Crossfire

Caitlyn Kiramman sat in her office, staring at the massive screen on the wall as the news played. Her name was everywhere. Again.

"Another Attempt on Caitlyn Kiramman’s Life—CEO of Kiramman Corporation Targeted Amid Political Tensions."

She leaned back in her chair, arms crossed, watching as a reporter stood outside Kiramman Tower, the cityscape of Piltover glowing behind him.

"Sources confirm that CEO Caitlyn Kiramman was the target of an attempted assassination late last night. Authorities believe the attack is linked to the rising political tensions surrounding her mother, Cassandra Kiramman, who is rumored to be preparing for a presidential campaign. The assailant escaped, leaving behind a destroyed vehicle and two dead security guards. The Kiramman family has yet to make an official statement."

The screen cut to footage from earlier—a luxury car riddled with bullet holes, the glass shattered, blood on the pavement. A cold, heavy weight settled in Caitlyn’s chest.

Two men were dead because of her.

The attempt hadn’t even come as a surprise. The threats had been getting worse, the messages bolder. At first, they had been empty words, just letters and warnings sent to her office. But now?

Now, people were willing to die to make a statement.

Her fingers clenched into a fist on the desk, nails digging into her palm.

The office doors swung open, and Cassandra Kiramman stormed in, eyes sharp with anger and something deeper—something close to fear.

"That’s the third attempt in two months, Caitlyn," she said, skipping any pretense of a greeting.

Caitlyn sighed, rubbing her temples. "Good evening to you too, Mother."

"Don’t start," Cassandra snapped, placing both hands on the desk. "You were nearly killed last night. If you had been in that car—" She exhaled sharply, forcing herself to steady. "This isn’t just another political move. This is a warning."

Caitlyn met her gaze, unwavering. "I know."

Cassandra’s lips pressed together. "Then you know this won’t stop. Especially with the election coming up."

Ah. So there it was.

Caitlyn already knew her mother was planning to run for the presidency. She’d seen it in the way Cassandra worked the council, the way she strengthened alliances, the careful placement of words in interviews. She hadn’t officially announced it, but everyone knew it was coming.

And Caitlyn knew what that meant.

Her mother’s enemies weren’t just attacking her campaign anymore. They were attacking her family.

"I’m not stepping down," Caitlyn said, reading Cassandra’s thoughts before she could voice them. "And neither are you."

"Of course not," Cassandra snapped. "But I will not sit here and watch them take you from me."

Caitlyn leaned back, exhaling. "Mother, I know how to protect myself."

"Clearly, you don’t!" Cassandra shot back, her voice rising. She took a step back, running a hand through her hair before looking at Caitlyn with something almost desperate. "You’re a trained shooter. You know how to fight. But that doesn’t change the fact that these people are professionals. You can’t be everywhere at once, Caitlyn."

Caitlyn’s jaw tightened. She hated this conversation. Hated the way her mother looked at her like she was fragile. Like she was already slipping through her fingers.

"I don’t need a bodyguard," she said, voice cold. "I won’t have someone invading my every move, watching me like a damn child."

"You don’t have a choice," Cassandra said firmly.

Caitlyn’s breath hitched.

"Yes," Cassandra continued, steel in her voice now. "You will have a personal security detail with you at all times. Someone who can protect you when I can’t. Someone who will make sure I don’t wake up one morning to a news report saying my daughter is dead."

Caitlyn felt something sharp twist inside her at that.

This wasn’t just about safety. It was about fear.

She swallowed, pressing her hands against the desk, forcing herself to stay calm. "I don’t want someone following me like a shadow," she said, quieter this time.

Cassandra’s expression softened, just slightly. "I don’t care what you want. I care about what you need."

Silence stretched between them. The weight of the room was suffocating.

Then Caitlyn inhaled, slow and measured.

"Fine," she said at last, each word deliberate. "But I choose who gets the job."

Cassandra exhaled, some of the tension easing from her shoulders. "I can accept that."

Caitlyn stood, smoothing down her sleeves, already regaining control. "Then I’ll start the selection process tomorrow."

Cassandra studied her for a long moment, as if searching for something beyond the cold mask Caitlyn always wore.

"I know you don’t like this," she said, softer now. "But I need you to be alive, Caitlyn. That’s all that matters."

Caitlyn didn’t respond.

She just turned to the window, watching the city lights flicker in the darkness.

Because deep down, no matter how much she denied it, a small part of her was beginning to wonder—

How much longer could she outrun death?

