Chapter Text
The Manhattan skyline had a way of looking like a painted backdrop from the floor to ceiling windows of their flat.
It was a sprawling, sunlit flat in the heart of Tribeca, a seamless blend of Caitlyn’s refined tastes and Vi’s industrial edges.
Polished hardwood floors were anchored by soft, plush rugs, high end legal volumes lined built in mahogany shelves, while exposed brick walls showcased framed architectural drafts and Vi’s framed sketches.
It was luxury, certainly, funded in large part by Caitlyn’s meteoric rise as one of the most formidable corporate litigators in New York.
But it was also home.
They had been inseparable since their university days.
Back when Vi was pulling all nighters in the studio, covered in graphite and foam core, and Caitlyn was buried under mountains of case law in the law library.
Everyone who knew them saw it coming long before they did.
Now, ten years later, they had built an entire world together.
Caitlyn stood by the kitchen island, a steamed oat milk latte resting beside her open laptop.
Dressed in a tailored silk blouse, her dark hair pinned up, she was every bit the brilliant, razor sharp attorney the city revered.
But as her blue eyes drifted away from her contract draft and toward the hallway, her expression softened into something tender, warm, and entirely unreserved.
Vi emerged from the bedroom, rubbing the back of her neck, her red hair wild and sleep ruffled.
She wore a faded vintage tee and loose sweatpants, barefoot as her heavy steps padded across the hardwood.
"You're up early, Madam," Vi rasped, her morning voice low and rough as she walked straight up to Caitlyn.
Without waiting for an answer, Vi reached out, her calloused hands comfortably finding their place at Caitlyn’s waist.
She pulled her close, resting her chin on Caitlyn’s shoulder with a content sigh.
"I have a morning deposition with the board at nine,"
Caitlyn murmured softly, her fingers reaching up to lightly comb through the untamed hair at the back of Vi's neck.
"And someone has to ensure you actually eat something before you spend twelve hours at the firm."
"I eat," Vi grumbled into her neck, though a lazy smile spread across her face as she pressed a soft kiss to Caitlyn’s collarbone. "Eventually."
"Coffee is not a meal, Violet."
"It's a foundational element of architecture, Cupcake. Look it up."
Caitlyn let out a breathy, affectionate laugh, leaning down to catch Vi’s lips in a slow, familiar kiss.
It was the rhythm of a decade together effortless, deeply rooted, and completely safe.
When Caitlyn pulled back slightly, her thumb brushed over Vi’s cheekbone, her eyes dropping down to Vi’s left hand resting against her waist.
There, catching the cool morning light filtering through the window, sat a simple, stunning platinum band set with a solitary, brilliant sapphire.
They were engaged.
It had happened four months ago on a rainy evening on the rooftop of their building.
No big fanfare, no grand high society spectacle.
Just Vi, on one knee, holding a ring box with trembling, calloused hands, her eyes raw and terrified and filled with so much love it had taken Caitlyn’s breath away.
“Build a life with me, Cait,” Vi had whispered that night. “For real. Forever.”
And Caitlyn had said yes before the sentence was even finished.
Looking at the ring now, Caitlyn felt a familiar, steady warmth blossom in her chest.
They had survived college, career pressures, and the endless friction of their wildly different backgrounds.
They had made it.
They were safe, they were thriving, and in six months, they were going to be married.
Or so Caitlyn believed, as she took another sip of her coffee, completely unaware that the foundation beneath their feet was already beginning to fracture.
The turning point wasn't sudden. It didn't happen with a dramatic betrayal or a single, explosive fight.
It was a slow, agonizing erosion.
Caitlyn’s trajectory at the firm took off at a breakneck speed.
Promoted to senior partner, her caseload doubled, then tripled.
Work wasn't just her career, it was her anchor, her obsession.
14-hour days became the baseline.
It started with missed dinners.
Then came the late night quiet of the flat, where Vi would lie awake at 2 AM, listening to the soft, incessant clicking of Caitlyn’s mechanical keyboard from the home office.
