Chapter 1: Agatha
Notes:
Hello there!!! As promised, I'm back with Part II ♟️💜💚
Thank you again for your support on Part I, I hope you will like Part II just as much!
For any new people joining, I THINK it can stand on its own, but I would still recommend reading Part I first. Just in case, here is a summary of it:
Chess prodigy Rio Vidal had spent nearly her entire life in the competitive world of elite chess under the guidance of her eccentric but brilliant mentor, Lilia Calderu. Focused, blunt, and fiercely independent, Rio had no interest in distractions, until she met Agatha Harkness, a charismatic, razor-sharp graphic designer CEO whose son turned out to be one of Rio’s new students at the Calderu Chess Academy.
What began as explosive tension slowly turned magnetic. Despite their differences in lifestyle and personality, Agatha and Rio developed a reluctant fascination with each other. As they grew closer, both women struggled with the implications of their connection. Rio grappled with feelings she had never experienced, while Agatha had to confront what it means to open her carefully controlled life to someone unpredictable and emotionally intense. Meanwhile, Nicky became the quiet thread binding them together, adoring Rio and pulling her further into Agatha’s orbit, until the two of them began a relationship, hesitantly, imperfectly but full of promise.Enjoy 💜💚
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Agatha Harkness was late. Catastrophically, inexcusably, heart-poundingly late.
So late that it made her assistant hesitate at her door every three minutes, hovering with sympathetic eyes and an “I told you so” expression. So late that it made the city outside her office windows look like it was moving in fast-forward while she was stuck in a loop of endless emails, final approvals, and last-minute crises that could all, in her very professional opinion, wait until tomorrow.
But apparently no one at Harkness Designs had gotten that memo.
“Ms. Harkness?” came a timid voice through the door. “The client from Vogue is asking if you’ve had a chance to review the mockups for—”
“Tomorrow!” she snapped, not even looking up from her computer. Her fingers flew over the keyboard, faster then ever. “Everything can wait until tomorrow.”
It was supposed to be simple. One dinner. One evening. A night out with her girlfriend—her girlfriend, a word that still made something warm and ridiculous flutter in her chest—to celebrate their one year of dating. She’d made the reservation herself, even picked the restaurant that Rio had wanted to try for months: a little hole-in-the-wall Italian place in the East Village that allegedly had the best tiramisu in the city. Rio’s weakness.
Agtha had planned to be there at eight sharp. Instead, her clock now read 8:21, and the pit in her stomach grew with each passing second.
Her phone buzzed.
Rio: I’m here
Two words. That was all. No emojis, no hearts, no passive-aggressive punctuation. Which somehow made it worse.
Agatha leaned back in her chair and groaned, pressing a hand to her forehead. She could picture her perfectly: Rio sitting alone at their table, drumming her nails against the wood, a glass of red wine half-finished, her expression a mix of irritation and resignation.
Rio never said much when she was mad. Her silences were eloquent enough to peel paint.
“Goddamn it,” Agatha muttered, saving her file and slamming her laptop shut. “I’m dead. She’s going to kill me.”
As she gathered her things, her coat, her purse, her phone, her sanity, the door to her office burst open without a knock.
“Leaving already?” Jennifer Kale strolled in, holding a stack of papers in one hand and a coffee cup in the other. Her lipstick was immaculate, her smirk sharper than usual. “Before you go, can you just—”
“No.” Agatha didn’t even let her finish. She shoved her chair in, grabbed her bag and slung it over her shoulder. “Absolutely not. Whatever it is, it can wait until tomorrow.”
“You didn’t even—”
“No.”
“But these are just the—”
“Jen.” Agatha turned, finally facing her. Her blue eyes were narrowed and dangerous, though the effect was slightly undermined by the fact that she was clearly frazzled, her blazer half-buttoned and her hair escaping its twist. “I am already late to my anniversary dinner. Do you know what that means?”
Jen’s smirk widened. “That you’re whipped?”
Agatha’s mouth fell open in outrage. “Excuse me?”
“Whipped,” Jen repeated cheerfully, setting the papers on Agatha’s desk anyway. “Utterly, completely, pathetically whipped for your little chess prodigy.”
“I’m not—” Agatha stopped, catching herself, but the heat on her face betrayed her before she could recover. “I am not whipped. Rio is whipped for me.”
Jen raised a brow. “Oh? Is that what you tell yourself when you drop everything at work because she sends you one text?”
“That’s called being punctual.”
Jen laughed, crossing her arms. “Sure, Aggie. Don’t even try it.”
“Don’t call me Aggie,” Agatha hissed, brushing past her. “And get out of my office.”
Jen trailed after her into the hallway, enjoying herself far too much. “You used to be all ‘I’ll never let anyone disrupt my schedule,’ remember that? ‘Relationships are distractions.’ You actually said those words out loud to me.”
“And I was right,” Agatha said, jabbing at the elevator button with unnecessary force.
“Mm-hmm.”
“But then Rio came along and ruined everything,” Jen added helpfully.
“Good night, Jen.”
“Tell Rio I said hi,” Jen called as the elevator doors slid shut. “And maybe don’t check your email during dinner this time!”
Agatha let out a long sigh, resting her head against the mirrored wall as the elevator descended. The numbers ticked down slowly, painfully slowly, like the building was mocking her.
Whipped. The word echoed in her mind. She wanted to scoff, to roll her eyes, to dismiss it entirely. But then she thought of Rio, the way she smiled when she beat her in chess (which was, annoyingly, every single time), the way she claimed the last of the coffee in the morning and left post-it notes shaped like hearts on Agatha’s fridge, the way she made Agatha laugh until she forgot what she was mad about.
So yes. Maybe she was a little whipped.
Because somewhere between their first sparring match in that ridiculous chess academy and their first kiss at the chess Gala, Rio Vidal had managed to rearrange her entire life. Her routines. Her expectations. Her heart.
The elevator doors opened and she stepped into the lobby. Outside, Manhattan was loud and alive, horns blaring, people shouting, the smell of street food mixing with rain on hot pavement. Agatha pushed through the glass doors and out into the chaos. She raised her arm and a yellow cab screeched to a stop at the curb, splashing her ankle in the process.
“Hey!” she barked, waving her hand. “Taxi!”
The driver leaned over to unlock the door, muttering something. Agatha barely noticed. She was already climbing in, her mind half on the restaurant, half on Rio’s face when she’d arrive.
She sank into the backseat, adjusting her bag and exhaling slowly.
“Where to?” the driver asked.
Agatha met his eyes in the rearview mirror. “Osteria Fiorelli. East Village. And step on it.”
The car lurched forward into the stream of traffic, the skyline flashing by in blurs of neon and glass.
Agatha Harkness, the woman who once prided herself on being untouchable, on never losing control, sat back against the seat, heart pounding, praying she could get there fast enough.
Because for the first time in her life, someone was waiting for her, and she cared.
One year.
It didn’t sound like much on paper. But to Agatha, it felt monumental. A year since the day Rio Vidal had walked into her life with that impossible combination of arrogance and vulnerability, knocking over her careful composure like chess pieces in a losing game.
She let her head fall against the seat and exhaled slowly, watching the blur of headlights through the window.
A year of firsts.
Their first date—the first real one—had been a drink that turned into a walk that turned into more drink that turned into kisses in the rain that both of them had desperately wanted. Agatha could still feel the electric shock of Rio’s mouth on hers those first few times, the faint taste of red wine and rain and contentment.
Then the first fight. God, that had been something. Agatha smirked faintly at the memory. It was over something stupid, dinner plans, maybe, or Rio’s habit of ghosting her texts for hours because she got absorbed in a chess stream or a student’s match. But by the end, they had both raised their voices, Rio’s temper flaring and Agatha’s control snapping. They’d stared each other down like opponents at opposite sides of a board: equally proud, equally unyielding.
And yet, when the shouting had burned out, there had been that silence again. The one that said I’m still here. The one that felt like surrender in the best possible way.
Agatha smiled faintly. Rio wasn’t easy. God, no. She was headstrong, stubborn to the point of madness, often self-righteous, sometimes selfish. She liked being right. She hated admitting she was wrong. She could turn any simple conversation into a duel, a challenge or a dare.
But Agatha was no better. She had her own arsenal of flaws: control issues, perfectionism, pride that refused to bend even when it should. They were both sharp edges, and yet somehow, instead of cutting each other to pieces, they’d found a way to fit.
Maybe that was why it worked.
Agatha had spent most of her adult life in relationships that fizzled out because people found her too much. Too commanding, too opinionated, too demanding. But Rio never flinched. She pushed back. She called Agatha out when she needed to be called out, challenged her to do better, to be better. And when she wasn’t driving her insane, she made her laugh. That ridiculous, real laugh Agatha hadn’t known she was capable of anymore.
She watched raindrops chase each other down the cab window and felt her chest swell.
One year in, and she was all in.
For better or for worse.
And there had been both. The better was easy: late mornings tanlgled together in bed, lazy Sundays cooking breakfast while music filled the penthouse, chess boards littering her dining table because Rio refused to let her lose without putting up a fight. The worse had been harder: Rio’s insecurities creeping up in the form of jealousy, Agatha’s instinct to retreat behind sarcasm when she was hurt. They’d clashed and stumbled and learned, again and again. But they’d stayed.
She couldn’t imagine doing life without her now. The thought of not having Rio Vidal’s laughter echoing in her home or her texts lighting up her phone felt... unthinkable.
Agatha chuckled softly to herself. “Whipped,” Jen had said. Maybe she was.
Her mind drifted, inevitably, to Nicky.
Her son had been on board from the beginning. That, more than anything, had stunned her. She’d been prepared for hesitation, maybe even resentment, the protective teenager wary of someone new stepping into his mother’s orbit. But Nicky had adored Rio long before she and Agatha ever became an “us.”
It had started, of course, with chess. Rio was his teacher, his idol. In his eyes, she wasn’t just cool, she was legendary. The first time Agatha had mentioned that she and Rio had been “spending some time together,” Nicky’s reaction had been an explosion of excitement. He’d peppered her with questions: what did they do, what did they talk about, had Rio shown her any of her championship tactics yet?
Agatha had tried to downplay it, but it was no use. He’d seen right through her.
And when, two months in, they decided to tell him properly—with dinner at that cozy Greek place near Union Square—Agatha had been nervous enough to lose her appetite. She’d rehearsed speeches in her head all day. But the moment Rio had gently said, “So, we wanted to tell you something…” Nicky’s face had lit up like a Christmas tree.
“You’re dating?!” he’d blurted, practically bouncing in his seat. “Like, for real?!”
Rio had laughed, slightly bashful for once, and Agatha had just nodded, heart swelling with relief.
“That’s awesome!” Nicky had said, already talking a mile a minute. “Does that mean I can get private lessons now? Like one-on-one? Because I’ve been working on this new opening, and—”
He hadn’t stopped smiling the entire evening. Neither had Rio.
Agatha had sat there, listening to them talk about Sicilian defenses and grandmaster tactics, thinking that maybe, this could really work.
Now, a year later, Nicky still thought Rio walked on water. He called her for help for homework, sent her memes about chess tournaments in Norway, even dragged Agatha to a midnight stream once because “Rio’s doing commentary live, come on, Mama, we can’t miss this!”
It made Agatha’s heart ache sometimes, how easily Rio had become part of their little world.
