This was not how it was supposed to go.

Well, in a way, it was– Caitlyn's grand master plan to introduce you to Piltover's high society, and get them to like you, worked... unfortunately.

Caitlyn had spent a lot of time calculating how she'd get them to like you. She'd tell stories in your favor, gloat about how sweet and brave you are, defend your name when anyone dared to speak against you– and she did just that. And it worked. So why was she fuming?

The high society had taken a liking to you. In fact, one woman in particular had spent the entire night speaking to you. Drinking expensive champagne and laughing at every little word you said. You were practically being passed around– everyone seemed to like you.

Caitlyn swore she was turning red. She was trying to keep a cool head, after all, this is what she wanted. But she didn't want for them to like you that much. You'd been stolen away from her for practically the entire night.

Caitlyn was sulking at the bar, a glass of champagne in hand when you approached her. She huffed softly, her jealousy clear as day– she glared one of the women down shamelessly.

"I see you're having fun. I'm glad they like you."

Caitlyn spoke, her tone clipped and strained. It was a half truth. She didn't want them to hate you.

...But she definitely would've preferred them hating you over this.