Chapter Text
Smoke and fire. She was surrounded by it. Engulfing her, choking her. Her lungs were burning from every sharp inhale she took. She could feel her skin stretch in her pulse points, from the thundering force her heart was hammering against her ribcage, her temples, her wrists.
Nowhere to run. She tried to look around, but to her horror, there was no escape. Faint voices echoed outside her castle, screaming her name, as if they could pull her down from the tower just by shouting loud enough.
And just when the princess was about to give up, she heard rustling beyond her room’s blocked door. A voice, closer now, calling her name. Were the angels chanting for her?
But that’s when a banging started, methodical and unrelenting. A few assertive blows later, her room’s heavy wooden door burst open, revealing a tall figure. Plated steel armor. A gleaming sword in one hand, a battered shield in the other.
The princess lunged toward her savior, and only then, up close, did she catch fragments of their face. The helmet concealed most of it, but steel-grey eyes were visible through the narrow opening.
“Your Highness!” the knight shouted, their voice echoing through the burning room.
“I've come to rescue you,” they said, strong arms wrapping around her waist. They slowly began to lift the shining helmet to try and kiss her…
..just as music started blasting through the room.
Music? What the fuck?
Caitlyn groaned as the familiar rhythm of her alarm dragged her out of the slumber fantasy. Those melatonin pills were really fucking with her R.E.M. brain activity.
She stretched, letting out another groan as she blindly slapped at her nightstand, trying to silence the noise. It took four tries before she finally managed to slap the alarm shut. She lingered between the sheets for a few seconds longer before swinging her legs over the side of the bed, immediately regretting it as the harsh cold of the floor hit her feet.
She rubbed at her eyes in a futile attempt to chase away the sleepiness. Once her vision cleared enough - and she trusted herself not to face-plant - she pushed herself up using her hands for support.
She glanced at the digital clock on her nightstand. 7:35 a.m.
Definitely too early for the human brain to be functional. She rolled her eyes - a stupid little reflex, really, as if anyone were there to see it - and went to the bathroom to get ready for the day.
That's when she noticed it. A small yellow square stuck to the massive mirror looming over the double sinks. She peeled it off and squinted at the messy handwriting.
Tonight. Me and you.
Private chef.
Make yourself pretty for me.
- xo, Mads
She scoffed the moment she finished reading it. Make yourself pretty for me? Who the fuck does she think she is? The girl you’re dating, an unpleasant little voice supplied.
Shut up. This is not the time for logic. Caitlyn started brushing her teeth, thinking about what a presumptuous dick the girl she was dating actually was. And annoyingly enough, that was exactly what had drawn her in the first time they met.
Maddie was blunt. Bold. Completely sure of herself. Not an ounce of hesitation in the way she spoke, the way she moved, the way she carried herself.
When she’d approached Caitlyn, she was already sure she would get her number. “I can tell just from the way you’re eyeing me from the bar,” is what she’d told her - before Caitlyn, of course, gave Maddie her phone number. And it’s not even that Caitlyn wasn’t attracted to her. She couldn’t deny that Maddie was easy on the eyes and, moreover, she had stopped pretending to be attracted to things she wasn’t a long time ago - since she stopped sleeping with men and realised she was a lesbian, actually. But it was the fact that the whole relationship felt like a carefully curated, performative act.
Maddie brought her on fancy dates. She paraded Caitlyn around at work events like a prized possession, introducing her to all her coworkers, and even went as far as introducing her to her boss, some “cougar in her fifties,” as Maddie had described her. Which had left Caitlyn a bit confused, because she couldn’t tell if Maddie hated her or wanted to get into her expensive boss-panties.
As much as it made her feel proud to be this wanted, Caitlyn couldn’t shake off the bitter taste the whole situation left on her tongue. Even their first kiss had been confident. No room for second thoughts or hesitation. It had happened on their first date, and of course, Maddie had planned a whole five-star-resort kind of evening.
