Reckless
Caitlyn knew better than to cross Maddie now.
Even worse was daring to so much as glance at Margot, the one person Maddie held sacred. Margot wasn’t just protected; she was insulated, wrapped in a fortress of wealth, influence, and something far more dangerous. Maddie’s love. And that made her untouchable.
The Nolens didn’t tolerate disrespect. They erased it. Fifth in line to the nation’s most powerful dynasties, their brand of vengeance was swift, and permanent. You didn’t get second chances with people like them.
But two years ago, Caitlyn had been reckless. Bitter. She still believed, foolishly, that her name held weight. That she could fight back.
She’d aimed her spite where it hurt most: at Margot.
Whispers, insinuations, subtle sabotage... and then, not-so-subtle. She’d gone digging into Margot’s past, clawing at anything that might make the perfect little consort bleed. She thought she’d found something.
And for one fleeting moment, Caitlyn thought she’d won.
But Margot was no fool.
She went straight to Maddie. For the first time, she asked for help. And Maddie gave it to her without question.
That was all it took.
Caitlyn remembered the cold marble under her knees, the way her hands trembled as she reached for Maddie’s wrist. She wasn’t angry then, just desperate. Pleading. She’d begged Maddie not to cut her off, not like this. Her voice had cracked.
Her pride had cracked.
And Maddie... Maddie had looked down at her like she was something unclean. Not even worth the effort of anger. Just... beneath her.
Then she gave a single nod to security.
They pulled Caitlyn off her like a parasite.
She remembered the ripping of silk, the scrape of stone against her palms, the silent stares from staff who’d once greeted her with respect. No one helped. No one even looked away.
She was thrown out of the estate like garbage. Barefoot, humiliated, dressed in what remained of her dignity.
There were no cameras that night. But the story spread just the same.
By morning, Caitlyn Kiramman wasn’t just disgraced.
She was nothing.
“Caitlyn.”
Her mother’s voice cut clean through the fog in her mind. Not harsh, but firm enough to ground her.
Caitlyn blinked, realizing her grip on the teacup had tightened. The ceramic was warm against her fingers, a small contrast to the chill curling down her spine.
“You were somewhere else again,” Cassandra said, eyes narrowing, not in concern, but in observation.
“Sorry,” Caitlyn murmured. “Just... distracted.”
Their meals sat mostly untouched, and the tea had long since gone cold.
Cassandra dabbed the corner of her mouth with her napkin, movements neat and precise. “You’ve never been good at pretending everything’s fine. It’s written all over your face.”
Her tone wasn’t cruel. Just honest. Like always.
Caitlyn gave a faint smile. Her mother didn’t coddle, didn’t soothe. Affection from Cassandra came in subtleties: a reservation at a quiet place like this, a gentle correction in private, a nod of approval instead of praise.
“You look sharp today,” Tobias chimed in, glancing at her attire. A crisp white blouse tucked into tailored slacks, clean lines, no distractions.
“Figured there might be a surprise meeting,” Caitlyn replied. “You two have a habit of springing those on me when we’re anywhere within ten blocks of the company.”
Cassandra actually laughed, low and unguarded. It was rare, and it caught Caitlyn off guard.
“Smart girl,” she said, raising her teacup. “But not today. No business. Just lunch.”
Caitlyn nodded, letting the moment settle.
The next half hour passed in quiet, curated conversation. Tobias recounting the highlights of their recent trip, Cassandra chiming in here and there. Caitlyn played along, but her mind still wandered, never fully present, not with the weight of what had come before pressing down on her from the inside.
-----
Caitlyn arrived just as the rain began tapping against the cab’s windshield, soft at first, then steady. The sky had darkened faster than expected, thick clouds hanging low over Piltover’s skyline.
She stepped out, tugging her coat closer as the drizzle gave way to a full downpour. By the time she crossed the stone courtyard and reached the polished glass doors of the Piltover Grand Exchange Complex, her shoulders were damp, and the streets behind her shimmered with reflected light.