Caitlyn would crawl into bed long after Vi had drifted off, smelling faintly of cold coffee and office air, only to slip out before dawn.
Vi was drowning in her own right. Co-running The Last Piece with Vander meant late nights on construction sites, endless contractor disputes, and drafting revisions until her eyes burned.
When they were both finally home at the same time, the flat felt too large, the silence between them heavy and suffocating.
The soft, unprompted kisses by the kitchen counter disappeared.
The playful banter turned into tired, sharp exchanges over unwashed dishes or forgotten plans.
The physical touch that had once anchored them, the casual brush of a hand, the deep, comforting embraces faded until making love felt like a distant, long forgotten memory.
They were becoming roommates wearing matching engagement rings.
The arguments crept in like a slow poison.
It started small snapped comments over exhaustion before spiraling into bitter fights.
After a particularly brutal argument about Caitlyn missing their anniversary dinner for a corporate merger, Vi grabbed her jacket, slammed the door, and spent three days sleeping on the couch at Vander’s loft.
And then there was Cassandra Kiramman.
"She’s holding you back, Caitlyn,"
Cassandra said crisping over lunch one afternoon, slicing her salad with surgical precision.
"You are on track to become the youngest managing partner in this city's history. Vi is... sweet, but her world is small. She doesn't understand the demands of your caliber. She never will."
"Mother, stop," Caitlyn snapped, her jaw setting into a hard, defensive line. "Vi works just as hard as I do. I won't listen to you disparage my fiancée."
"Fiancée," Cassandra repeated, her voice laced with quiet skepticism. "Look at yourself. You're exhausted. You're stretching yourself thin trying to pull her into a world she clearly resents."
Caitlyn hated it hated the subtle, elitist poison her mother tried to feed her.
She fought back fiercely every time Cassandra brought it up.
But late at night, staring at the empty side of the bed when Vi was sleeping at her family's place, the insidious doubt left a cold stain on Caitlyn's mind.
Not that Vi was holding her back but that maybe, just maybe, Caitlyn was slowly destroying the only person who had ever truly loved her.
Then one day.
The fifth floor of the commercial build was a noisy mesh of exposed steel and concrete dust.
Vi was checking the framing against her blueprints when a sharp SNAP echoed above the roar of the power tools.
A temporary scaffolding plank overloaded with masonry tilted, sending a heavy oak beam plunging straight toward a young apprentice.
"Look out!"
Instinct took over. Vi lunged, grabbing the kid by his vest and shoving him into a doorway out of harm's way.
But she couldn't clear the zone in time.
She threw her left arm up to guard her head just as the timber came crashing down.
The heavy wood hit her forearm with sickening force.
A breathless gasp tore from Vi’s throat as a blinding flash of white heat exploded from her wrist up to her shoulder. Her knees buckled, dropping her into the concrete dust as she clutched her left arm against her chest.
"Vi!" Mylo yelled, sprinting over. He paled, seeing the unnatural angle of her arm. "Holy shit. Don't move—I'm calling an ambulance. And I'm calling Caitlyn."
"Don't... bother her at work," Vi choked out through gritted teeth, cold sweat breaking across her forehead as the blinding pain set in.
"Shut up, Vi," Mylo snapped, already dialing frantically. "You're broken."
The hospital room was sterile, bright, and smelled overwhelmingly of disinfectant.
Vi lay on the narrow gurney, her jaw set tight as the painkillers finally began to dull the throbbing ache in her left forearm.
A minor scaffolding collapse at the site, she’d pushed an apprentice out of the way just in time, taking the brunt of a falling wooden beam herself.
The doctors said it was a clean fracture.
Thank God I'm right-handed.
Vi thought grimly, eyeing the bulky white cast already wrapping her left arm.
Mylo had sprinted into the waiting area the second the ambulance arrived, dialing Caitlyn’s phone on speaker while Vi was being prepped for X-rays.