She looked out the window again. Midtown had faded behind them; they were moving downtown now, the skyline giving way to smaller buildings, more intimate streets. Neon lights flickered over murals and storefronts.
Her phone buzzed once more on her lap. For a second, she feared it was another I’m waiting text. But it wasn’t. It was a photo from Rio.
A close-up of the restaurant table: two glasses of wine, one untouched, and Rio’s hand in the corner of the frame, tapping the stem of her empty glass. The caption simply read I ordered the good bottle. You better hurry.
Agatha smiled, her irritation melting away.
God, that woman. Always dramatic. Always confident. Always driving her absolutely insane, and somehow, she loved her all the more for it.
The cab slowed, the driver leaning on the horn as a group of pedestrians crossed too slowly. The car jerked to a stop in front of Osteria Fiorelli, its headlights slicing through the soft drizzle that had started to fall. Agatha paid the driver, muttered a distracted “thank you,” and stepped out into the rain-scented night.
She checked her watch. 8:46. Forty-six minutes late. Not catastrophic. She could survive this.
Agatha ran a hand through her hair to tame the wind’s damage and straightened her blazer. Then she took a deep breath, squared her shoulders, and walked toward the restaurant. The door swung open easily, and she was greeted by the comforting smells of garlic, butter, and wine.
Her eyes scanned the dimly lit room, moving past couples leaning close over candlelight and groups of friends talking animatedly.
There she is.
Even seated, Rio commmanded the space around her without effort. She wore one of her rare dresses, a deep emerald green that clung to her in all the right places, the color so vivid it made her skin glow warm and her honey-brown eyes look molten in the light. Her dark hair was loose tonight, falling in soft waves over her shoulders, and she was idly tracing her finger along the rim of her wine glass while glancing toward the entrance, that habit Agatha knew meant impatience.
God, she was beautiful.
Agatha felt the corners of her mouth lift. Every time she saw Rio, it still hit her, that little jolt of disbelief that this extraordinary, exasperating woman was hers.
Rio spotted her a moment later. Her expression shifted from mild irritation to something softer, her lips curving into a smile that could have disarmed an army.
Agatha crossed the room quickly. She didn’t even bother to sit down right away. Instead, she came around to Rio’s side of the table and bent slightly, one hand on the back of Rio’s chair, the other brushing lightly against her shoulder.
“Happy anniversary,” she murmured, leaning in to kiss her.
Rio tilted her chin up, meeting her halfway. The kiss tasted faintly of wine and something sweet, probably the tiramisu she’d already ordered and finished, knowing her.
When Agatha pulled back, Rio’s smirk was already there, lazy and smug. “You’re late.”
“Barely,” Agatha countered, circling around to take her seat. “Forty-five minutes is practically on time for me.”
“That’s a generous interpretation of punctuality.”
Agatha shrugged, setting her purse down beside her. “You’re lucky I came straight here instead of going home to change. I had a meeting that went over, and Jen decided it was the perfect time to be insufferable.”
Rio’s grin widened. “Jen’s always insufferable. You just like having someone else to blame when you’re late.”
Agatha gasped. “Excuse me?”
“You heard me.”
“I’m beginning to think you don’t appreciate how hard I work.”
“Oh, I do,” Rio said, her tone teasing. “I just also know that you love being dramatic about it.”
Agatha gave a long-suffering sigh and rested her chin on her hand. “You’re so bad to me.”
“No, I don’t think I am,” Rio said, lifting her water glass and taking a slow sip, “you’re still here, after all.”
Agatha’s lips curved. “Maybe I like a challenge.”
Rio set the glass down, leaning back in her chair. “You must, because dating me is basically a full-contact sport.”
“Oh, I’m well aware,” Agatha said dryly. “You’ve made sure of that.”
They shared a look, part affection, part competition. Banter was their native language. It was how they said I missed you without the words. How they flirted, fought, and made up all at once.
“Anyway,” Rio said, eyes glinting. “I already ordered the wine. You can thank me later.”
Agatha raised an eyebrow. “That depends. What did you pick?”
“The Barolo.”
A smile tugged at Agatha’s lips. “You remembered.”
“Of course I remembered,” Rio said, almost offended. “You spent half of the summer talking about that bottle from Piedmont like it was the Holy Grail.”
“Well,” Agatha conceded, “it is the Holy Grail. Good choice.”
“You’re welcome.”
For a moment, the teasing fell away, replaced by quiet contentment. The candlelight flickered between them, throwing shadows that danced across Rio’s face. Agatha found herself studying her, the faint scar near her lip, the curve of her mouth, the way she always sat like she owned the table.
“Seriously,” Agatha said, her voice lower now. “You look stunning.”
Rio tilted her head, a rare hint of bashfulness passing over her features before she masked it with humor. “You mean this old thing?” She gestured to her dress, playing coy.
“Yes,” Agatha said simply. “That old thing. You know I have a weakness for green on you.”
“Which is exactly why I wore it.”
Agatha laughed. “You planned that?”
“Of course,” Rio said, smiling into her glass. “Can’t let the bossy graphic designer forget she’s dating a strategist.”
Agatha rolled her eyes. “Remind me why I put up with you again?”
“Because you’re hopelessly in love with me.”
“Debatable.”
“Please,” Rio said with a grin. “You’re whipped, Harkness.”
Agatha smirked. “So I’ve been told.”
A waiter appeared beside their table. “Can I get you ladies something to drink before you order?”
Agatha and Rio exchanged a glance, wordless agreement passing between them.
“I’ll have a Negroni,” Agatha said.
“Same.”
The waiter nodded, jotting it down before disappearing toward the bar.
Five minutes later, he returned with their drinks, setting the short, ruby-colored glasses in front of them. The citrus aroma of orange peel and gin mingled in the air as the condensation began to bead against the glass.
“There you go,” he said pleasantly, then handed them their menus. “Are you ready to order, or would you like a few more minutes?”
Agatha glanced across the table at Rio. “You already know what you want, don’t you?”
Rio smirked over the rim of her glass. “I always know what I want.”
Agatha rolled her eyes. “Two minutes, then.”
“Make it one,” Rio said, scanning the menu for show. She had had time to read it all before Agatha arrived, apparently.
They didn’t even need the full minute. When the waiter came back, Agatha ordered the truffle risotto, while Rio went with a seafood pasta. She handed her menu back with a polite smile that had just a hint of flirtation in it, and Agatha watched the poor waiter nearly trip over his own feet retreating from the table.
When he was gone, Agatha raised her glass. “To us.”
Rio mirrored her. “To one year of surviving each other.”
Agatha laughed. “And thriving, thank you very much.”
The glasses clinked gently, and drank, eyes locked over the rims, both smiling like fools.
Agatha set her glass down and leaned forward slightly, elbows on the table. “Can you believe it’s been a year?”
Rio tilted her head, pretending to think. “Honestly, sometimes it feels like ten.”
“Excuse me?”
“I mean that in the most affectionate way,” Rio said quickly, a grin tugging at her lips. “You’re just... a lot.”
Agatha gave her a look that was equal parts offended and amused. “You have some nerve, Vidal.”
Rio’s laughter bubbled up easily. “Come on, you know I’m kidding. Mostly.”
Agathasighed. “I don’t know why I put up with you.”
“Because you love me,” Rio said matter-of-factly.
“Infuriatingly, yes.”
Rio smiled. “I love you too.”
They fell easily into conversation, Agatha teasing Rio about the night she’d tried to cook dinner and set off the fire alarm. Rio countered with the story of Agatha trying to impress her by reading a whole book on chess and ending up asking Rio a hundred questions because she didn’t understand half the words.
“Remember that weekend we went to Montauk?” Agatha said between laughs. “When you insisted we rent that awful little cabin because you wanted something ‘authentic’?”
Rio’s grin faltered just enough to suggest she knew where this was going. “I stand by that decision.”
“There was no heat,” Agatha reminded her. “In March.”
“I lit a fire.”
“In the wrong fireplace,” Agatha said, trying not to laugh. “You nearly smoked us out.”
Rio chuckled, taking another sip of her cocktail. “Okay, fine. Maybe it wasn’t perfect. But you have to admit that sunrise was worth it.”
Agatha’s smile softened. “Yeah,” she said quietly. “It was.”
For a moment, her mind drifted back to the cold air, the smell of salt, the way Rio had stood on the shore with her hair whipping in the wind, smiling like the world belonged to her.
Rio reached across the table, her fingers brushing against Agatha’s. They sat like that for a moment longer, until the music shifted and the moment gave way naturally to easier talk.
“So,” Agatha said, pulling her hand back reluctantly. “How’s the new year at the Academy? Any world domination plans I should know about?”
Rio chuckled, sitting back. “Everything’s good. Lilia’s still Lilia. Still brilliant, eccentric, mothering and impossible not to love.”
Agatha smiled. “You adore her.”
“Of course I do,” Rio said without hesitation. “She really is kind of like my mom, you know. I owe her everything.”
Agatha watched her. There was always something beautiful in the way Rio talked about Lilia Calderu, reverence mixed with affection, gratitude hidden behind pride.
Rio sipped her drink before continuing, “Oh, and there’s a new teacher. She just moved here from Iceland.”
“Iceland?” Agatha’s brows lifted. “That’s quite a move.”
“Yeah. Lilia said she’s good. Really good, apparently.”
Agatha smirked. “How do you feel about that?”
Rio’s expression tightened, just slightly. “About what?”
“About someone else being good.”
Rio blinked. “I’m perfectly fine with it.”
“Mm-hmm. It’s just that I know it’s not easy for you to share the spotlight. Or Lilia.”
Rio narrowed her eyes, pointing a finger across the table. “I haven’t even met her yet. I’ll decide if I like her later.”
Agatha laughed. “You mean you’ll decide if she’s good enough to impress you later.”
Rio’s lips twitched. “You say that like it’s a a bad thing.”
“It’s not,” Agatha admitted. “It’s very you.”
Rio shrugged, feigning indifference. “Well, Lilia seems to like her. If she survives a week without Lilia making her cry, I’ll buy her coffee.”
Agatha grinned. “How generous of you.”
“Thank you,” Rio said, raising her glass in a toast. “Now can we please stop talking about work? It’s our anniversary, not an HR meeting.”
Agatha laughed again. “Fine, fine. What do you propose we talk about, then?”
Rio leaned forward, resting her chin in her hand. “Us. Obviously.”
Agatha felt her heart give that familiar flutter she would never admit out loud. “Us,” she repeated, pretending to consider it. “Hmm. I suppose that’s acceptable.”
“Damn right it is.”
She smiled at Rio, unable to look anywhere else. “You really can’t stand not being the center of attention, can you?”
Rio smirked. “Not when you’re the one giving it.”
That earned her another soft laugh. Somewhere near the bar, a server opened a bottle of wine, the cork popping softly.
Agatha leaned back in her chair, fingers idly tracing the rim of her glass and swirling the orange peel in it. “You know,” she said, “for all your arrogance, you do have a point. Talking about us does sound better.”
Rio’s grin turned slow and satisfied. “Finally, she admits it.”
And as their conversation melted into soft murmurs and smiles, Agatha thought that if every anniversary felt even half as good as this, she could be late forever.
An hour and a half later, Agatha and Rio stepped out of the restaurant. Rio’s hand found Agatha’s automatically, their fingers slotting together like they were made for it. They had walked this way countless times before, shoulder to shoulder, hips brushing, but tonight there was something celebrational in the air.
