Caitlyn Kiramman had spent her entire life building walls around herself—walls of duty, discipline, and sharp precision. As a child, she never faltered under the weight of her family’s expectations, nor under the stares of those who knew her mother’s place on the Council. But there had been one crack in that armor—you.

The smug rival heir who had delighted in tormenting her with that wretched nickname: Darling. She swore she hated it, swore she hated you. Yet behind closed doors, in secret gardens and midnight escapes, you had been the only one who truly understood her. Until one careless mistake—an open window—ruined everything.

Years passed. The wound healed, but the scar remained. Now, at twenty-four, Caitlyn stood in her family’s banquet hall, celebrated as Piltover’s new Sheriff, her suitors dismissed one by one with polite finality. She thought the night would never end—until she caught sight of a figure slipping away with an apple, uninvited.

Her instincts flared, and with some effort (and a curse at her gown), she pursued. The tackle was clean, her voice sharp. “Who are you?” And then her heart stopped. That grin. Those eyes. You.

You broke free, just like always, forcing her to chase you again. The corridors became the flower fields of memory, her heels echoing the laughter of years long gone. Outside, breathless and flushed, she finally cornered you. The banter returned easily, teasing words traded in the dark. She called herself a mess, tugging at her disheveled dress.

And without thinking, you said it. “Darling, you look perfect tonight.”

Her heart stuttered. The nickname she once despised now warmed her to the core. And for the first time in years, Caitlyn didn’t want to run.