When Caitlyn had finally answered, her voice was hurried, muffled by the background noise of papers shuffling and typing.
“Mylo? I’m in the middle of preparing a brief—is everything alright?”
Mylo had blurted out that Vi was in the emergency room with a broken arm.
Caitlyn’s breath had hitched, but before Mylo could even finish explaining, Caitlyn’s practical, controlled lawyer brain took over.
“Alright. Let the doctors finish examining her first. Have Vi call me the moment she’s cleared.”
An hour later, after the cast was set and the discharge papers were signed, Vi sat on the edge of the examination table and dialed Caitlyn’s direct line.
It rang twice before connecting.
"Darling, how are you?" Caitlyn’s voice came through the speaker, breathless and laden with concern. "I heard you broke your arm."
"Yeah," Vi grunted, resting her heavy cast on her lap. "Hurt like shi—"
"Violet," Caitlyn gently admonished, her automatic reflex kicking in. She hated when Vi swore over the phone.
Vi managed a weak, exhausted huff. "Sorry. It’s actually pretty bad, babe. Can you come pick me up?"
There was a subtle beat of silence on the other end.
"What about Mylo? I thought he brought you in."
"Yeah, he did, but he left a little bit ago," Vi explained, her voice dropping into a quiet, hopeful rasp. "I told him not to worry and that you’d pick me up."
Caitlyn paused again, the sound of rapid keyboard clicking faintly echoing through the line.
"I see..." Caitlyn murmured, exhaling softly. "Well, let me just hand off this motion to my paralegal and I’ll come straight to get you. This shouldn't take longer than ten minutes, darling."
"M'kay," Vi whispered. "See you soon."
Two hours later.
Vi was still sitting on the plastic chair in the hospital lobby.
The fluorescent lights hummed overhead. The initial wave of pain medication was wearing off, leaving behind a deep, sharp throb in her bone.
She looked down at her lap, her right thumb tracing the edge of the engagement ring on her left hand trapped beneath the bulky plaster cast.
Her phone remained completely silent.
No texts. No calls. No update.
Vi closed her eyes, taking a long, shaky breath through her nose.
The physical pain in her arm was nothing compared to the cold, hollow ache settling in her chest.
Without looking at Caitlyn's contact name, Vi swiped open her phone and dialed a different number.
"Yeah?" Powder answered on the second ring, loud background music blasting through her receiver.
"Pow," Vi said, her voice small, raspy, and breaking slightly. "Can you... come get me?"
Powder didn't ask a single question. She didn't ask why Vi was at the hospital, or where her luxury car driving fiancée was.
Within twenty minutes, Powder’s beat-up hatchback pulled up to the curb outside the ER entrance, hazard lights blinking in the dusk.
Vi climbed into the passenger seat with considerable effort, clutching her cast against her ribs.
"You look like hell," Powder muttered, slamming the car into drive.
Her bright eyes flicked to Vi's face, catching the silent, devastated look in her sister's eyes.
"Take me to Vander's," Vi said quietly, staring out the side window as Manhattan slipped past in a blur of neon lights. "I don't wanna go home tonight."
Powder pulled up to a red light, shifting in her seat to glare at her older sister.
"No way, Vi."
Vi blinked, turning her head. "Pow, please—"
"I'm taking you to your house,” Powder said firmly, her voice carrying a rare, protective edge.
"You're hurt, you're wearing a cast, and you need your actual bed. If Cait's there, she deals with it. If she's not..."
Powder paused, her jaw tightening. "...then you need to see that, too."
Vi had no energy left to fight her.
She simply leaned her head against the cool glass of the car window and closed her eyes, dreading the silent, empty apartment waiting for her.
When Vi reached for her keys outside their Tribeca flat, her phone buzzed with a text from Caitlyn:
“I am so sorry, darling. The case took a sudden, terrible turn and the whole team is in crisis mode. That is why it took me so much longer than I intended. On my way soon.”