Caitlyn sat at the long, polished table in the dimly lit interview room, her fingers tapping idly against her chair. The day had been agonizingly long, filled with stiff-suited professionals who read off their resumes like they were applying for a desk job rather than a position that involved keeping her alive.

She had rejected every single one.

Some had been too rigid, too obsessed with protocol to handle the kind of unpredictability her situation demanded. Others had been ex-Enforcers, hired muscle who had the combat skills but none of the instinct she was looking for. None of them had made her feel anything. No gut instinct. No trust.

She had begun to wonder if she was wasting her time entirely.

The soft hum of the lights buzzed above her as she pinched the bridge of her nose, exhaustion creeping into her bones. She wasn’t used to sitting in a room all day like this, waiting. It wasn’t in her nature. She was someone who acted, who moved, who fought when necessary.

But now? She had been forced to sit back while others decided what was best for her.

That part—she hated most of all.

The door creaked open. The assistant poked their head in, looking slightly wary. "The next candidate is here."

Caitlyn exhaled, smoothing out her sleeves. "Send them in."

She expected more of the same.

Another uniformed man, another soldier with a flawless track record but a complete lack of character.

What she got instead was Vi.

The Fighter

Vi strolled in, and immediately, Caitlyn felt the air in the room shift.

Gone was the usual stiff professionalism, the obedient nods and empty pleasantries.

Vi moved like she didn’t give a damn about impressing anyone. Her red hair was untamed, her jacket old and scuffed, the sleeves pushed up just enough to reveal the faintest hints of tattoos curling over her forearms. A well-worn tank top clung to her frame, and the slight bruising along her knuckles told Caitlyn everything she needed to know.

This was someone who had been in fights. Who had won fights.

Vi didn’t just fight because she was trained to.

She fought because it was who she was.

Caitlyn straightened, interest sparking despite her exhaustion.

Vi met her gaze head-on, unflinching, her lips curling into a smirk. "So," she said, dropping into the chair like she owned the damn room. "You’re the one everyone’s trying to kill."

Caitlyn’s fingers stilled against the table.

Then, to her own surprise, she laughed.

It was soft, barely more than an exhale—but it was there.

Vi raised an eyebrow, clearly not expecting that reaction.

Caitlyn smirked slightly, settling back in her chair. "And you’re the one who thinks she can stop them?"

Vi shrugged. "Guess that depends. You hiring a bodyguard or a babysitter?"

Caitlyn hummed, tilting her head slightly as she looked over Vi's file.

"Vi. No last name?"

"Didn’t like the one I had."

"No formal security experience. No military training. No official bodyguard work." Caitlyn glanced up. "And yet, you think you’re qualified?"

Vi grinned. "Seems like you do too, or I wouldn’t still be sitting here."

Caitlyn exhaled, a small smirk tugging at her lips. Clever.

Most candidates had stumbled over themselves trying to prove their worth.

Vi didn’t.

Vi acted like she already knew her worth.

And Caitlyn found that… intriguing.

Caitlyn closed the file, resting her hands on the desk. "Why do you want this job?"

Vi leaned back in her chair, legs stretching out slightly. "Money, mostly."

Caitlyn arched a brow. "That’s all?"

Vi hesitated, rolling her jaw like she was debating whether to say more.

Then, she shrugged. "Let’s just say… I don’t want to keep doing what I’ve been doing."

There it was.

Something unspoken.

Caitlyn watched her carefully. She had dealt with liars before—politicians, businessmen, people who spun words like weapons. But Vi wasn’t lying. She just wasn’t saying everything.

And Caitlyn, for some reason, wanted to know more.

She leaned forward slightly, lowering her voice. "I think I like you."

Vi blinked, startled for the first time. "...What?"

Caitlyn smirked. "You’re real. You’re not just saying what I want to hear. That’s… rare."

Vi shifted, rubbing the back of her neck. "Not exactly what I expected from someone like you."

Caitlyn tilted her head. "Someone like me?"

Vi let out a breath, staring at the ceiling for a second. "Rich. Powerful. Born into all of this." She gestured vaguely. "People like you don’t usually give a damn about people like me."

Caitlyn frowned. That wasn’t fair.

She wasn’t Piltover’s elite. Not in the way Vi thought.

She had worked for what she had. She had fought. And she had no patience for the games the upper class liked to play.

She softened just slightly, looking at Vi with something closer to understanding.

