accustomed to blending in yet impossible to ignore. The golden light of El Liberado caught on her unmistakable silver hair, pulled back into a loose, elegant knot that framed her striking features. She wore a deep emerald blouse with a high collar and subtle embroidery that caught the light in intricate patterns, paired with tailored black slacks that accentuated her long legs. The outfit was simple, yet impeccably refined, radiating a mature, understated confidence.

Riven wasn't alone.

Seated opposite her were two older individuals who looked nothing like her—clearly Ionian, with the telltale grace and composure that marked their heritage. The woman, elegant and poised, wore a traditional Ionian shawl draped delicately over her shoulders, her dark hair woven into an intricate braid. The man, tall and sharp-featured, exuded quiet authority as he leaned toward Riven, speaking in low, measured tones. They appeared every bit the noble Ionian family, yet the contrast between their refined appearance and Riven's stark, effortless magnetism was striking.

Riven sat stiffly, her pale green eyes scanning the menu in her hands, though her gaze seemed distant, unfocused. The faint furrow in her brow betrayed her discomfort, as if she were a reluctant participant in whatever conversation was happening at the table. She looked far away, detached from the elegant setting and the people seated beside her.

"What's up with you?" Claggor's voice cut through Vi's daze, pulling her attention back to their own table. He was frowning at her, his fork hovering midair. "You've been staring off like you saw a ghost."

Vi blinked, her lips pressing into a thin line as she leaned back into her chair, trying to regain her composure. "It's nothing," she muttered, though her voice was tight, and her gaze flicked back toward the silver-haired woman out of the corner of her eye.

Vander, ever perceptive, caught the subtle shift in Vi's demeanor. He followed her line of sight, his sharp eyes landing on the nearby table where Riven sat with the two Ionians. His brows furrowed slightly as recognition flickered across his face.

"That's the Konte family," Vander said quietly, his tone low enough for only Vi to hear. He leaned forward slightly, resting his arms on the edge of the table. "Ionian nobles. Big players in the agriculture world—they've been working on some high-profile partnerships with Piltover lately. Advanced farming tech or something like that. Benzo mentioned them once or twice."

Ekko, who had been idly twirling a breadstick between his fingers, perked up at Vander's words. He leaned in slightly, his sharp eyes lighting up with interest. "Oh, you're talking about the Konte project?" he asked, his voice carrying a mix of excitement and curiosity. "Yeah, I've been keeping tabs on that. They're setting up some kind of competition to develop new tech for it. Prize money's supposed to be insane."

Vi raised an eyebrow, shifting her attention to Ekko. "Competition? What kind of competition?"

"Engineering and innovation," Ekko explained, leaning forward now, clearly energized by the topic. "They're looking for ideas to integrate Ionian environmental practices with Piltover's tech. Real cutting-edge stuff. I heard the winning designs get funding, partnerships, the works." He grinned, his confidence shining through. "I'm planning to enter. Got a few ideas I've been sketching out already."

Powder, who had been munching on a bread roll, sat up straighter, her eyes lighting up with excitement. She pointed a thumb toward herself, grinning cheekily. "We're planning to enter, you mean," she corrected, emphasizing the "we" with mock indignation. "I'm your secret weapon, remember? Who else is gonna make your boring blueprints look fun enough to win?"

Vander nodded approvingly, his expression softening into a warm smile as he looked between Ekko and Powder. "Good on you both," he said, his voice steady and full of encouragement.

Vi leaned back slightly in her chair, her arms crossing over her chest as she listened to the exchange. Her sharp blue eyes flicked between Ekko and Powder, taking in their enthusiasm and the way their energy fed off each other. Powder's cheeky grin was infectious, and Ekko's confidence was undeniable, but something in Vi's expression shifted, a thoughtful crease forming between her brows.

Her gaze drifted for a moment, landing on the Konte family seated nearby. Riven's composed demeanor stood out in stark contrast to the excitement bubbling at her own table. The juxtaposition tugged at something in Vi's gut—an unease she couldn't quite place.

-୨ ୧-

🎶: Bittersweet Symphony - GAMPER & DADONI, Emily Roberts

"Riven, how have you been finding your classes?" Shava asked, her gaze steady as she regarded the younger woman. "I understand the transition to Piltover's methods can be… demanding." Shava Konte gestured lightly with her hands as she spoke to Riven, probing.

Riven's pale green eyes flicked to Shava's for a moment before dropping to the polished tablecloth. She leaned back slightly in her chair, her posture casual but her tone clipped. "It's nothing I can't handle," she said, her words precise but tinged with a restrained edge, as though she were carefully reining in her true thoughts. "Just a different way of doing things. It's... efficient, I guess." she added, her gaze lifting briefly to meet Shava's again, sharp and unwavering, before darting back to the untouched plate in front of her.