She’d sent her chauffeur to pick Caitlyn up, a short man in his sixties with a strong Italian accent, who clearly didn’t quite belong to that whole upper-class facade, judging by the way his shirt was dangerously unbuttoned, his chest hair on full display. But he was such a sweet gentleman that Caitlyn couldn’t help but wish she could spend the whole evening with him instead.
The entire car ride, he talked about his family and how much he missed his little town in Sicily, but that he would do it all over again just to see his kids happy, having built a future in Piltover they could never have had back home.
He kept calling Caitlyn “piccrè” which he said meant “baby,” and that Italians were affectionate like that. She chose to believe him, silently hoping he hadn’t actually been insulting her the whole ride. And he gave her candies too - which, in retrospect, completely thwarted the whole “don’t accept candy from strangers” lesson her parents had drilled into her head when she was young. But his name was Gianni, and he had some of the kindest brown eyes Caitlyn had ever seen. So she took the risk of being poisoned and possibly kidnapped, just to not let him down.
The public displays of affection and all the parading around actually boosted Caitlyn’s ego and healed something in her, especially after a disastrous situationship where she found out that the girl she was dating had kept her hidden from all her friends and family because she couldn’t muster up the courage to tell everyone she was dating a woman.
And that wouldn’t have been a problem. Caitlyn knew how much courage it took to come out, so she empathised with her, it was probably one of the scariest things a person could do.
However, the girl’s husband might have been less understanding than Caitlyn was.
So yeah, that was a whole other trauma she was probably still processing.
So the whole Maddie situation had excited Caitlyn. She’d always been drawn to powerful people - not powerful in terms of status, but in the way they existed. Confidence was sexy, and Maddie had it in spades.
Unfortunately, she was also arrogant. And that part was starting to get on Caitlyn’s nerves.
But she couldn’t bring herself to say no to a free, delicious dinner.
She finished getting ready, slipping into a light cream blouse and a perfectly pressed beige suit. She completed the look with her usual black stilettos - less a fashion choice and more a statement. She loved the sharp click of her heels against the floor when she walked.
She headed into the kitchen to scramble together a quick breakfast before leaving for work, if a cereal bar and a shot of espresso could be considered a breakfast.
A few minutes later, she dumped all her stuff - really just her bag and work laptop - onto the passenger seat and slid behind the wheel.
She turned the key. Nothing. She tried again.
Clank. Clank.
The engine sputtered, then died.
She twisted the key once more, and this time the car responded by coughing thick black smoke out from under the hood.
“Oh, fuck me.” Caitlyn yelled, throwing her hands up before letting them fall back onto the steering wheel, fingers curling around it.
“Just what I needed this morning,” she exhaled, sarcasm dripping from every word.
She pulled her phone out of her purse and scrolled through her contacts until she found Jayce’s name, then hit dial.
“’Sup, sprout?” Jayce chirped on the other end, his voice far too lively for eight in the morning.
“I can’t come into the office today,” she sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose.
“Bring flowers. My car decided to plan its own funeral.” She heard faint laughter from the other end of the line.
“You want me to pick you up?” Jayce offered, once he managed to stop laughing.
“No, don’t bother. You’d have to take a twenty-minute detour just to get me,” she said, already climbing back out of the car.
“I’ll work from home today.”
“Oh. My. God,” he said, punctuating every word.
“Poor little princess, forced to work from her castle,” he sighed dramatically. “Are you going to survive this tragedy?” A laugh slipped out of Caitlyn despite herself.
Jayce’s humor - annoying as it was - never failed to cheer her up.
“Yeah, yeah. Whatever, moron,” she said, waving a dismissive hand in the air as if he could see her.
“Are you going to survive without me?”
“I’d suggest you buy another casket,” Jayce replied solemnly, “so you can bury me alongside your car. Cause of death?” He paused theatrically. “Your absence.”
“Bold of you to assume I don’t already have your tombstone carved,” Caitlyn shot back, smirking as she rummaged through her bag for her house keys.