"Well," Caitlyn murmured, "maybe I’m not like the people you’ve met."

Vi stilled.

For the first time, her usual bravado cracked—just slightly.

She looked at Caitlyn, really looked at her. And for a moment, there was something unspoken between them.

A realization.

A shift.

Then, Caitlyn stood abruptly, breaking the moment. "Come with me."

Vi blinked, thrown off. "Uh… where?"

Caitlyn didn’t answer. She simply walked toward a hidden panel on the far wall, pressing her fingerprint against it. The wall slid open, revealing a private combat training area.

Vi let out a low whistle. "Damn. You got a whole setup in here?"

Caitlyn stepped onto the mat, rolling up her sleeves. "If I’m going to trust someone with my life, I need to know they can keep up."

Vi blinked. Then she grinned.

"Oh, Princess," she murmured, stepping onto the mat, cracking her knuckles.

"This just got interesting."

Vi had thrown punches at a lot of people in her life.

Brutes in the underground, Enforcers with nightsticks, thugs who thought they were tougher than they actually were. She had grown up fighting to survive, her instincts sharper than most people ever had to be.

But this?

Fighting Caitlyn Kiramman?

She hadn't expected it to be a real fight.

Yet here she was—dodging, blocking, and barely holding back from going all out against a woman who fought like she was trained to kill.

Caitlyn moved like she knew what she was doing. No wasted movement. No hesitation.

It was a dangerous kind of control. The kind that came from years of discipline, years of calculated training.

Vi had met fighters before who were stronger than her, but Caitlyn was smarter. She was precise, her strikes fast, targeted—aimed for weak spots that most people wouldn’t even think to exploit.

But Vi was faster.

And she fought without rules.

Caitlyn threw a strike—a quick jab, fast as hell, aimed right at Vi’s ribs. Vi barely sidestepped in time, feeling the rush of air as it missed her by an inch.

"Damn, cupcake " Vi breathed, grinning despite herself. "You’re good."

Caitlyn didn’t respond.

She just pivoted, using the momentum to bring her leg up—a sharp, calculated kick aimed for Vi’s side.

Vi caught her ankle mid-air.

Caitlyn’s eyes widened—just slightly.

"Gotcha," Vi smirked.

She twisted, forcing Caitlyn off balance. The moment Caitlyn’s foot touched the mat again, Vi lunged—faster, stronger.

She feinted left—**baiting Caitlyn into a block—**then pivoted right at the last second, sweeping her leg out hard.

Caitlyn hit the floor.

Vi immediately pinned her, one knee pressing down on Caitlyn’s thigh, her arm locking Caitlyn’s wrist against the mat. It was a perfect takedown.

Vi grinned, breathing heavy. "So… that mean I win?"

Caitlyn lay there for a moment, breathing hard, her chest rising and falling under Vi’s weight. She didn’t look pissed.

She looked… impressed.

"You’re faster than I expected," Caitlyn murmured, her voice smoother than it should have been for someone who just got pinned.

Vi blinked, caught off guard by the genuine compliment.

Most people—especially Piltover types—would’ve been pissed to lose a fight.

Caitlyn just looked at her like she was… thinking. Calculating.

"Yeah?" Vi huffed out a breath, still grinning. "You ain’t bad yourself, cupcake."

Caitlyn’s smirk widened just a fraction. "If you call me ‘cupcake’ again, I might have to take this round back."

Vi laughed, finally letting go of Caitlyn’s wrist and standing up.

Caitlyn sat up, running a hand through her dark hair, still smirking as she rolled her shoulders.

"You fight dirty," Caitlyn said, getting to her feet.

Vi shrugged. "Fighting fair gets you killed."

Caitlyn studied her, something unreadable flickering behind her deep blue eyes. "Good," she murmured. "Because I don’t need someone who follows the rules."

Vi felt something warm crawl up her spine at that.

Because Caitlyn wasn’t just testing her.

She was watching her. Studying her.

Not like a threat.

Not like a liability.

But like someone she actually respected.

Vi had never had that before.

Caitlyn picked up a towel from the side and wiped the sweat off her neck before turning back toward her desk. "You’re hired."

Vi blinked. "Wait—just like that?"

Caitlyn glanced at her. "Would you rather go through three more interviews?"

Vi snorted. "Hell no."

Caitlyn picked up a contract from the desk, sliding it toward her. "Then sign."

Vi took the pen, still a little thrown by how effortless this was. No long speeches, no background checks, no bullshit. Just—a fight. A real fight.

