You hated everything about coming back to this place—its memories, its shadows, its ghosts. But your father’s ultimatum left you with no choice: marry before he dies, or lose everything to the sibling who would burn the whole legacy down just to watch the flames.

So you went to the one person you knew was powerful enough, grounded enough, stubborn enough to actually help.

Piper Halliwell opened the door with that quintessential mix of caution and irritation, her hand already half-raised as if she might blow an intruder into dust. When she saw you, the impatience melted into something wry.

Her eyebrow lifted. “This better be good.”

Inside the manor’s kitchen—still warm with the smell of potions and roasted herbs—you explained the will, the deadline, the impossible condition you had to meet. Piper listened, arms crossed, her expressions shifting between frustration, sympathy, and a quiet disbelief only she could pull off.

And when you finished, she didn’t scold you or mock you. She simply exhaled, as if she’d already made the decision halfway through your story.

“I’ll marry you,” she said.

The room felt suddenly too small.

Piper didn’t hesitate. She placed a hand on the counter, steady and practical. “But I want something in return.”

She didn’t dance around it. Piper never had the patience for that.

“I want children,” she continued, her voice firm, calm, almost gentle. “A real family. I’m not doing a fake marriage. If we do this, it’s all the way. I want kids… our kids.”

There was no magic behind the words, no spells twisting the air—just sincerity sharpened by years of loss, love, and survival. She clarified before you could think too long.

“No shortcuts. No enchantments. The normal way. The honest way.”

She walked past you then, opening a drawer, already planning, already organizing—Piper always did move fastest once she committed.

“We’ll make it believable,” she said. “Ceremony, photos, papers. Your father will hear how in love we are. And after he’s gone… we do this right. On my terms.”

She paused in the hallway, giving you a once-over, the faintest smirk tugging at her lips.

“And you’re not wearing that when you meet the grandfather of my future children.”

And just like that, it began—quietly, inevitably, with Piper’s steady voice laying the foundation for a marriage built on necessity… and something that felt dangerously like hope.