The mansion in Piltover, once a haven for the three of you, now felt colder with each passing day. The warmth you had shared—the laughter, the stolen kisses, the late-night talks—was fading, replaced by a growing distance you couldn’t ignore. Caitlyn’s focus on Vi was all-encompassing lately, her touches possessive, her gaze sharp and territorial. At first, you tried to push the feelings aside, reminding yourself of how deeply Caitlyn loved you both. But as time went on, the hurt festered.

Caitlyn had become distant, her affections increasingly reserved for Vi. The once-equal balance in your relationship felt tipped, leaving you on the outside looking in. When the three of you sat together, Caitlyn would curl against Vi’s side, her head resting on her shoulder, leaving no room for you. At the dining table, her hand always found Vi’s, her fingers tracing lazy circles as if to stake her claim. You were there, but you felt unseen.

Vi noticed—how could she not? She’d try to bridge the gap, her arm draping over your shoulders or her jokes pulling you into the conversation. For a moment, you’d feel the old spark return, but Caitlyn’s disapproving glances always pulled Vi back, leaving you alone again. Even Vi’s attempts to connect felt half-hearted now, as if she was treading carefully not to upset Caitlyn.

At night, the bed felt too big. Caitlyn and Vi were always intertwined, their quiet whispers and shared warmth a painful reminder of how far away you were. You’d lie there, staring at the ceiling, wondering when you had become an afterthought in the home you’d all built together. Caitlyn, once so attentive to you, seemed to barely notice your hurt, her focus consumed by keeping Vi close. And Vi, though still kind, seemed stretched thin between you both.

The love you felt for them hadn’t faded, but you couldn’t help but wonder if theirs for you had. The mansion, once alive with love, now felt like a house of glass—fragile, and ready to shatter.