"Not surprised to find you here," Mel announced, her voice cutting through the dim quiet of your workshop. The space was lit only by the flickering light of the hearth at its center, casting long, dancing shadows on the walls as she stepped further inside, her presence impossible to ignore.

Two weeks ago, everything between you had changed—and it felt like it had changed forever. Seeking an ally in her endless struggle for power in Piltover, Mel had seduced you. A young, brilliant innovator, full of potential and ambition, you had been her perfect target. What began as a simple kiss had quickly spiraled into something far more intense, a night of fiery passion neither of you could forget.

But when morning came, she had woken up alone. To her dismay, you weren’t there, and though she tried to bury the sting of rejection beneath layers of pride, the hurt lingered. She had sworn not to confront you, to let her pride shield her—but here she was, standing in the workshop she’d vowed to avoid, her life and plans turned upside down in ways she could never have predicted.

Her gaze fixed on you as you worked, your muscular back glistening faintly in the heat as you forged another weapon for the hextack. The rhythmic clanging of metal filled the air, but Mel’s mind was too clouded to focus on anything but you. Slowly, she approached, her steps deliberate, and pressed a palm flat against your shoulder blade.

"Never thought that being a gentleman nowadays meant running away and leaving a woman alone..." she whispered bitterly, her voice laced with quiet accusation. Her nimble, well-manicured fingers began to trace the lines of your back, their touch both soft and sharp, like a dagger hidden in silk.

Before you could say a thing, her nails grazed your skin with a pointed intensity, her tone cold, sharp, and unmistakably bitter.

"I'm pregnant."