And Caitlyn had trusted that more than any résumé.

Vi scribbled her name down and dropped the pen, crossing her arms. "So… what now, Boss?"

Caitlyn extended her hand. "Now, you keep up."

Vi hesitated for just a second before taking Caitlyn’s hand, her grip firm, steady, strong.

And for the first time in a long time, Vi felt like she was exactly where she was supposed to be.

Caitlyn barely had time to sit at her desk before her mother stormed in.

The office doors slammed shut behind Cassandra Kiramman as she strode forward, radiating pure authority, her heels clicking against the marble floor with sharp precision. She looked composed, as always—the perfect politician—but Caitlyn could see the tension in her shoulders, the way her lips pressed into a thin line.

She was furious.

"You hired someone from the Undercity as your personal bodyguard?" Cassandra’s voice was calm—too calm.

Caitlyn didn’t look up from her paperwork. "Good evening to you too, Mother."

"Caitlyn," Cassandra snapped, crossing her arms. "Tell me you’re joking."

Caitlyn sighed, setting down her pen. "I’m not."

Cassandra inhaled sharply, pacing the length of the room. "Do you even realize what you’ve done? Hiring one of them—a fighter with a criminal record—and placing her at your side? You might as well have handed her a loaded gun and invited her to aim at your head!"

Caitlyn leaned back in her chair, unbothered. "You think the people trying to kill me are from the Undercity?"

Cassandra’s eyes narrowed. "I don’t trust people like her."

Caitlyn arched a brow. "Then maybe you should start re-evaluating who’s actually dangerous, Mother. Because last I checked, the ones trying to have me executed aren’t from the Undercity. They’re from Piltover."

Silence.

Cassandra’s lips parted slightly, but no words came out.

Caitlyn pressed on, voice sharp now. Unrelenting.

"You know who’s behind these threats," she continued. "You know how this game is played. The enemies you’ve made—the politicians who want you out of the way—they’re all from our world. From Piltover. The city you defend so blindly is the same one putting a target on my back."

Cassandra’s jaw tightened. "That doesn’t mean you can trust her."

"She won," Caitlyn said simply.

Cassandra frowned. "What?"

Caitlyn exhaled slowly, sitting forward. "I tested her. I fought her. And she won."

For the first time, Cassandra looked caught off guard.

Caitlyn smirked, just a little. "You raised me to be strong, Mother. To never let my guard down. But she’s the first person who’s ever taken me down in a fight."

She tilted her head. "And you expect me to fire her?"

Cassandra’s expression wavered for just a moment—just a flicker of hesitation. Caitlyn had made her point.

But then the politician in her took over again, her features smoothing into cold, practiced control. "You’re being reckless," Cassandra said. "Do you even know if you can trust her?"

"I don’t trust easily," Caitlyn replied. "But I trust my judgment."

Cassandra exhaled through her nose, arms still crossed. "And if she betrays you?"

Caitlyn’s voice was calm. Certain.

"Then she’ll regret it."

Silence stretched between them, thick with unspoken tension.

Finally, Cassandra sighed, rubbing her temples. "You’re impossible."

Caitlyn smiled. "I get it from you."

Her mother glared at that, but there was no real heat behind it.

Cassandra straightened, smoothing down the sleeves of her tailored blazer. "If she makes one mistake—one—I will personally see her removed."

Caitlyn’s jaw clenched. "Noted."

Cassandra turned toward the door. "Introduce her to your father. He deserves to know who’s protecting his daughter."

Caitlyn let out a slow breath, waiting until the door shut behind her mother before reaching for her phone.

She scrolled down to Vi’s number.

Her thumb hovered for just a second.

She had only known Vi for a few hours, and yet something about her was already… different.

Sharp, but honest. Wild, but real.

She pressed call.

The line rang twice before Vi’s familiar, cocky voice came through.

"Boss. Miss me already?"

Caitlyn rolled her eyes, but a small smile tugged at her lips. "Meet me at the Kiramman estate. It’s time you met my parents."

A pause. Then—

"Wait, what?"

Caitlyn smirked. "I assume you know how to dress appropriately?"

Vi snorted. "Depends. What counts as ‘appropriate’ for rich folks?"

Caitlyn chuckled, shaking her head. "Just be there in an hour."

"Can’t wait," Vi drawled, and Caitlyn could practically hear the smirk in her voice.

She hung up, exhaling slowly.

This was going to be interesting.