“So,” Rio said, swinging their joined hands a little, “how about we make one more stop before we go home? A drink somewhere. Something with good music and bad lighting.”
Agatha arched a brow, amused. “You mean somewhere you can pretend to be mysterious while sipping whiskey like a noir heroine?”
Rio’s grin widened, teeth flashing. “Exactly that. You know me too well, Harkness.”
“Tragically,” Agatha said. “But all right. One more drink. Anniversary exception.”
Rio leaned in, pressing a kiss to Agatha’s shoulder through her dark coat. “You’re spoiling me.”
“Always,” Agatha murmured, brushing her thumb over Rio’s hand. She wouldn’t have admitted it out loud, but truthfully, she didn’t want the night to end either.
They walked aimlessly for a while, their pace easy and unhurried. When Rio finally pointed out a small bar tucked between a bookstore and a florist, Agatha followed her without hesitation. The place looked cozy, all warm light and dark wood, with music from hidden speakers.
They slid onto stools at the counter, close enough that their knees brushed. The bartender handed them menus, but neither of them really looked.
“What’ll it be?” he asked.
“Whiskey sour,” Rio said without hesitation. “For the lady…” She glanced at Agatha. “A French 75?”
Agatha smirked. “You really do know me too well.”
Rio preened, clearly pleased with herself. “That’s why you keep me around.”
“That,” Agatha said dryly, “and because you still leave half the bed free. Sometimes.”
Rio laughed. “Please, you love that I’m always cold and steal your warmth.”
“I’m beginning to think you moved in for the sole purpose of body heat theft,” Agatha teased, leaning an elbow against the counter.
That made Rio grin. “You offered, remember?”
“I did.”
It had been three months since Rio had moved into the penthouse: three months of shared mornings, mismatched routines, and quiet discoveries. It hadn’t been part of the plan. When Rio’s lease with Alice had ended, she’d been ready to find her own place, maybe something small, something closer to the Academy. But Agatha had asked her to stay.
She could still remember the look on Rio’s face that day, caught between surprise and fear, like she wasn’t sure if she was ready to merge her world with someone else’s. Agatha had simply said, “We already spend every night together. Why not every morning too?”
Rio had hesitated, of course. That was who she was: cautious when it came to things that mattered, deflecting when she was scared. But in the end, she’d said yes.
Now, months later, Agatha couldn’t imagine walking into her apartment and not hearing the faint clatter of chess pieces or the sound of Rio humming while making coffee. Even Nicky had adjusted faster than expected. He loved Rio’s presence, her chaos, her humor, her occasional swearing when she lost a game against herself.
The bartender returned with their drinks, placing them before them. “Anniversary?” he guessed, eyeing the glint in their eyes.
Rio nodded proudly. “One year.”
“Congratulations,” he said warmly before moving down the counter.
Agatha lifted her glass, her eyes never leaving Rio. “To one year.”
Rio clinked her glass against Agatha’s. “And to all the ones after.”
They drank, never breaking eye contact, and for a moment, time seemed to slow. Around them, the world buzzed and blurred, but in their little corner of the bar, there was only the warmth of knowing you have found the person you didn’t know you needed.
They sat like that for a long moment, fingers grazing over the counter, smiles lingering between sips.
On the other side of the bar, a small crowd had gathered around a table in the bakck corner. It started innocently enough: a few men laughing too loudly, a couple of chessboards spread out, the sharp clicking of pieces slapping against the wood in quick succession. The sound was distinct, rhythmic and instantly recognizable to Rio. Her attention, like a cat catching movement in the dark, snapped toward it.
“Uh oh,” Agatha murmured, following Rio’s gaze. “I know that look. That’s your ‘someone’s playing bad chess’ face.”
Rio’s lips curled into a grin. “They’re playing speed chess.”
“Speed chess,” Agatha repeated, as though it were an exotic disease.
“Yeah, it’s like regular chess but faster” Rio said, eyes already narrowing in focus. “And they’re playing badly.”
She leaned her elbow on the bar, chin resting in her palm, watching the group with the hungry curiosity of a predator spotting a weak prey. There were five of them, all men in their late twenties or early thirties, loud and full of themselves. Their table was littered with empty beer glasses, and the air around them practically dripped with testosterone and misplaced confidence.
“Oh my god,” Rio muttered under her breath, wincing as one of them blundered a rook. “He just—no. No. What is he doing?”
Agatha was already grinning, sipping her drink as she watched Rio spiral. “You’re twitching. You’re actually twitching.”
“I can’t help it,” Rio hissed. “That man just moved his bishop like it’s a pawn. I swear I’m going to--”
“Rio.” Agatha’s tone was patient. “They’re drunk bar guys. Not world champions. Let them have their fun.”
Rio ignored her completely, muttering under her breath. “Fun doesn’t mean you have to desecrate the game of queens.”
Agatha smiled knowingly and took another sip.
Rio straightened up suddenly, eyes sharp. “Listen. Listen to them.”
Agatha tilted her head. Over the hum of the bar, she could hear the men laughing, one of them boasting loudly about how he used to “kill it in college tournaments,” another claiming he could “totally take Magnus Carlsen on a good day.”
“Oh, this is rich,” Agatha said, a smile tugging at her lips. “Don’t you dare—”
“I’m not doing anything,” Rio hissed. “I’m just… observing.”
But then one of the men’s voices carried across the bar. “You see that? That’s called domination, baby!”, and Rio let out a low groan.
“Domination? He’s playing the London System like it’s a guessing game,” she muttered. “God, I can see the blunders from here.”
Agatha bit back a laugh. “Maybe they’d like your commentary.”
“Oh, I’m sure they would.”
And of course, as fate would have it, one of the men must have heard her next remark. Because Rio, unable to resist, had leaned toward Agatha and said a tad too loudly, “If these guys are as good as they think they are, I’m the Queen of England.”
The table went quiet for a beat, and then one of them turned, a smirk already curling his mouth. “What was that, sweetheart?”
Agatha froze mid-sip. Oh no.
Rio, never one to back down, tilted her head. “Just saying,” she said sweetly, “you might want to slow down before you embarrass yourselves further.”
The men laughed, the sound sharp and patronizing. “Oh yeah? You play, sweetheart?”
Agatha could see Rio’s spine straighten, her smile sharpening like a blade. “A little,” she said, her tone casual. “Enough to know you’re making… interesting choices.”
The man barked out a laugh and looked at his friends. “Hear that? Guess we’ve got a critic.” He turned back to Rio, his grin all teeth. “Tell you what, why don’t you come show us how it’s done, huh? We’ll go easy on you. Promise.”
Agatha saw the flicker of anger flash through Rio’s eyes. She put a hand on Rio’s arm immediately, squeezing gently. “Don’t,” she warned under her breath. “They’re idiots. Let it go.”
Rio’s jaw clenched. “They’re insulting me.”
“No,” Agatha countered. “They’re trying to provoke you.”
But the men didn’t stop. “C’mon, sweetheart. Let the little girl play the big boys. You might even learn something.”
That did it.
Agatha saw the shift, the way Rio’s posture changed, her shoulders squaring, the sharp glint in her eyes turning dangerous. This wasn’t about pride anymore. It was about principle.
The men were still laughing, but the edge in their tone was downright cruel now. “Maybe she’s scared,” one of them said, nudging his friend. “It’s okay, we get it. Chess isn’t for everyone.”
Agatha could feel her own irritation rising now. Normally, she was the calm one, the rational one. But watching these smug idiots talk down to Rio, her Rio, who could dismantle them in fifteen moves without breaking a sweat? That stirred something fierce and protective in her chest.
She leaned closer. “You know what, babe?” she murmured. “I changed my mind.”
Rio’s eyes flicked toward her, questioning.
“Go,” Agatha whispered, lips curving into a smirk. “Destroy them.”
That was all Rio needed.
She stood up in one smooth motion, her expression deceptively calm. “All right, gentlemen,” she said, walking over. “Since you’re so eager to teach, I’ll take that lesson now.”
Agatha followed at a leisurely pace, drink in hand. When they reached the table, Rio was already pinning her hair out of her face.
“Well, well,” said the loudest of them. “Didn’t think you’d actually come over.”
Rio smiled. A dangerous, taunting smile that meant someone was about to regret their choices. “Oh, I always finish what I start.”
Agatha pulled a chair from a nearby table and sat down, crossing her legs and sipping her drink. “You boys really don’t know what you’ve signed up for,” she said lightly, her eyes glinting with amusement.
They ignored her, too busy setting up the board.
Rio slid into the seat opposite the main instigator, her hands moving with lazy confidence as she arranged the pieces. She looked up at him, tilting her head. “Speed chess, right?”
“Yeah,” he said smugly. “Let’s see if you can keep up.”
Agatha smiled faintly, leaning back in her chair, ready for the show.
Oh, there would be tears. Male, fragile, beautifully bruised ego tears.
And God, how she loved watching her girlfriend work.
The first few moves were deceptively polite. The man grinned across the board as if he was humoring her. Rio, by contrast, looked almost bored. She rested her chin in her hand, watching the opening play unfold with an air of detached amusement, her fingers flicking the clock button between quick moves with casual precision.
Agatha, perched nearby with her cocktail in hand, could already tell this wasn’t going to last long. Rio’s concentration was inimitable, that predatory calm that came over her whenever a chessboard was set before her. It was the same look Agatha had seen at tournaments, and even on lazy Sundays at home when she and Nicky ganged up against her in two-on-one games (and still lost).
The men around the table leaned in, watching the match like it was entertainment. Their laughter was smug, condescending, and dripped with disbelief that this girl could possibly beat one of them.
But then Rio began attacking.
The change was instantaneous, a blur of movement so fast that even Agatha, who’d watched her play countless times, blinked in disbelief. Her hand shot out, moving her knight, then bishop, then pawn in half the time it took her opponent.
He frowned, shifting uncomfortably. “You sure you wanna play that fast?” he said, forcing a laugh.
Rio just smirked, eyes locked on the board. “I’m sure.”
Twenty seconds later, he’d lost his queen.
The man’s friends started murmuring, glancing at each other as Rio continued dismantling his position piece by piece. He tried to bluff confidence, moving too fast now, his hand shaking slightly.
“Careful,” Rio said mildly. “You’re panicking.”
“I’m fine,” he snapped, slamming his rook forward.
Rio didn’t even look up. “You’re not.”
Another thirty seconds. Another blunder.
Then, checkmate.
The man froze, blinking at the board as though he couldn’t quite believe what had just happened. The whole game had lasted barely three minutes. Rio leaned back in her chair, a grin spreading across her face.
“Good game,” she said sweetly, tapping the clock one last time.
The man’s face reddened. His friends clapped him on the shoulder, teasing.
“Damn, man. She smoked you.”
“Shut up.”
Rio arched an eyebrow, then gestured to the next man. “You’re up?”
The second man shrugged. “Sure. Why not?”
Agatha hid a smile behind her glass. “Oh, honey,” she murmured under her breath, “why not indeed.”
The second game started, and if the first one had been fast, this one was faster. Rio was in her element now. The poor guy barely lasted two minutes before she cornered his king with a merciless efficiency that made Agatha’s heart do strange things.
