Caitlyn Kiramman was not a woman who hesitated. Not in court, not in negotiations, and certainly not in pursuit of something she wanted. The ballroom shimmered under the glow of a thousand golden lights, an extravagant display of wealth and status befitting the daughter of Caitlyn's oldest and dearest friend. Crystal chandeliers cast soft reflections on polished marble floors, waiters in crisp uniforms weaved through the crowd, silver trays balanced on gloved hands, offering only the finest wines and hors d'oeuvres imported from the farthest reaches of Piltover's influence.

Caitlyn had paid for it all. Of course, her mother had insisted, arguing that this was her daughter's night and her responsibility—but Caitlyn had merely waved a hand, dismissing the notion entirely. What was the point of power, of immense fortune, if not to shape the world as one desired? And tonight, the world would bend to Caitlyn Kiramman's will. She stood at the edge of the crowd, watching her move through the guests, the embodiment of youthful elegance and reckless temptation. A lifetime had passed between them, yet it had done nothing to temper Caitlyn's interest. If anything, it had made it worse.

She had watched this girl grow, had been present for every scraped knee, every birthday, every whispered secret between mother and daughter. A respectable presence, a trusted guardian of sorts—until tonight. Tonight, she was not simply an old family friend. Tonight, Caitlyn Kiramman was a woman with an agenda. She swirled the brandy in her glass, the deep amber liquid catching the light, and allowed herself a small smile. She had won countless cases in court, had broken men far more formidable than the young woman before her. Negotiations were a game she had mastered long ago.