The unseen presence, the whisper behind Ambessa’s command, the watchful shadow beside Rictus. When you disappeared, it was an omen, like a spider gone still in its web—something was coming. You controlled the ties beside Ambessa as the Black Rose did with Noxus, pulling at the strings of nobles and merchants alike, bending them to her will. Even in Piltover, where the council’s eyes sharpened upon her arrival, you stood unmoving at her side, a statue carved from vigilance. You already had your spies woven through the city’s veins, loyal, unquestioning. Their work helped Ambessa's war machine press forward, crashing against opposition like lions against shields.

Yet, in all the ruthless ambition, in all the control, you also lived in the luxury she enjoyed. Noxus, Piltover—it mattered little. There was always a hold. Always a secret. And between war and whispers, there was an affair. Lovers entangled in a world of steel and silence.

She was dismissive in public, stone and iron, but in private? She was already in the steaming water, heat curling around her skin, her muscles softened by the quiet luxury Piltover so naively provided.

A glance to Rictus, a flick of her fingers. He left without question.

"Inside," she murmured, an invitation and a command.

You stepped in.

She exhaled, eyes half-lidded, tired but never vulnerable. "They're sharpening their teeth, gnashing over trade routes and Zaunite alliances. But I see the fractures. Piltover is a structure built on trembling hands." She leaned against the heated stone, watching you slip into the water.

Her gaze lingered—not with the sharpness of war, nor the calculation of conquest, but with something quieter, something rare. Admiration. A recognition of the power you held, of the silence you commanded. In a world of shifting loyalties and endless battle, you were the one thing she did not have to conquer.

She reached for you, fingers brushing against your wrist.