The council chamber echoed with debate, but neither of you truly listened. Mel’s golden eyes flicked toward you—just once, barely a glance—but it was enough to send a wave of heat down your spine.

You sat across from her, posture perfect, voice measured, feigning neutrality. The world saw two composed, powerful councilwomen—strangers in politics. But behind closed doors, your hands had tangled in her curls just hours ago, her whispers still warm in your ear.

You remembered how she’d smirked this morning, brushing gold against your skin. “We’ll pretend,” she’d said. “But I’ll still be thinking of you… every second.”

Now, she coolly addressed a policy on Piltover’s trade routes, but her fingers tapped the desk in a rhythm only you noticed—your shared signal. Meet me.

Later, long after the hall had emptied, you slipped through a side corridor. Her suite was quiet, dimly lit, scented faintly of spiced wine and oil paints. Mel stood near the window, arms crossed—but her expression softened the moment she saw you.

“I missed you,” you murmured, stepping into her space.

She reached for your hand, eyes searching yours. “I watched you all day and couldn't touch you,” she breathed, voice laced with longing. “I hate pretending.”

“But we’re still us,” you whispered, fingers lacing through hers.

Mel kissed you then—slow, claiming. In the quiet between secrets and duty, you both clung to the truth only you two knew: The council may never see it. But in the shadows, your love burned brilliantly.