“Okay, harsh,” Jayce said, his voice sounding more distant now. She could hear the faint tapping of a keyboard.
“I gotta go, sprout. Some of us still have to work.”
“Tragic,” she muttered.
“Tell me about it! Bye, love you.” he added, but before she could respond, the line went dead.
Caitlyn shook her head, smiling to herself as she made her way back into the house. Again.
Working as an archaeologist had its pros and cons. One of the pros, undeniably, was being able to work from home during the cataloguing phase. At the moment, Caitlyn was buried deep in a report on a set of artifacts recently uncovered by her colleagues during a dig in Mexico: ancient Maya stone figurines, and carved stelae etched with hieroglyphs.
So, sitting down at the computer in her study, she realized she was actually pretty excited to get to work - curious to keep unraveling her colleague’s findings.
Hours went by, and she was so absorbed in deciphering a section of a document written in Mayan hieroglyphs - something to do with astrology - that she barely registered the front door opening. Then closing again, with a faint click.
Soft, rhythmic footsteps followed close behind, then moved away and disappeared into one of the rooms. Caitlyn froze. She slowly peeled her gaze away from the computer screen, her ears already straining to catch every sound they could. She glanced toward the doorway over the rim of her glasses, suddenly very unsure of what to do.
She knew Maddie had a set of keys to her apartment, but stopping by unannounced wasn’t like her. Especially not in the middle of the day while she was supposed to be at work.
Her parents were at work, too. Jayce didn’t have her keys. So who the fuck was in her house?
She briefly considered calling the police, then remembered the cameras her father had insisted on installing, just in case, he’d said. She’d never been more grateful, because this definitely looked like the case he’d been talking about.
She grabbed her phone, nearly dropping it when her hands started to shake, and frantically opened the cameras app, scrolling through the live feeds, hoping to catch whoever was moving around her home.
Bedroom, clean. Exactly how she’d left it that morning. Messy, but that wasn’t the point in that moment.
The study was obviously fine, for the equally obvious reason that she was currently sitting in it.
Dining room looked normal. Living room clear. Foyer? Empty. The gym looked fine. So did the laundry room. Even the sauna.
Panic began to set in. Whoever this was apparently had ghosts for siblings.
Lastly, she checked the kitchen. And there they were. Someone with red hair - sloppily pushed back, a few strands escaping in every direction, stood by the sink, calmly washing their hands.
Wow, Caitlyn thought. This thief is weirdly hygienic.
She frowned, her thoughts drifting back to the note Maddie had left that morning. Something about dinner. Private chef. Bingo.
She closed the app and dialed Maddie immediately. She picked up on the fourth ring. Typical. She could never show eagerness.
“Hello, darling.” Maddie purred through the phone. “Missing me al-”
“Yes. Good morning to you too,” Caitlyn cut in sharply.
“Did you hire a private chef for tonight’s dinner?”
“Yes, dear.” Maddie replied smoothly. “I wrote it in the note I left you this morning. Didn’t you read it?” Her tone was calm, not even slightly concerned by the edge in Caitlyn’s voice.
“Maybe you didn’t read it thoroughly?”
Asshole.
“Yes,” Caitlyn snapped. “I did read it thoroughly,” she echoed, mocking her tone.
“It’s just that someone broke into my fucking house, and I was wondering if you knew anything about it.”
“Oh, yeah, of course,” Maddie said easily. She paused for a moment. “It’s…eleven o’clock, so the private chef must’ve arrived. That’s the time we agreed on yesterday.”
Then, casually: “But why are you home? You should’ve been at work.”
Her tone didn’t seem accusatory, just curious. Caitlyn exhaled slowly before answering, trying to rein herself in as the explanation settled her nerves.
“My car broke down this morning,” she said. “So I stayed home and worked from here.” She stood up and began pacing the room, dragging a burning path of irritation behind her with every step.
“Next time,” she added, “tell me before you decide to give my house keys to a stranger.”