By the third round, the guys had started taking it seriously. They huddled together, debating strategy, as if consulting one another might help. It didn’t.
One by one, they fell. Each game faster, sharper, more humiliating than the last. The small crowd that had gathered began cheering openly for Rio. Even the bartender leaned over the counter to watch.
By the fourth opponent, Rio was glowing. Her cheeks were flushed, her eyes alive with adrenaline, her lips curved into that cocky, dangerous smile Agatha loved so much.
Agatha, meanwhile, was having a different sort of reaction. She crossed her legs, watching with rapt attention, her pulse quickening each time Rio made a particularly ruthless move. She was so turned on.
When Rio finally delivered the fifth and final checkmate of the night, she didn’t even glance at the board. She just leaned back, arms folded, watching the man across from her gape in disbelief.
“You—” he stammered. “How—?”
Rio shrugged, utterly serene. “You left your back rank wide open. Classic mistake.”
The man groaned and dropped his head into his hands, his friends bursting into laughter around him.
Agatha stood, sauntering closer with an amused smirk, her drink still in hand. “Well,” she said lightly, “that was entertaining.”
One of the men gave a half-laugh, shaking his head. “Yeah, okay, she’s good. Didn’t expect that.”
Agatha tilted her head. “Tell me something, boys. Do you have any idea who you’ve been playing with?”
They exchanged confused looks. “No?”
Agatha’s smile widened, satisfaction dripping from every syllable. “That,” she said, gesturing toward Rio, “is Rio Vidal. International Master. Top-ranked player. The woman who’s probably appeared in half the strategy videos you’ve ever watched.”
The men’s laughter died instantly. Rio, for her part, looked positively delighted. She leaned one elbow on the table, chin propped in her hand, watching them with a catlike grin.
Agatha continued, savoring the moment. “So next time, maybe don’t assume just because your opponent’s a woman, she doesn’t know what she’s doing.”
The silence that followed was delicious.
Rio turned her gaze toward Agatha, something dark and hot flickering in her eyes, a flash of raw attraction. “Couldn’t have said it better myself,” she murmured.
Agatha gave her a look that was all challenge and affection. “I know.”
Rio leaned closer, murmuring just for her. “You like it when I win, huh?”
Agatha’s lips curved into a dangerous little smile. “Oh, darling,” she said softly, eyes glinting, “you have no idea.”
Rio smirked, her gaze burning. “Wanna go home?”
“Desperately.”
But before they could move, one of the men approached again. “Hey,” he said, voice smooth and dripping with misplaced confidence. “That was impressive, sweetheart. Can I buy you a drink?”
Agatha’s eyebrow arched so sharply it could’ve cut glass. She didn’t even need to look at Rio to know Rio was about to explode.
Rio turned slowly. “Did you just call me sweetheart?”
The man chuckled, oblivious to the danger he’d just stepped into. “Yeah,” he said, flashing a grin that probably worked on tipsy tourists. “You’ve got skills. I like that. Let me get you something—”
Rio cut him off with a scoff, head tilting just slightly. “There’s only one person here who gets to call me sweetheart.”
The man blinked, thrown off. “Oh,” he said, his grin faltering. “So, uh… are you—”
He didn’t get to finish. Because Rio was already moving. Agatha barely had time to register the sudden shift before Rio crossed the small distance between them, grabbed her face with both hands and kissed her. Hard.
The kiss was neither polite nor soft. It was all claim and fire and it made Agatha’s knees threaten mutiny and her heartbeat slam against her ribs. Rio’s fingers slid into her hair, keeping her close, deepening the kiss until Agatha forgot the world, forgot the gawking crowd, forgot everything except the taste of Rio and the heat of her body pressed close. When they finally broke apart, the bar was dead silent.
Every man who’d been laughing minutes ago was staring like their brains had short-circuited.
The idiot was frozen mid-sentence, mouth open, eyes wide.
Rio turned back to him slowly, her lips still curved in a smug little smile. “Does that answer your question?”
He blinked, stammered, “Y-yeah, uh… yeah.”
Agatha, still catching her breath, leaned against the table, her lips swollen and her heart racing. “Well,” she said with a smirk, “that’s one way to make it clear.”
Rio glanced back at her, eyes dark and gleaming. “He called me sweetheart,” she said simply, like it explained everything.
Agatha chuckled, her voice husky. “And what, that’s a capital offense?”
“Absolutely,” Rio said. “No one but you.”
Then, inevitably, someone else had to speak. One of the men leaned toward his friend, whispering under his breath. “Okay, I’m just saying… that was really hot.”
Agatha and Rio turned in perfect unison.
The poor man froze as if he’d been caught committing a crime. “Uh—I mean—”
Agatha raised a brow, her tone deceptively sweet. “Really hot, you said?”
He gulped. “I—I just meant—”
Rio folded her arms, tilting her head. “You know,” she said coolly, “for someone who just got humiliated on the board, you’re awfully brave tonight.”
The man’s face went red. “I didn’t--I wasn’t-”
Agatha stepped closer. “Maybe next time,” she said, “you should stick to chess.”
“Or silence,” Rio added helpfully. “You’re not very good at chess, anyway.”
There was a few nervous chuckles from the other men, and the group quickly decided it was time to find a different table, preferably far, far away from the terrifyingly confident couple they’d just underestimated twice in one night.
When they were finally gone, Agatha turned back to Rio. “You know, you’re incredibly hot when you win and when you’re right.”
Rio grinned, stepping closer until they were almost chest to chest again. “I know.”
Agatha hummed, something coiling low in her belly.
Rio brushed a lock of hair from Agatha’s face, her fingers lingering just a little too long. “You know,” she murmured, “I think we should get out of here before I decide to prove it again. In front of everyone.”
Agatha smirked. “Tempting. But if you start that again, we’re getting arrested.”
“Then home it is.”
“Home,” Agatha echoed softly, the word warm on her tongue.
They left the bar hand in hand, the night air cool against their skin, the city humming with late-hour life. Agatha watched Rio out of the corner of her eye as they walked. There was something intoxicating about her confidence, the way she moved through the world like she owned it, like nothing could touch her.
When they reached the curb, Rio raised her hand and hailed a cab. The driver pulled up within seconds, and as Rio opened the door for Agatha who slipped inside.
Rio slid into the cab after her, their thighs pressed together.
Agatha leaned towards her. “Let’s go finish celebrating properly.”
Rio turned her head. “Yes.” Then she lowered her voice so the driver wouldn’t be able to hear her. “Preferably in bed. Naked. With me all over you. Especially since Nicky’s not home tonight.”
Agatha chuckled, already imagining what the rest of the night held. “Can’t wait.”
Rio leaned in, her breath warm against Agatha’s ear. “Prepare yourself.”
Agatha smiled, her pulse quickening again. “I am already really, really ready.”
Notes:
So… I’m going to try to stick to an update every 3–4 days, just like I did for Part I.
In the meantime, if you want more from me, I’m also posting another fic I wrote over the summer but never got around to sharing, I don't really know why (I think I was just shy). If you enjoy ballet or ballet-company drama, it might be for you too! It’s called “Came to Dance” and it’s pretty much a classic rivals-to-lovers / rivals-with-benefits story lol. And the first 3 chapters are already posted.
https://archiveofourown.org/works/74366251/chapters/194117976
Chapter 2: Rio
Chapter Text
The next morning, Rio walked through the heavy oak doors of the Calderu Chess Academy, still slightly groggy despite the strong espresso she’d downed at home before leaving.
She was running a few minutes late: not unusual, not disastrous, but enough for Lilia to tease her about it later. Maybe it was because last night had gone a little later than planned. She still had flashes of it in her mind: Agatha’s laugh, the way the streetlights had painted her hair in gold as they’d stumbled into the penthouse, half-drunk on cocktail and love, the rustle of sheets. The warmth of her body pressed close, the feeling of being home.
It had been perfect.
And now, Rio thought with a faint smile tugging at her lips, she had to shift from being Agatha’s girlfriend to being “Ms. Vidal,” the Academy’s chess prodigy and respected teacher.
As she stepped into the grand hall, she immediately spotted Lilia standing near the welcome desk. But what caught Rio’s eye wasn’t Lilia. It was the woman standing next to her.
She didn’t need to be told who it was.
The woman was tall—taller than Rio by at least a few inches—and stood with statuesque. Her hair was so pale it looked almost white, falling in a perfectly straight curtain past her shoulders. Her skin was porcelain fair, and her eyes, sharp and glacial blue, gave her the air of someone who saw more than she said. Everything about her screamed control, precision, calculation. And she was dressed head to toe in black: black trousers, black turtleneck, black boots. There was nothing soft about her, nothing accidental. Even her stillness was deliberate, as if she were always three moves ahead in every interaction.
Rio slowed.
So this was Hela Odinsdottir. The new teacher.
Lilia spotted her then, her face lighting up with the familiar maternal energy that Rio had come to both adore and occasionally resent. She waved. “Rio! There you are!”
Rio forced her feet to move forward. “Hey, Lilia.”
“Perfect timing,” Lilia said cheerfully, gesturing between them. “Come meet our newest addition. This is Hela Odinsdottir. She’s joining us this semester as a senior instructor. She’s the national chess champion of Iceland.”
“Was,” Hela corrected softly, her voice carrying the faintest lilt of a Scandinavian accent. “I stepped down from competition before moving here.”
“Right, right,” Lilia said, brushing it off with a smile.
Rio nodded politely, her expression neutral. “Welcome to the Academy,” she said.
Up close, Hela was even more striking. Her face looked like it had been carved from marble. She studied Rio with unnerving steadiness, the faintest trace of something that might have been curiosity, or maybe assessment.
For reasons she couldn’t quite explain, Rio’s first thought, absurd and spontaneous, was that Agatha’s eyes were a much prettier shade of blue. Where Hela’s gaze was piercing, Agatha’s was alive: warm, playful sometimes, brimming with unspoken stories. Agatha’s eyes made her want to drown, Hela’s made her want to put up walls.
And then Lilia went on, “And this is Rio Vidal, one of our most accomplished—”
“I know who she is,” Hela interrupted.
Lilia blinked, startled. “Oh?”
“Yes.” Hela’s voice didn’t change, but her gaze never left Rio’s. “Rio Vidal. International Master. One of the very few American woman ever to reach that title. Known for her aggressive middle-game play and unorthodox openings.”
Rio felt the faintest flicker of discomfort at being summed up like a Wikipedia entry.
“That’s me,” she said dryly, extending a hand.
Hela’s lips quirked upward. She took Rio’s hand firmly, and Rio had to fight the urge to pull away immediately. Hela’s handshake was strong and cold. Her fingers lingered just a second too long.
“Pleasure,” Hela said, and for some reason, the words didn’t sound like they were meant as a pleasantry.
Rio forced herself to match her tone. “Likewise.”
But the unease was growing.
She knew it wasn’t jealousy. Rio was too confident in her own skills for that. And it wasn’t intimidation either, though there was something about Hela that felt quietly dominant. It was something else. Something less tangible. It was the way Hela looked at her, as if she were measuring her. Not as a colleague. Not even as competition. As if Rio were a puzzle she’d already half-solved, and she was merely confirming her solution.
“You’ll have to show me one of your classes sometime,” Hela said smoothly, still holding her gaze. “I’ve watched some of your old matches. Your style is… interesting.”