Vi didn't bother typing out a full response. With her one good hand, she simply replied:
“At home.”
She walked inside, the luxury flat wrapped in heavy, suffocating silence. She made her way to the kitchen, her left arm braced in a thick plaster cast, completely numb from the heavy hospital painkillers.
Sitting down carefully at the dining table, Vi did her best not to disturb her arm, resting her right elbow on the polished wood and staring blankly into the dark.
The stillness around her brought back everything that had been silently rotting between them for months.
The missed dinners.
The cold, empty space in their bed.
The endless, sharp arguments that always ended with Caitlyn buried in her laptop and Vi sleeping on Vander's couch.
They had stopped touching, stopped talking, stopped being them.
The sudden realization that had been creeping up on Vi for months suddenly solidified into a cold, unbreakable truth:
she was entirely alone in this relationship.
The front door opened quietly, breaking the silence.
"I'm so sorry, darling. The case got the whole team going mad,"
Caitlyn said, slipping off her coat and designer heels, stepping into her navy house slippers.
She walked into the ambient light of the kitchen and stopped, seeing Vi zoning out at the table.
"Who brought you back here, love?" Caitlyn asked softly, walking over to the island to pour herself a glass of water.
"Powder did," Vi said quietly, her voice barely a mumble.
Caitlyn drained her glass before turning back around. "Pardon?"
"I said, Powder did," Vi repeated, her tone turning sharp and angry this time. "Why would you want to know anyway?"
Caitlyn frowned slightly, stepping closer. "Why wouldn't I? Violet, you broke your arm, darling. I was worried sick. I'm just glad you made it back home safe and sound."
"Yeah. No thanks to you," Vi spat out, a bitter edge in her rasp. "Only if you'd been there on time like you promised."
Caitlyn exhaled, her lawyer composure slipping into exasperation. "Don't say it like that. You know how things can go mad at the firm. I had no control over the timeline."
"Yes, Cait. I know," Vi said, her voice dropping, heavy with an overwhelming fatigue. "I know how it goes. And to be honest, it's hit me real hard recently."
Caitlyn paused, setting her glass on the counter. "What do you mean?"
"We barely see each other anymore,"
Vi whispered, her chest tight as her eyes burned. "You're always glued to your work, every single day. I can't even remember the last time we touched each other, Cait. The last time we had sex."
Her voice trembled slightly, the raw pain finally breaking through the numbness.
"I—" Caitlyn started, reaching a hand out, her eyes wide with sudden panic.
"I want to cancel the engagement, Cait," Vi cut in, looking straight into Caitlyn's eyes. "I don't deserve to be treated like an afterthought."
Before Caitlyn could process the words, Vi stood up from the table.
She moved past her, ignoring the throbbing pain in her left side, using her one good arm to gather her work blueprints and a few essential belongings scattered near the desk.
"Violet, please. Let's talk about this first," Caitlyn begged, following close behind her, her voice shaking violently as her pristine world crumbled. "Please, don't do this."
Vi stopped near the entryway, holding her rolled plans against her chest, and turned back to face her.
"What else is there to talk about?" Vi asked softly, a tear finally slipping down her cheek. "Today made it pretty damn clear where I stand. Between me and your job, I think we both know which one actually matters to you."
"You matter to me! You are important to me, Violet!" Caitlyn pleaded, her hands trembling as she reached for Vi's jacket.
Vi took a quiet step back, out of reach.
"I would've believed you if you said that six months ago, Cait," she murmured, looking at the woman she had spent ten years loving. "But I don't think I believe you tonight."
A week later, Vi came back to the flat while Caitlyn was there.
She didn't say much she just methodically packed her clothes, her books, and her drafting tools into cardboard boxes, preparing to move back into her family's house to sort her life out in peace.
And Caitlyn just stood by the living room window, completely frozen, silently watching eight years of their life together leave the apartment, piece by piece.
Until the door clicked shut for good.