“Honey, I didn’t th-” She hung up. That would show her ass.
Crisis averted, she paced back to her computer, making sure the progress on her report was saved before logging off.
Curiosity got the better of her as she slowly made her way to the kitchen. She wanted to ask for spoilers about tonight’s menu, wondering whether Maddie had actually planned something she’d like or had just ordered fancy shit to show off.
But she stopped in her tracks, leaning against the kitchen door. It was open just enough to peek inside, not enough to be seen by whoever was in there.
The chef, a woman apparently, was humming to herself as she tied a knot at her waist, securing her black apron in place. In the upper right corner, stitched in bold red thread, were the initials “VM”. She now wore a white bandana over her hair, a few scarlet strands slipping loose at the sides.
Caitlyn let her gaze linger a little longer on the girl in front of her, calmly studying her, the door acting as a shield. The chef’s brows were furrowed in concentration as she set out the ingredients she needed. From where Caitlyn stood, she could make out a deep scar cutting through one of her eyebrows, almost like it had been placed there on purpose. Another scar marked the matching side of her mouth, just above her upper lip.
Caitlyn couldn’t quite see her face - she kept moving as she got to work, opening shelves, reaching for pots and pans - but she caught a glimpse of a small tattoo beneath her left eye: the number six, spelled in Roman numerals. And until that moment, for all the history nerd she was, Caitlyn had never thought she’d find Roman numerals hot.
What really caught her attention, though, were the chef’s hands. Sturdy, moving with clinical precision. A few prominent veins stood out along the back of her hands as she flexed her fingers to cut the ingredients. Capable thick fingers moved easily across the cutting board, her index and middle fingers curled into a claw grip around the herbs she was chopping. She worked methodically: Caitlyn watched her roll the herbs into tight little cigars, then start chopping them fast, almost nonchalantly. The tip of the knife never left the cutting board as the blade rose and fell, her free hand moving the food forward.
“That’s so fucking cool,” Caitlyn said, unable to hold it back, mesmerized by the effortless, efficient way the woman in front of her was cutting herbs.
But, to Caitlyn’s surprise - almost as if she hadn’t been hiding in the shadows like a creep for the past five minutes - her voice made the chef flinch.
She looked up, eyes widening, her attention snapping away from the knife. And that was a mistake, reflecting upon it.
Caitlyn saw her cut too close to her finger instead of the herbs. Bright red blood immediately welled up from the fresh wound.
“Shit - fuck, I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you,” Caitlyn rushed to her side. The chef was already holding her finger under cold running water.
“Oh, it’s okay, don’t worry,” she said, shooting her a small smile over her shoulder before turning her focus back to the cut.
“I just got startled. I didn’t expect anyone to be home.” She cleared her throat.
“Miss Nolen told me yesterday I’d be alone.”
“Yeah, well - long story short, my car died, so I worked from home,” Caitlyn explained. She reached into one of the upper cabinets, pulled out a box, and handed the chef a couple of different plasters.
“I’m really sorry I scared you.” Without thinking, disinfectant in hand, she turned off the faucet and gently took the injured hand in hers, dabbing the cut as the bleeding began to slow. Her hand was warm, still slightly damp from keeping it under running water. It felt a little rough - probably shaped by years of work in the kitchen - but there was a softness to it, too. She definitely moisturized two times a day.
Caitlyn didn’t realize she was still holding her until the chef cleared her throat, her gaze fixed on their hands. Caitlyn expected her to pull away, but she didn’t. So Caitlyn had to. Well that was...interesting.
“Thanks,” she said quietly, eyes drifting around the room.
“You’re thanking me for scaring you into cutting yourself?” Caitlyn replied, an amused smirk tugging at her lips.
“No - of course not. For the disinfectant. And…everything,” the chef trailed off, turning to dry her hands. Caitlyn caught the faint pink creeping up from her neck to her cheeks.