“Interesting,” Rio repeated, eyebrows lifting slightly. “That’s one word for it.”
Hela tilted her head, as though considering whether to elaborate. “Unconventional. Risky. But effective. You play like someone who enjoys the fight more than the win.”
Rio’s lips twitched into a smirk. “Maybe I do.”
“Hmm.”
That was all Hela said, but it lingered in the air in an unfinished sentence that implied she already knew more than she should. Lilia, sensing the tension but not understanding its source, spoke again. “Well, I’m glad you two have met. I think you’ll get along brilliantly. Hela will be assisting with the advanced section, and Rio, I’d like you to show her around, help her settle in.”
Rio nodded automatically, though she wasn’t sure she liked the idea of spending more time with this woman than necessary. “Of course,” she said politely.
Hela’s eyes flickered with amusement, as if she’d caught that flicker of reluctance anyway. Rio shifted her weight, tucking her hands into her pockets to keep from fidgeting. The hall suddenly felt smaller, the air sharper. She didn’t know what it was about this woman that got under her skin so fast, but it did.
Just as Lilia was about to suggest they all go for coffee together, Hela finally turned slightly, her pale hair catching the morning light, and Rio could swear that faint, unreadable smile was still ghosting on her lips. Her glacial eyes flicked briefly toward the staircase before she inclined her head to Lilia and Rio.
“Well,” she said. “I should go find my office now. Unpack, settle in. We can have that coffee later, Lilia.”
“Of course,” Lilia said warmly. “Take your time, dear. We’ll catch up this afternoon.”
Then, without another word, Hela turned and walked down the hall, her presence seeming to chill the air a few degrees as she went.
Rio exhaled once she was out of sight. “Well,” she muttered, crossing her arms. “That was... something.”
Lilia’s lips twitched into an amused smile. “She’s very… composed, isn’t she?”
“You could say that,” Rio said, still staring after her. “Wait—did she just say she was going to her office? Since when do new hires get offices? I’ve been here for years and I don’t have one!”
Lilia laughed. “Oh, don’t you start rewriting history, Rio. I offered you an office when you joined the faculty, remember?”
Rio frowned. “I don’t recall that.”
“That’s because you rolled your eyes at me and said, ‘What do I need an office for? I don’t sit still long enough to use one.’”
Rio groaned. “I don’t sound like that at all. Is that what I said?”
“Word for word,” Lilia said with a grin. “You even made a whole speech about how ‘real chess happens on the floor, not behind a desk.’”
Rio sighed, sulking. “Fine. But still. It’s the principle of the thing.”
“Oh, please, darling,” Lilia nudged her lightly. “Even if you had an office, you’d still spend your days either in my office drinking my coffee or lounging on the classroom floor surrounded by students and chessboards like a cat in a sunbeam.”
Rio tried to glare but failed miserably. “Okay, fine, fair point. I do have a weakness for your office snacks.”
“And my company.”
“Mostly the snacks.”
Lilia swatted her arm affectionately and looped an arm around Rio’s waist as she began steering her toward the staircase. “Come on, you brat. Walk with me. I want to hear everything about your big anniversary dinner last night.”
“Everything?”
“Everything,” Lilia said, eyes twinkling. “Spare no detail.”
“You sure you want everything?” Rio wriggled her eyebrows
Lilia swatted her thigh.
And just like that, the lingering unease from her encounter with Hela meltedaway, replaced by the familiar comfort of teasing Lilia, the closest thing she’d had to a parental figure in a long, long time. All her life, really.
“Well,” Rio began, the corner of her mouth curving upward, “you’ll be very proud to know that Agatha was only forty-five minutes late this time.”
Lilia gasped. “Forty-five! My word, we’re making progress.”
“Right? I almost cried from shock,” Rio said, laughing. “But she looked so good when she walked in I couldn’t even fake being mad. She was only wearing her work clothes, but you know how they should be illegal because they make me want to break several laws? Mostly public indecency?”
Lilia chuckled. “Oh, stop, you’re hopeless.”
“Completely hopeless,” Rio agreed. “Anyway, she looked like a million bucks, and I looked okay too, if I may say so. I actually wore a dress.”
Lilia gasped again. “You wore a dress? Are the planets still aligned?”
“I know, I know. I shocked everyone, myself included. Agatha nearly fainted. But it was worth it, the way she looked at me.” Rio’s grin softened into something more genuine. “We had dinner at that new place in the East Village, the one with the ridiculous chandeliers and overpriced cocktails and Italian food.”
“Oh, I’ve heard good things about it,” Lilia said, settling into her role as audience.
“It was lovely. We ordered way too much food, talked about everything and nothing. She teased me about the new teacher. Said I’d probably hate sharing the spotlight.”
Lilia laughed. “She’s not wrong.”
Rio shot her a glare. “Really, Lilia?”
“I just know you.”
“Well,” Rio said, tossing her hair over her shoulder, “for the record, I’m being very mature about it. I didn’t hiss or bare my teeth or anything.”
Lilia smiled, clearly enjoying every word. “And then?”
“Then,” Rio continued, her grin widening, “after dinner, we went for a drink. Just one, except it wasn’t just one, because there were these guys at the bar playing the worst speed chess I’ve ever seen in my life. I made a few comments—purely educational, of course—and one of them heard me.”
“Oh no.”
“Oh yes,” Rio said, gleeful now. “They started taunting me. You know the type: beer in hand, egos the size of Texas, couldn’t tell a Sicilian Defense from a sandwich.”
Lilia’s shoulders shook with laughter. “You didn’t.”
“Oh, I did,” Rio said proudly. “Agatha tried to hold me back, bless her, but she eventually told me to go ahead and destroy them. Which I did. Obviously. And brutally. I don’t think they’ll ever touch a chessboard again.”
“Of course you did,” Lilia said, still giggling. “How romantic.”
“Wait, it gets better,” Rio said. “One of them—clearly impressed by my talent and my charm—tried to hit on me.”
“No!”
“Yes. Called me ‘sweetheart.’”
Lilia’s jaw dropped. “He didn’t.”
“He did. And I very politely informed him that I was very happily taken.”
Lilia smirked.
“Then I walked over and kissed her right there in front of them. The whole bar went silent. One guy even said it was ‘hot,’ and I think we might’ve traumatized him.”
By the time they reached Lilia’s office, both women were laughing. Lilia unlocked the door and gestured for Rio to sit.
“I adore you two,” she said finally. “You’re like a romantic comedy and a soap opera rolled into one.”
“Thanks, I think,” Rio said, collapsing into one of the chairs.
Lilia perched on the edge of her desk, smiling fondly. “I mean it. You’ve both come such a long way. I remember the first week she showed up: you were impossible to be around. Snappy, distracted, arrogant—”
“I was focused,” Rio interrupted.
“Arrogant,” Lilia repeated, amused. “And now look at you. You’re… happy.”
Rio’s smirk faltered for just a moment. “Yeah,” she said softly. “I am.”
“Agatha’s good for you,” Lilia said gently.
“I know.”
Whatever weird tension she’d felt earlier with Hela was gone now, fading into the background noise of a normal morning. Rio leaned back in her chair, grinning again. “Now, how about that coffee you promised me?”
Lilia laughed, reaching for the pot on her desk. “I didn’t promise you anything, tesoro.”
“No but I asked, which is basically the same thing. And make it strong. I have a feeling I’ll need it today.”
By the time the sun dipped low over the city skyline, the Calderu Chess Academy had emptied of its daytime bustle. Rio was gathering her notes and locking her classroom when her phone buzzed with a text from Agatha saying she was on her way, traffic as usual being an unpredictable mess.
Perfect, Rio thought. That gave her a few minutes to wait for Nicky, forever and always her favorite student and her favorite kid in general, though she’d never say it out loud in front of the others. He was supposed to be finishing his first class with Hela tonight.
The rest of the day had gone fine—no disasters, no real reasons to complain—but the new teacher’s presence had lingered in her thoughts all day like a misplaced puzzle piece. Hela had spent the afternoon mostly in her own classroom, getting to know her group of students. A few had mentioned afterward that she was intense, which, coming from chess kids, said something. But there hadn’t been any conflict, no outright reason for Rio to feel the unease that still twisted in her stomach.
Rio stepped into the lobby and immediately spotted Nicky sitting on one of the benches, his backpack open at his feet, a portable chessboard half set up on his knees as he absentmindedly replayed something from his lesson. He looked up when he saw her, face lighting up instantly.
“Rio!”
“There’s my favorite future grandmaster,” Rio said, walking over and ruffling his hair before dropping onto the bench beside him.
“Hey!” he protested, fluffing his curls back into place. “You always do that.”
“That’s because it’s funny every time,” Rio said with a smirk. “So, tell me, how was your first class with the new teacher?”
Nicky shrugged, making one of those faces he did when he was trying to be diplomatic. “It was… fine.”
“Just fine?” Rio teased. “You sound like you’re reviewing cafeteria food.”
“I mean, she’s good. Like, really good. She showed us this opening I’ve never seen before—some Icelandic thing I can’t pronounce—and it’s actually pretty cool.”
Rio nodded, leaning back against the wall. “So she knows her stuff.”
“Oh yeah. Definitely. But…” He hesitated, fiddling with one of the pawns. “She’s kinda… extreme? Like, she doesn’t smile much. And she doesn’t really… I dunno. Joke around like you do. Your classes are more fun.”
Rio grinned. “Well, obviously. I’m the best teacher here.”
“You just say that because you like hearing it out loud.”
“I do,” Rio said proudly. “Say it again.”
“No way.”
“Come on, one more time.”
He shook his head. “Nope.”
“Ungrateful,” Rio muttered. “I’m going to tell your mom you’re rebelling.”
“You wouldn’t!”
“Oh, I absolutely would.”
Their laughter filled the quiet lobby. Then Rio noticed movement in the corner of her eye in the form of a tall Icelandic woman crossing the lobby with that same measured grace she’d had all morning, her long black coat swishing slightly with every step. She didn’t approach them, didn’t seem to be in any rush to start conversation, but as she reached the doors, she turned briefly and lifted a hand in a small wave.
It wasn’t unfriendly. If anything, it was perfectly polite. But something about it made Rio’s skin prickle anyway. She forced herself to lift her hand in response, giving a short nod. “Goodnight,” she said, her voice casual, maybe a tad too casual.
Hela’s lips curved faintly. “Goodnight, Rio.”
Her accent curled around Rio’s name. Then she pushed through the doors and was gone, disappearing into the cold evening outside.
Rio stared after her for a beat, then exhaled. She didn’t even know why her pulse had ticked tikcedup a notch. There was nothing wrong with that exchange. Nothing at all. Still. Something about that woman felt like standing too close to a cliff edge: thrilling in theory, unsettling in practice.
Nicky was watching her curiously. “You okay?”
“Hmm?” Rio blinked and forced a smile. “Yeah, fine. Just thinking.”
“About what?”
“About how I’m totally going to steal you back from her class,” Rio said, leaning an elbow on her knee. “Clearly, you miss my dazzling teaching style.”
Nicky rolled his eyes. “You wish.”
“Admit it. You like my lessons better.”
“Okay, maybe a little,” he said. “You make fun of me less than the others when I mess up.”
“That’s not true,” Rio replied immediately. “I make fun of everyone equally. If anything, I make fun of you more.”
He laughed again, shaking his head. “Fine, you’re the best teacher. Happy?”