Inside, the air was warm. The lobby was quiet but grand in the way Piltover always insisted. Gleaming marble floors, gold-inlaid columns, the faint scent of fresh-cut orchids and old money.
The elevator chimed as she entered. A familiar face greeted her.
“Good afternoon, Ms. Kiramman!” The hostess bowed slightly, her voice light and rehearsed but not disingenuous.
Caitlyn offered a soft smile in return. “Good afternoon.”
“How was your day?” the hostess asked, pressing the button for Caitlyn’s floor.
“It was manageable,” Caitlyn said, then, with a tilt of her head: “And you? Still holding up in this place?”
The woman brightened. “Much better than my last job, that’s for sure. It gets tiring sometimes, but... your kindness makes the shift easier.”
Caitlyn nodded, the compliment sitting strangely in her chest. Not unwelcome.
Just unexpected.
She knew what most of Piltover’s upper crust were like. Detached, transactional, often indifferent to the people holding doors or pouring drinks. She’d once been mistaken for the same, the subject of whispered rumors and half-truths passed around salons and banquets. Maybe some still clung to that image of her.
But not this woman.
The elevator eased to a stop. The doors opened with a quiet hiss.
“Have a lovely evening, Ms. Kiramman.”
“You as well,” Caitlyn replied, stepping out.
And for the first time that day, something in her felt just a little lighter.
Inside her condo, Caitlyn slipped off her coat, letting it hang over the edge of the armrest. Her bag landed with a soft thud near the door. Beyond the floor-to-ceiling windows, the city blurred behind a curtain of rain, the lights of Piltover smudged like old watercolors.
She stood there a moment, watching the rivulets race each other down the glass. The air smelled of petrichor, damp stone, and restless skies. Everything felt hushed.
Then her eyes drifted to the rifle in the corner.
It hadn’t been touched in weeks. But tonight, with the city muted and her thoughts loud, it felt appropriate. The rain had a way of unearthing things best left buried.
She crossed the room with quiet purpose, fingers curling around the worn grip.
The weight settled naturally into her hands. Like an old friend she no longer spoke to, but never stopped missing.
Moments later, she was in the private range, lights dimmed, silence stretching between each breath.
She started with the basics: Pistol. Static target. Slow, deliberate fire.
Then the rifle.
Then the sniper.
Shot after shot, the room filled with the sharp rhythm of precision. The rain outside provided a metronome. Her breathing fell into cadence. Her pulse steadied, just as it always had in moments like these.
Once, she’d been a prodigy.
The Kiramman name had carried weight, not just in politics or society, but on the range. She had lined her childhood walls with trophies, awards, medals. Her mother used to brag about her aim with measured pride.
Then came Ren.
Caitlyn had been eager at first, genuinely thrilled to pass the craft along. Teaching her cousin had felt like passing a torch, something noble.
But the whispers started.
People said Ren could never surpass her. That she was chasing a shadow too sharp, too clean.
Ren had gone silent not long after. Locked herself in her room. Refused to pick up a weapon again.
So Caitlyn stepped aside. Gave up the spotlight. Let Ren rise, even if it meant vanishing in the process.
And Ren? She took the affection Caitlyn was never offered. Took Margot. Took Maddie’s favor. Threw her lot in with the very people who made Caitlyn bleed. Who left her in the dirt. Who called security on her like she was trash.
Her hands trembled now, not from fear, but from fury and fatigue.
"Never again," Caitlyn whispered under her breath.
She kept firing. Shot after shot, until the ache in her arms became unbearable. Until her palms were slick with sweat and her heart beat like a war drum in her chest.
When it was over, she let the rifle fall to the side.
Collapsed onto the cold ground, breathing heavy, the silver glow of the moon cutting through the rain-soaked window and casting pale light across her face.
She laid there.
Alone. Exhausted. Eyes half-closed. Wrapped in silence broken only by the echo of gunfire and the distant, ceaseless rain.
And then, sleep found her.
Restless. Dreamless. The city never stopped.