“Well, the disinfectant and everything was the least I could do, considering you almost lost a finger because of me,” Caitlyn said as she took a seat on one of the stools by the counter. Her eyes drifted over the ingredients laid out: beef, octopus, herbs, potatoes, and a whole lot of things she didn’t bother naming.
“What are you making?” she asked, resting her chin on her hand.
“That,” the chef replied, applying a plaster and pulling a glove over it, “is a secret I can’t share.”
“Bummer. I thought chefs were supposed to be audacious,” Caitlyn said, tilting her head as she studied her. A shy smile crept onto the chef’s lips as she went back to cutting.
“Oh, we are. But I don’t think Miss Nolen would appreciate me ruining her surprise for you.”
“Do you see her around?”
“No.”
“Problem solved, then.”
Caitlyn clapped her hands on the counter, grinning in victory. The chef paused, knife hovering mid-air, and looked at her.
“Caitlyn, is it?” she asked cautiously, almost as if saying her name might summon a demon.
“In the flesh.”
“I don’t mean to be rude, but - mind your business.” Her tone was calm, almost playful, though her brows shot up in surprise as the words left her mouth.
“In a nice way. I’m just… gullible, and if you keep asking-” Caitlyn lifted one hand, stopping the spiral before it could fully start.
“Fine. Can I at least know your name, then, or is that a secret too?” It came out more flirtatious than she’d intended, but - oh well. A little flirting had never killed anyone. Besides, she’d always had a thing for flustering people.
“Violet,” the chef replied, seemingly unfazed by Caitlyn’s tone.
“I’m keeping my last name a secret. Makes me look mysterious.”
She shot back the flirt almost lazily, without looking up from what she was doing - apparently simmering some of the herbs she’d chopped earlier while boiling diced potatoes in the same pot.
Oh. So she had noticed it. Sneaky little bastard, playing it off like that.
“I thought the whole point of being a private chef was to be charming, not mysterious.”
“I like to be both.”
This time, she briefly looked up through her lashes. That was when Caitlyn noticed her eyes.
Holy shit. Steel-grey.
Her knight in shining armor from that morning.
“You’re my knight in shining armor,” Caitlyn said softly, only realizing a second too late that the words had actually left her mouth. She blinked rapidly, trying to make sense of what she had just said. Or maybe, just maybe, if she blinked fast enough, she could take off into the atmosphere and start a little community on Mars, just to escape the embarrassing prison she had put herself in. She had just met the girl, and she had already spectacularly fucked it up.
Violet stopped.
“Your what?” she said, laughing under her breath.
“Definitely just a private chef, princess.” She lingered on the word, clearly teasing.
“I definitely did not mean to say that out loud,” Caitlyn said, dropping her face into her hands and shaking her head slightly.
“But since it’s out there -” she gestured vaguely at the space between them “- I had a very weird dream this morning. I was being rescued from a burning room by a knight in shining armor. We were about to kiss when I woke up.”
She exhaled, then added, almost as an afterthought, “They had grey eyes like yours.”
She nodded toward Violet, who was suddenly very focused on stirring whatever was simmering in the pots in front of her.
“They’re stunning, by the way.” From where she stood, Caitlyn caught the faint rosy tint creeping up Violet’s cheeks.
She was almost in palette with the broth she was simmering.
“Don’t know if I could save you from a fire,” Violet said, some of her earlier confidence slipping, “but I could definitely start one.”
“How would you do that?” Caitlyn asked, completely out of context.
Violet shot her a puzzled look.
Caitlyn pushed herself up from the stool and walked over to the fridge, never taking her eyes off her. Violet paused her cooking, leaning her weight on one fist, brows furrowing as she actually considered the question.
Caitlyn poured herself a glass of wine. Sangiovese, she’d been obsessed with it ever since Gianni went to Italy a couple of months ago and brought back a bottle as a gift. Since then, Caitlyn couldn’t help but have at least one glass a day.Perhaps she needed an intervention.