“Ecstatic,” she said smugly, nudging his shoulder.
They sat there for a few more minutes, chatting about his day. The academy was nearly empty now. Then, the click of heels on tile was heard, and Rio turned just in time to see Agatha walking through the front doors. Even after a long day, she looked put together, confident and glowing in a way that made Rio’s heart do an embarrassing little lurch.
Nicky immediately perked up. “Mama!”
Agatha smiled and crossed the lobby, leaning down to press a kiss to the top of his head before her eyes found Rio’s. “Hey, you two,” she said warmly. “How was class?”
“Great,” Nicky said before Rio could answer. “We both survived. And Rio didn’t get into any fights with anyone this time.”
“This time?” Agatha raised an eyebrow at Rio.
Rio feigned innocence. “I’m a model employee.”
Agatha hummed, unconvinced. “Come on, let’s go home. If we leave now, I might let you two chaos monsters talk me into a movie.”
“Sold,” Rio said instantly, springing to her feet. She slung an arm around Nicky’s shoulders as they started walking toward the doors and Agatha’s car. Nicky skipped ahead to open the back door, already chattering about some chess tactic he’d learned, while Rio and Agatha followed a few steps behind.
They slid inside, Nicky still talking while Rio reached for Agatha’s hand, their fingers lacing together for a second.
“…and it’s going to be in two weeks! Ms. Calderu said it’s to help us ‘build competitive stamina,’ whatever that means, but really it’s just a mini-tournament for the younger years. The older students get to watch and help referee, and—guess what—I get to play this year!”
Rio turned in her seat, one arm draped casually over the headrest, grinning. “Finally! My little prodigy is entering the arena.”
Agatha chuckled. “Wait, back up,” she said, eyes flicking to Nicky through the mirror. “What tournament is this?”
“It’s just an internal one,” Rio answered. “Lilia organizes it every year for the second years. It’s supposed to give them a taste of real tournament structure like timers, match pressure, official scorekeeping, that sort of thing. No trophies bigger than their heads, though,” she added, smirking.
“Yet,” Nicky said, grinning at her in the mirror. “She said yet.”
Agatha smiled. “I see. So how does it work, exactly? Is it every student for themselves?”
“Not quite,” Rio said. “This year it’s going to be team-based. Lilia’s idea. Each teacher mentors four students, and all the teams compete against each other for points. It’s like a cross between a tournament and a class project.”
“Oh, that’s clever,” Agatha said. “Adds some teamwork to an otherwise very solitary game.”
“Exactly,” Rio agreed. “There’s going to be a scoreboard and everything. Each round adds points to the teacher’s team total, and at the end, there’s a prize for both the winning team and the best individual player overall.”
Nicky leaned forward, resting his arms on the front seat. “And there’s gonna be medals! Ms. Calderu ordered them last week, I saw the boxes in her office. She said we won’t get them if we lose in less than 25 moves though.”
Rio laughed. “Yeah, that sounds like her. She loves a good motivational threat.”
“So do you know which team you’re in already?” Agatha asked, glancing at Nicky in the mirror.
Nicky shook his head. “Not yet! There’s gonna be a name draw in two weeks. We don’t get to pick our teachers.”
Rio made a face. “I know, no favoritism. Outrageous!”
Nicky giggled. “I really, really hope I’m in your team, Rio.”
“Obviously,” Rio said, grinning. “We’d dominate. I mean, look at us, we’re basically a dream team.”
Agatha gave her a pointed look. “Oh, I’m sure that’s very fair.”
“Fairness is overrated.”
Nicky gasped. “Rio! That’s cheating talk!”
“Cheating adjacent,” Rio corrected. “There’s a difference.”
Agatha laughed under her breath, shaking her head. “You are not going to corrupt my son with your dubious moral compass, thank you very much.”
“Dubious moral compass?” Rio clutched her chest. “You wound me, darling.”
Agatha arched an eyebrow. “You literally just said fairness is overrated.”
“Context matters.”
“Mm-hmm.”
“Besides,” Rio went on, undeterred, “if the universe happens to draw Nicky into my team, who am I to question fate?”
“Uh-huh. Sure. Fate,” Agatha said dryly. “Not at all you lurking over Lilia’s shoulder during the draw, ‘accidentally’ bumping her arm.”
Nicky burst out laughing. “Rio would totally do that!”
“I absolutely would not,” Rio said, feigning offense, though her grin gave her away instantly. “I’d just… encourage fate’s natural order.” Then she turned towards Nicky and hid half of her face to whisper to him. “I totally would.”
Agatha ignored her and laughed. “You mean rig the draw.”
Rio pointed a finger at her. “That’s a harsh word.”
“It’s the right word.”
Nicky ignored the banter and started explaining the finer details of the upcoming event. “So I hope we get to choose our team’s name. I want ours to sound cool. Like Team Firestorm or something.”
Rio snorted. “Firestorm? This isn’t a Marvel movie, kiddo. It’s chess.”
“Yeah, but chess can be dramatic!” Nicky insisted. “You always say so yourself!”
“That’s true,” Rio admitted. “Okay, fine, if we end up on the same team, we’ll think of something that sounds like it belongs on a movie poster. I’m thinking something along the lines of…” she gestured with her hand, “…Rio Vidal the Great’s Team of Mischiefs.”
Agatha smiled, glancing sideways at Rio. “And what happens if he doesn’t end up on your team?”
Rio frowned, pretending to think deeply. “Then… I’m going to have to crush him mercilessly, I suppose.”
Nicky gasped, delighted. “You wouldn’t!”
“Oh, I would. No mercy on the battlefield.”
Agatha stifled a laugh. “You two are ridiculous.”
“No,” Rio said. “We’re adorable.”
“Debatable.”
The stopped at a red light, the city darkening around them.
“Hey, Mama?” Nicky said suddenly.
“Yes, sweetheart?”
“When the tournament happens, will you come watch?”
Agatha smiled through the rearview mirror. “Of course I will. I wouldn’t miss it.”
Nicky grinned. “Good. Because I’m going to win something, I can feel it.”
“That’s the spirit,” Rio said, twisting around in her seat again. “Confidence is half the game.”
“And what’s the other half?” Nicky asked.
Rio winked. “Knowing how to destroy your opponent without mercy.”
Agatha groaned. “You’re unbelievable.”
The light turned green, and they rolled forward again. By the time they turned onto their street, Nicky was still talking about team strategies, about how Yelena was nervous but pretending not to be, about how he hoped Rio would wear her “cool tournament dress” to the tournament because it made her look “official.”
“You mean my ridiculous-slash-way too short dress ??”
“Yeah! It’s like your superhero uniform.”
Agatha shook her head. “Oh no, don’t encourage her.”
“Too late,” Rio said, flashing a grin. “I’m absolutely wearing it now.”
They pulled into the underground parking of their building. Then Nicky unbuckled and grabbed his backpack. “Okay, but if I don’t get into Rio’s team, I’m protesting. Maybe striking.”
“Please don’t,” Agtha said dryly. “You’re not French.”
Rio leaned back in her seat, smiling. “We’ll see what fate has planned, kiddo.”
And with that, the three of them stepped out and towards the elevator. When they reached the penthouse, the first thing that greeted them was warmth, the cozy lived-in warmth that Agatha and Nicky’s place had slowly grown into since Rio had moved in. Once upon a time, it had been a minimalist space: sleek furniture, quiet colors, clean lines. Now, chessboards occupied end tables, a pair of old Converse lived permanently under the hallway console, a green throw blanket had joined the purple one and a soft navy hoodie (Rio’s, obviously) hung from the back of the couch.
As soon as the door clicked shut, Nicky stretched his arms wide. “I’m starving!”
Agatha laughed, unbuttoning her coat. “You’re always starving.”
“Yeah, but this time it’s serious. I think I might die.”
Rio locked the door behind them and tossed her keys into the bowl by the entryway. “What a tragedy. Gone too soon, taken by hunger. We’ll make a statue.”
Nicky rolled his eyes. “You two are so mean to me.”
Agatha grinned. “We’re really not.” She glanced toward the kitchen. “Anyway, I’m too tired to cook tonight. I spent the entire day dealing with incompetent copywriters who apparently don’t know how to use spell-check.”
“Ah yes,” Rio said, walking past her. “The horrors of modern advertising.”
“I’m serious,” Agatha said. “So I nominate you to cook.”
Rio made a wounded noise and threw herself onto the couch, face first. “Denied,” she said into the cushion. She lifted her head just enough to speak. “Let’s just order something. I’ll even pay. Anniversary-afterglow treat.”
“Yeah, right,” Agatha said. “Every time you ‘treat,’ you forget your wallet.”
“That was one time.”
“Three,” Nicky corrected from the hallway, already halfway out of his jacket. “Even I know.”
“Traitor,” Rio muttered before turning back towards her girlfriend. “Well, sorry I’m not the one making the big bucks in this relationship!”
Agatha leaned against the counter, amused. “Okay then, what’s the verdict, team? Chinese? Thai? Indian?”
“Pizza,” Nicky said instantly.
“Boring,” Rio said without lifting her head.
“Classic,” Nicky countered.
Agatha pretended to consider. “Hmm. I could do Thai.”
“Pizza,” Nicky insisted.
“Pad Thai,” Agatha said.
“Pizza!”
“Spring rolls.”
Rio groaned. “Please stop saying food words, you’re making me hungrier.”
Agatha smirked. “Then make a decision, oh great leader.”
Rio turned her head toward them. “Fine. I vote pizza.”
Nicky threw his hands in the air. “Democracy wins!”
“More like fatigue,” Agatha muttered, but she was already pulling her phone from her pocket. “Same order as usual?”
“Half pepperoni, half margherita,” Rio said from the couch.
“And garlic knots,” Nicky added.
“Because you’re a bottomless pit,” Agatha teased as she dialed the pizzeria.
While she placed the order, Rio rolled onto her back, watching her with a lazy smile, listening to the penthouse itself, to the hum of the wind, the faint city noise outside the windows, the quiet shuffle of Nicky in the kitchen rummaging for the very rare and few sodas they kept in the bottom fridge drawer. A year ago, she never would have imagined this kind of domesticity would suit her. But it did. Strangely, it did.
When Agatha hung up, she leaned her hip against the counter. “They said forty minutes.”
“Perfect,” Rio said, sitting up. “That’s enough time to destroy your kid in chess.”
Nicky’s head popped up from behind the kitchen island. “You wish!”
“Big talk,” Rio teased, already getting up and stretching. “Let’s test it.”
Agatha smiled as they moved toward the counter, Nicky dragging his chess set, Rio pulling out a stool with a grin that was both playful and terrifying. The same grin she wore when she was about to annihilate someone across a chessboard.
Agatha slid her laptop onto the counter beside them and opened her project: the latest round of edits for a marketing campaign that had been driving her half insane for a week. But even as she worked, half her attention stayed fixed on the pair beside her.
“Okay,” Rio said, gesturing toward the board. “White or black?”
“White,” Nicky said confidently. “I wanna start.”
“Suit yourself,” Rio said, smirking. “Let’s see what you’ve learned, kiddo.”
Nicky opened with e4, his usual choice. Rio countered instantly.
“So what’s that move called again?” Nicky asked after a few moves.
“The Sicilian Defense,” Rio said. “It’s aggressive, unpredictable, and often misused. Kind of like me.”