Asa Konte, seated across from Riven, regarded her with a calm intensity, his sharp features thoughtful yet focused. He leaned forward slightly, resting his forearms on the table, his fingers loosely clasped.

"Efficient, perhaps," he said, his deep voice carrying a deliberate weight, though a faint edge of challenge threaded through his words. "But efficiency alone doesn't build character—or mastery. Piltover thrives on precision and discipline. You may find their methods different, Riven, but that doesn't mean they lack value."

His eyes stayed on her for a beat longer before he leaned back in his chair, his posture relaxed but still radiating quiet authority. "You're capable of more than just keeping up," he added, his tone firm yet carrying a note of expectation. "And you've never been one to stop at 'enough.'"

The words settled between them, a balance of challenge and encouragement, as Asa's expression shifted slightly, his gaze unwavering. It was a silent reminder of the confidence he placed in her potential, one that carried more weight than any lecture could. Riven's fingers stilled, her gaze fixed on the tablecloth as if it held answers to questions she wasn't ready to ask. The tension in her shoulders was subtle but telling, a quiet resistance that spoke louder than words.

Shava noticed but didn't press. Instead, she let her voice soften, her words carefully chosen. "Riven," she said, her hand resting lightly on the edge of the table, not quite reaching for her. "You've endured more than most. Just being here, choosing to move forward—that matters."

Riven's jaw tightened, her pale green eyes lifting briefly to meet Shava's. There was no warmth in her expression, but there wasn't anger either—just a guarded sort of acknowledgment. "I'm just trying to figure things out," she said finally, her tone even but distant.

Shava nodded, not pushing further. "Figuring things out is enough. Sometimes it's all you can do, and that's okay." She let the moment linger for a beat, her gaze softening as she studied Riven. Then, with a subtle shift in her tone, she added, "Speaking of which, there's something coming up that might give you a little... perspective."

Riven glanced up, her pale green eyes narrowing slightly in suspicion. "What do you mean?"

Shava's lips curved into a faint smile, her expression tinged with something almost playful. "The Konte family will be hosting a ballroom party next week. A gathering of Piltover and Ionian dignitaries, innovators, and, of course, a fair share of aristocrats who enjoy putting on a show." She paused, her smile widening ever so slightly. "I'd like you to attend."

Riven's jaw tightened. "I'm not really the... party type," she said carefully, her voice edged with hesitation.

"I'm aware," Asa interjected, his deep voice cutting smoothly into the conversation. He leaned forward slightly, resting his forearms on the table as his sharp eyes fixed on her. "But this isn't just about the party. It's about building connections, understanding the people you'll inevitably cross paths with in this city. And—" he added, his tone firm but carrying a faint edge of wryness "—I want you to invite someone as your escort."

Riven blinked, momentarily caught off guard. "An escort?" she echoed, her tone flat but her brow furrowed in clear discomfort. "Why would I need one?"

Asa tilted his head slightly, his sharp features unreadable as he spoke. "Because," he began, pursing his lips, "Attending a gathering of this scale alone sends a message. And not necessarily the one you'd want to send. Having someone by your side shows confidence. It suggests collaboration, stability—qualities we need others to associate with you."

Riven's lips pressed into a thin line as she averted her gaze, her fingers tightening subtly against the edge of the table. "I don't exactly have a long list of people to choose from."

Asa's expression didn't waver. "Then perhaps it's time to broaden that list," he said evenly. "Think of it as an opportunity—not just for appearances, but for yourself." His sharp features illuminated by the soft golden light, and added with a faint, almost imperceptible curve to his lips—a hint of pride that most would mistake for arrogance, "After all, you're my heiress to the Konte name, Riven. That means more than just holding a title. It means being seen as someone worth standing beside."

Shava's gaze flicked between the two, her expression softer but equally resolute. "Asa's right," she added gently. "This is your chance to step forward. The right choice here could make all the difference."

An escort? The very idea of it made her stomach twist. Yet, as much as she hated to admit it, there was someone who fit the role perfectly. They owed her—not in any grand way, but enough.

Riven exhaled sharply through her nose, a dry, humorless "heh" escaping her lips as she raised a hand to pinch the bridge of her nose. The faintest smirk tugged at the corner of her mouth, a fleeting acknowledgment of the irony she couldn't quite ignore. She let her hand drop, her pale green eyes lifting to meet Asa's unwavering gaze.

"How well do you know the Kirammans?"

END OF CHAPTER FIVE