She didn’t go back to her stool, she leaned against the counter beside Violet instead. Up close, Caitlyn noticed just how fit she was. Slightly shorter than her, but clearly stronger: arms toned, muscles shifting beneath her shirt with every movement. Broad shoulders. Built, it seemed, by years in a kitchen. And, judging by the rest of her, more than a little effort at the gym. Definitely attractive, but not in a forced, showy way, just the kind that catches your eye either way. And Caitlyn very much noticed it.
“I’d start a grease fire,” Violet said finally, nodding to herself. “Those are nasty. I’ve seen a few.” She hesitated, then added, quieter, “And I’d use a match. Feels more…intimate. I’m more of a crime-of-passion kind of person.” She turned then, looking straight at Caitlyn.
Caitlyn met her gaze over the rim of her glass, a slow smirk forming.
Game on.
“Didn’t really picture you as a passionate criminal,” she said, her tone dropping.
She pushed off the counter, fingers trailing along its edge as she stepped closer. Violet turned fully toward her. They stopped just short of touching. Shoes almost brushing.
“What did you picture me as, then?” Violet asked - and just as Caitlyn had hoped, she stepped closer too, their toes touching, knees brushing.
Caitlyn’s heart kicked up, but she let her finger trail along Violet’s arm anyway. Violet shivered. Caitlyn smiled.
“My knight in shining armor.” And just like that, Violet froze. Caitlyn caught the brief flick of her eyes - down to her lips - as Violet licked her own without thinking, pure reflex. The air fizzled around them, carrying that sudden, effortless attraction that settled between them like fog. They were so close their breaths mingled. She looked at Violet through her lashes, biting her own bottom lip before a smirk slowly carved its way across her mouth.
“Careful,” Caitlyn whispered at last. “Your potatoes are burning.”
And just like that, she turned away, returning to her previous position: wine glass in hand, hips resting against the counter. She was enjoying the show she’d created.
Vi’s face had gone a shade of red that almost matched her hair, her movements frantic as she grabbed the spoon a little too aggressively - then dropped it, swore under her breath - then grabbed it again, stirring the potatoes with far more force than necessary and splashing water all over the counter.
Caitlyn couldn’t help but chuckle. Her presence had clearly done a number on the poor, flustered chef in front of her.
She watched in silence until Violet, still frazzled, mistakenly grabbed a hot pan, immediately hissed, pulling her hand back before forcing herself to keep going.
“Hot?” Caitlyn asked innocently.
“I - uh - what?” Violet jumped, as if only just realizing Caitlyn was still there.
“The pan you touched,” Caitlyn clarified. “Was it hot?” She bit her lip, barely holding back a smile.
Violet’s gaze snagged on it for a split second before she inhaled and looked away.
“Yeah. It’s on the stove,” she muttered, rubbing the back of her neck with two fingers, the motion visibly calming her.
“So…obviously hot.”
They stayed like that for a while. Violet cooking. Caitlyn watching. Wine slowly disappearing from her glass.
Then Violet tasted whatever she’d been working on. Caitlyn watched as she wrapped her full lips around the spoon, pulling it out with a faint pop, a drop lingered beneath her lower lip - Violet caught it with a flick of her tongue.
That’s when she noticed it. Metal shining bright against the pink of her tongue. A fucking tongue piercing?
Caitlyn’s throat went dry, a familiar warmth spreading between her legs.
Then Violet reached for another spoon, sampling a different sauce from another pot. This time, a drop slipped past her lips and traced its way down her chin. She didn’t catch it with her tongue. Instead, she used her finger.
Caitlyn was staring now,brain fully turned to mush , watching as Violet brought her finger to her mouth, sliding her tongue along its tip, before briefly sucking on it.
“Oh, for the love of God,” Caitlyn blurted, setting her wine glass down with a clink. “I’d better get back to work,” she added, throwing her arms up dramatically.
“I’ll be in my study if you need me.” And just like that, heels clicking sharply against the floor, she disappeared through the doorway - leaving a very confused Violet alone among pots and pans.