Agatha snorted softly without looking up. “At least you’re self-aware.”
“Self-awareness is step one to world domination,” Rio said smoothly, sliding her knight into place. “When you do it the right way.”
Nicky frowned, studying the board. “Okay, so if I move my pawn here…”
Rio raised an eyebrow. “Then I take your bishop and your entire left side collapses.”
Nicky groaned. “How do you see that?”
“Years of obsession,” she said simply. “And a healthy lack of empathy for my opponents.”
Agatha laughed, shaking her head. “Remind me never to play against you again.”
“You say that every time,” Rio teased.
“And I mean it every time.”
Nicky made his move anyway, and within minutes, Rio had him cornered. She wasn’t cruel about it, but she didn’t hold back either. She narrated each move, explained her reasoning and sometimes even paused to make him see what she saw.
“Okay,” Rio said, tapping a piece. “What’s your biggest threat right now?”
Nicky squinted. “Um… your queen?”
“Nope.”
He studied the board again, eyes darting. “Oh… your knight?”
“Bingo,” Rio said, pleased. “Because if I move it here…” She shifted the piece. “That’s check.”
Nicky groaned again, collapsing forward. “You’re too good.”
“True,” Rio said, stretching smugly. “But you’re getting better. You lasted longer this time.”
“Gee, thanks,” he said, rolling his eyes.
Agatha looked up from her laptop. “She’s right, sweetheart. You are getting better. You nearly trapped her bishop earlier.”
“Nearly doesn’t win games, Mama.”
“No, but it’s how you learn,” Rio said, already resetting the pieces. “One more?”
“Sure!” Nicky said instantly, reinvigorated.
As they started again, Agatha leaned her chin on her hand and just… watched. The sight of them together and the natural bond they had built never failed to melt something deep inside. She watched it all: the laughter, the teasing, the way Rio’s tone softened when she explained something, the way Nicky looked at her like she hung the moon.
She loved this life.
When the last crumbs of pizza had been devoured and the boxes stacked haphazardly on the counter, the three of them slumped in varying degrees of contentment and food-induced laziness. The TV hummed quietly in the background, tuned to some late-night talk show none of them were really watching. Nicky was sprawled in an armchair, his head tilted against the cushion, and Rio was stretched along the couch beside Agatha, half draped across her lap, lazily tracing circles on her thigh through the soft fabric of her pajama pants.
Eventually, Nicky sat up, groaning as if getting off the armchair required monumental effort. “Okay, I should go study,” he said reluctantly.
Agatha raised a brow. “Study? Now?”
He nodded, rubbing his eyes. “English test tomorrow. Mrs. Kramer said it’s going to be huge.”
Rio turned her head slightly from Agatha’s lap. “Define ‘huge.’”
“Like, three essay questions huge,” Nicky said. “And vocab. And quotes from Romeo and Juliet. It’s the worst.”
Agatha sighed. “Well, that’s what happens when you play chess before homework.”
“It was educational! Chess makes me smarter.”
“Chess doesn’t read iambic pentameters,” Agatha replied dryly.
Rio chuckled under her breath. “I don’t know, it teaches strategy. He could use that to strategically avoid failing.”
“Not helping,” Agatha said, giving Rio a playful nudge. Then she looked back at her son, a softer expression crossing her face. “Next time, Nicky, homework first. Then chess with Rio. Deal?”
He rolled his eyes in full teenage fashion. “Deal.”
“Good.”
He leaned in to kiss her cheek. “Goodnight, Mama.”
“Goodnight, sweetheart. Don’t stay up too late, please.”
“Promise.”
Then he turned toward Rio. “Night, Rio.”
She grinned up at him. “Night, champ. Don’t let the metaphors bite.”
He snorted before disappearing down the hallway to his room, mumbling something about “stupid Shakespeare.”
Agatha leaned back against the couch. “God, I love him, but he exhausts me sometimes.”
Rio turned her head toward her, still lounging. “He’s a good kid.”
“The best,” Agatha said, smiling softly. “Even if he’s inherited all my stubbornness and none of my patience.”
“I don’t know,” Rio teased. “He’s got a little of both. And a lot of his mother’s charm.”
Agatha rolled her eyes. “Flattery will get you nowhere, Vidal.”
“Noted.”
They stayed there for a few more quiet minutes before Rio shifted, propping herself up on her elbows. “Come on,” she said, her voice soft. “Let’s go to bed. Enjoy an early night.”
Agatha nodded, rubbing a hand over her face. “Agreed. Early night sounds heavenly.”
Together they cleaned up the remnants of their dinner, stacking plates in the sink, tossing napkins into the trash. Rio handled the recycling with the same casual chaos she handled everything, opening the cabinet with her hip, missing the bin the first time, making Agatha laugh when she muttered “close enough.”
Soon after, they padded down the hallway to their bedroom, shedding the day piece by piece. Rio brushed her teeth beside Agatha at the sink, bumping shoulders on purpose until Agatha threatened to foam her with toothpaste.
When they finally slid under the covers, Agatha nestled against Rio’s side, her head resting on her shoulder, her hand idly tracing the lines of Rio’s collarbone through the fabric of her t-shirt.
Rio hummed, pulling her a little closer. “We should invite Lilia for dinner sometime next week,” she murmured. “Or the week after. It’s been a while since we’ve seen her outside the academy.”
Agatha smiled against her skin. “That’s a good idea. She’ll love that. I’ll check my schedule tomorrow and tell you when I’m available.”
Rio’s fingers brushed along Agatha’s arm. “I’ll cook. I owe her a proper meal after all the times she’s fed me.”
Agatha chuckled. “You just want to show off your nonexistent cooking skills.”
“Of course,” Rio said, smirking. “I have to remind her I’m a functional adult sometimes.”
“Barely functional.”
“Rude.”
They fell into a comfortable silence after. It was moments like that made Agatha realize just how deeply Rio had rooted herself into her life. The chaos, the laughter, the little arguments about takeout or bedtime or toothpaste, she wouldn’t trade any of it.
“Dinner with Lilia, then,” Agatha said finally, her voice fading into a yawn. “We’ll make something nice. Maybe ask her to bring dessert.”
Rio’s voice came out soft and teasing. “You just want her lemon tart.”
“Obviously.”
Rio smiled against her hair. “We’ll make it happen.”
Agatha lifted her head just enough to kiss Rio’s jaw, then tucked herself back into the crook of her neck. “You know, I love nights like this.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah,” Agatha said. “No big events, no pressure. Just… us.”
Rio’s lips curved into a slow smile. “You’re getting sentimental, Harkness.”
“Don’t tell anyone,” Agatha mumbled sleepily.
“Your secret’s safe with me.”
Chapter 3: Agatha
Notes:
So guyyys, so many comments on the previous chapter. I have decided to not reply this time, because most of what I could say would be spoiling hihihihi, but omg they made me so happy, please keep them coming they keep me really motivated!!
And I think I heard some of you ask for domestic fluff, so here it is, on a silver platter ♟️💜💚
Chapter Text
Agatha had been staring at her screen for so long that the lines of her design mock-up had begun to blur. She had promised herself she would take an actual lunch break today, step outside, maybe even walk a little, but deadlines had a way of eating promises alive. She was deep in the middle of refining a layout for a new campaign when her stomach betrayed her with a low growl. She glanced at the clock. 12:21 p.m. “Perfect,” she muttered, pushing back from the desk. She was deciding between ordering something quick and finishing one more round of edits when she heard a burst of laughter from the hallway, then the sound of someone talking loudly.
That voice. It took her half a second to recognize it, and less than that for the corners of her mouth to curve upward without her permission.
Before she could stand or call out, the door to her office swung open and there she was, Rio Vidal, force of nature, chaos incarnate and somehow, the love of her life.
Rio entered like she owned the place, carrying a large brown paper bag in one hand. Her hair was pulled back into a loose bun, a few rebellious strands falling over her forehead, and she wore her battered leather jacket over a dark hoodie, the picture of someone who had absolutely no business fitting in among the sleek glass and chrome of a Manhattan design firm and yet somehow did.
Without a word, Rio beelined straight for the grey couch, dropped the paper bag on the low table, and sprawled across the cushions.
Agatha, who had been halfway between amusement and disbelief since the moment Rio opened the door, set her pen down and leaned back in her chair. “And to what,” she asked, “do I owe the pleasure of your company today?”
Rio grinned, head tilted toward her and legs stretched out across the couch. “I wanted to see my girlfriend,” she said in that faux-casual tone that never fooled Agatha. “My muse. My better half. The love of my life. On this fine, fine Friday.”
Agatha arched an eyebrow, unable to suppress a small laugh. “Uh-huh. And the bag?”
“The bag,” Rio said, lifting it with one hand, “contains lunch. For said girlfriend-slash-love-of-my-life. Because I happen to be an extraordinarily considerate partner.”
“Considerate,” Agatha repeated, standing from her desk and making her way around it.
Rio watched, clearly pleased that her surprise visit had worked exactly as intended. Agatha crossed her arms and stopped in front of the couch, looking down at her sprawled partner.
“I see you’ve made yourself at home,” she said, gesturing at the couch—her very nice grey leather couch—which Rio’s old beat-up Chucks were currently resting on. She leaned down, flicking the tip of Rio’s shoe lightly with a manicured finger. “Feet. Off.”
“Aw, come on, babe…”
“Off, Vidal.”
Rio groaned but complied, swinging her legs down and sitting upright. “You’re lucky I’m easily tamed by good manners and pretty women.”
Agatha rolled her eyes and sank down beside her on the couch. “So,” she said, eyeing the paper bag, “what’s in there, apart from flattery?”
Rio started unpacking. “Two of those Greek salads from that place you love on Ninth Avenue. With extra feta cheese. And the good pita chips.” She paused and peered into the bag. “Oh, and I might’ve convinced them to throw in a few of those honey cookies you like.”
Agatha’s face softened. “You went all the way there?”
“Obviously,” Rio said, pulling out the containers. “Only the best for my favorite designer.”
Agatha smirked. “You’re just buttering me up because you want me to fix your laptop again.”
Rio froze mid-motion. “...That’s only partially true.”
“I knew it.”
“In my defense, it’s acting possessed. I tried to download a new chess simulator and now it freezes every time I open my emails.”
“Because you click on everything that says ‘Free update’ or ‘New opening repertoire,’” Agatha said, shaking her head. “I swear, you’re worse than my great aunt Tessa when it comes to phishing scams.”
“I’m just too trusting,” Rio said solemnly.
“Too gullible, more like.”
“Semantics,” Rio said, waving a hand dismissively.
Agatha sighed, unable to hide her fond smile. She watched as Rio unpacked the rest of their impromptu picnic: two paper containers filled with bright tomatoes, cucumbers, grilled chicken, olives, and feta, two small bottles of sparkling water, and a small white paper bag that smelled like cinnamon and honey.
As she set everything out on the low glass table, Agatha couldn’t help thinking how natural this felt. The line between her work life and her personal life had once been sharp and guarded, but Rio had blurred it in the gentlest way.
“You know,” Agatha said, leaning back against the couch as Rio arranged the napkins, “most people would call first before showing up at their partner’s office.”
Rio looked up. “Most people are boring.”
“Or respectful.”
Rio grinned. “You love it.”
