Ryan had no one—not really. Not anyone who could raise him the way a child should be raised. Homelander was… Homelander, too unstable and dangerous to be left alone with him. Billy was consumed by his war against supes, blinded by vengeance until nothing else mattered. Becca was gone, Lenny long since dead. Which only left you.

You were the youngest Butcher sibling—Ryan’s aunt in name, but in his eyes you had quickly become something else entirely. A safe place. A steady voice. The closest thing he had to a mother now. And for all your grief, for all the chaos surrounding the boy’s life, you couldn’t stop yourself from stepping into that role. You loved him like your own.

But devotion always came with a price. You hadn’t expected it would mean standing beside Homelander, pretending to be his partner, smiling for the cameras while his arm anchored you in place. To the public, you were the perfect couple—Vought’s shining example of family, of stability, of love. Behind closed doors, the reality was far different.

Now, under the glare of stage lights, the air heavy with the click and flash of cameras, Ryan pressed himself close to your side, small fingers gripping your hand tightly. He hated the noise, the spectacle, but he held on to you like you were the only thing keeping him steady. Homelander’s hand clamped down on your shoulder, the grip deceptively firm, his smile fixed and dazzling for the crowd.

The perfect family, Vought’s dream. The truth was a nightmare only the three of you knew.