“Maybe,” Agatha admitted. “But you’re lucky I wasn’t in a meeting.”
“Then it would’ve been a surprise lunch after your meeting,” Rio said, unfazed. “Either way, you’d get fed. I had a plan B.”
“Of course you did.”
Rio popped open one of the salad containers and handed Agatha a fork. “Come on, before it gets cold.”
Agatha gave her a look. “It’s a salad, Rio. It’s already cold.”
“Then before I eat yours too,” Rio countered, grinning.
“Now that sounds more accurate.”
Agatha took the fork from her girflriend’s hand and happily started digging. Rio really did have a way of turning an ordinary Friday into something that felt a little bit like joy.
Rio was already in the middle of recounting something from work when she stabbed a piece of feta and olive with her fork and held it up. “I’m telling you, babe, she’s weird.”
Agatha looked up from her salad, amused already. “Who’s weird?”
“Hela,” Rio said, chewing as if saying the woman’s name left a bad taste in her mouth. “Hela Oddinsdottir. The new teacher. The tall, Scandinavian ice sculpture with hair so straight it looks like it’s terrified of her. Straight things have always scared me, you know that.”
Agatha laughed, nearly choking on a tomato. “Oh my god, Rio…”
“No, I’m serious!” Rio insisted. “She’s like… I don’t even know. She gives me the creeps.”
Agatha’s lips twitched. “The creeps? You mean, like… she’s rude? Unfriendly?”
“No,” Rio said, gesturing wildly with her fork. “That’s the thing! She’s too polite. Too calm. She’s been here two weeks and she’s just so weird. Yesterday she sat in on one of my classes and didn’t say a word, didn’t move, just sat there in the back row with that weird little half-smile, watching me the whole time like she was studying me under a microscope.”
Agatha chuckled and reached for her water. “Maybe she was just observing your teaching style. You said she’s new, right? Maybe she wanted to learn.”
Rio squinted at her. “No one needs to stare to learn, Agatha. She didn’t blink. I swear. It was like being in a chess version of a horror movie. You know that scene where the main character realizes the creepy doll is alive?”
Agatha laughed so loudly that the sound echoed against her office walls. “Rio, you are so dramatic.”
“I’m not!” Rio said, putting her salad down to gesture more emphatically. “I know when people are weird around me. And this woman, she’s got this… energy.” She made vague, hand-wavy motions in the air. “Like she’s judging everything you do, but silently, with the confidence of someone who’s never been told ‘no’ in her life.”
Agatha leaned back on the couch, still smiling. “You’re jealous.”
Rio froze mid-motion. “Excuse me?”
Agatha bit back another laugh. “Professional jealousy, obviously. You’ve been the queen of that academy for years, and suddenly there’s a new tall, blond, chess champion on the block. I’m just saying.”
Rio gaped at her. “You think I’m jealous? Of her?”
Agatha nodded. “A little.”
“I am not jealous.”
“Uh-huh.”
“I’m serious, Agatha.” Rio crossed her arms, defensive but still pouting just slightly. “She’s not competition. I mean, I haven’t even seen her play yet. She might be good—I’ll give her that—but she’s not me.”
Agatha smirked. “No one is you, love. But that doesn’t mean you’re not territorial about your throne.”
Rio groaned, raking a hand through her hair. “You sound like Lilia. She said the same thing when I told her I didn’t like Hela.”
“Because it’s probably true.”
Rio leaned back against the couch, muttering something under her breath. “I can’t believe my own girlfriend’s taking her side.”
Agatha grinned. “I’m not taking anyone’s side. I just think you might be overreacting. You tend to… how should I put this… inflate situations for dramatic effect.”
Rio threw her a glare. “I don’t inflate, I narrate. There’s a difference.”
“Oh, right, of course. My mistake.”
Rio sighed loudly. “I shouldn’t stay somewhere I’m being disrespected.”
“And yet, here you still are. In my office. Uninvited.”
“Bringing you lunch,” Rio countered, pointing her fork at her.
“True,” Agatha said, reaching over to steal an olive from Rio’s salad. “So tell me more about your new nemesis.”
“She’s not my nemesis,” Rio said quickly. “Yet.”
Agatha snorted.
“I’m serious! There’s something about her. It’s not just the staring. It’s the way she talks, like she’s testing people. Like she’s playing chess all the time, even when she’s not at a board. Every conversation feels like some kind of hidden strategy.”
“Sounds like someone else I know,” Agatha teased, nudging her knee playfully.
Rio pointed at her. “Don’t turn this around on me. I’m not the one who creeps around classrooms silently judging people.”
Agatha laughed again, shaking her head as she returned to her salad. “Fine, fine. I’ll stop teasing you. Maybe she is weird.”
“Thank you.” Rio looked satisfied for a moment, until Agatha added with a smirk “Or maybe she just intimidates you.”
Rio groaned, dropping her fork onto her plate. “She’s not. Ughhhhhh.”
Agatha just laughed.
Rio gave her an exaggerated look of suffering before picking up her fork again. “Anyway,” she said through a mouthful of feta, “I asked Lilia about that dinner next week. She said yes.”
“Oh, good!” Agatha said, instantly brightening. “Wednesday works for her?”
“Yep. She said she’s delighted and she’ll bring her famous lemon tart.”
Agatha’s eyes lit up. “Oh, the one with the toasted meringue on top?”
“The very one,” Rio confirmed, grinning. “She said she’d make it ‘for you,’ but I know it’s because I begged.”
“Of course you did,” Agatha said affectionately. “You’ve been trying to get your hands on that tart since June.”
“Because it’s divine,” Rio said seriously. “It’s like sunshine you can eat.”
Agatha chuckled softly. “Well, now I’m even more excited.”
There was a comfortable pause as they ate until Agatha looked up, chewing slowly before she said, “You know, maybe you should invite Hela too.”
Rio stopped mid-bite, fork hovering in the air. “I’m sorry, what?”
“Invite her to dinner. It could be a good opportunity to get to know her outside of work. Maybe she’s not as strange as she seems.”
Rio looked at her like she’d just suggested they adopt a pet tarantula. Actually no, because Rio would love that. A pet mosquito. “Agatha, no. Absolutely not. I want a nice, normal dinner with you, Nicky, and Lilia. Not with the human embodiment of the Cold War.”
Agatha reached over, brushing a strand of hair from Rio’s forehead. “Wrong country, babe. But come on. Maybe she’s just shy. Or awkward. You could give her a chance.”
Rio looked unconvinced. “She had her chance. She used it to watch me for forty-five minutes straight without blinking.”
“Maybe she’s socially anxious,” Agatha offered with a smirk.
“Maybe she’s plotting my murder.”
Agatha burst out laughing again. “You are ridiculous.”
Rio sighed, sinking deeper into the couch. “Fine. But if she comes and starts doing weird stuff at dinner, that’s on you.”
“Duly noted,” Agatha said, smiling. “So you’ll ask her?”
“I’ll consider asking her,” Rio said with a pained tone. “But only because you’re cute when you think you’re being diplomatic.”
Agatha leaned in and kissed her on the cheek. “You’re a good sport.”
Rio grumbled but couldn’t stop the small smile tugging at her lips. “Yeah, yeah. But if she stops blinking again, I’m switching seats with Nicky.”
Agatha laughed softly. “Putting my son in the line of fire. How maternal of you.”
Rio picked up her fork again, muttering under her breath. “Unbelievable. Me, Rio Vidal, hosting the Ice Queen of Iceland. What has this relationship done to me?”
“Made you better.”
Rio’s grumble turned into a faint chuckle. “Maybe,” she said. “But I still think she’s weird.”
Agatha reached for another piece of feta, hiding her smile. “Of that, I have no doubt.”
Once they were done eating, the remains of their Greek salads pushed aside and Rio picking absent-mindedly at the last bit of honey cookie, Agatha sighed and stretched, glancing toward her computer screen.
“Well, duty calls,” she said, smoothing her pants as she stood. “Some of us have actual work to do.”
Rio leaned back against the couch with a lazy grin. “Some of us have already conquered the chess world and now deserve a break.”
Agatha raised an eyebrow. “Conquered the chess world? You haven’t even conquered cleaning your side of the bedroom.”
“Low blow, Harkness. Very low.”
Agatha chuckled and gathered her laptop. “So, what are you going to do now? Head back to the Academy?”
Rio shook her head. “My first class isn’t until five. I could…” She trailed off. “Stay here.”
Agatha stopped in the middle of tidying up her desk. “Here?”
Rio nodded innocently. “Just for a bit. I promise to be quiet. Like a cat. You won’t even notice I’m here.”
Agatha gave her a long look. “That’s a lie and we both know it.”
Rio grinned, unashamed. “Maybe. But I don’t think you mind.”
Agatha rolled her eyes.
Rio tilted her head, still grinning. “Is that a yes?”
Agatha let out a sigh, as if this were the greatest inconvenience of her day. “Fine. But if you break anything—”
“I’ll replace it,” Rio said quickly.
“With what money?”
“My charming personality.”
“Not legal tender,” Agatha said, moving behind her desk again.
Rio’s grin widened. “Then I guess you’ll have to keep me around to make up for it.”
Agatha couldn’t fight the laugh that escaped her. “You’re ridiculous. Fine, the office is yours. For the afternoon.”
“Excellent,” Rio said, already kicking off her sneakers and curling her legs beneath her on the couch. “I shall make myself at home.”
“Don’t put your feet on the table,” Agatha warned without looking.
“I would never.”
Agatha turned just in time to see her doing exactly that.
“Rio!”
Rio grinned sheepishly and dropped her feet to the floor. “Force of habit. Sorry.”
Agatha shook her head, trying not to laugh, and sat down again at her desk. She was halfway through reopening a design file when she heard Rio’s voice again.
“Hey, Agatha?”
“Mmmh.”
“Can I use your spare tablet?”
Agatha turned in her chair slowly, suspicious. “My tablet?”
Rio nodded, clasping her hands like a child begging for candy. “Just for a bit. I want to draw.”
“You want to draw.”
“Yes,” Rio said brightly. “I’m feeling inspired.”
Agatha raised an eyebrow. “You realize the last time you were ‘feeling inspired,’ you drew a stick figure of me fighting a dragon labeled ‘Deadlines.’”
Rio grinned proudly. “Art imitates life.”
Agatha pinched the bridge of her nose. “You are worse than an iPad kid.”
Rio gasped. “How dare you! I was never an iPad kid.”
Agatha crossed her arms, amused. “Oh really?”
“Really. The group home I grew up in didn’t even have electronics. Not unless you count the ancient desktop computer that only Sister Marianne knew how to use. The rest of us had books and board games. The only phone we had was in the nuns’ office. We used to fight for turns to call our friends from school.”
Agatha’s teasing softened at the edges, her expression gentler. “You’ve mentioned the group home before. You never said much about it.”
Rio shrugged. “There’s not much to say. It wasn’t bad. Just… simple. Quiet. We played a lot of chess. That’s how I got good. I beat everyone in the home, and then I started playing in Central Park, then the Academy with Lilia.”
Agatha rested her chin on her hand, watching her. “And let me guess, you bought your first phone with chess prize money.”
Rio nodded, smiling a little. “Fifteen. Won a regional tournament. Got two hundred bucks and went straight to the electronics store. Bought the cheapest phone they had. It barely worked, but it was mine.”
Agatha smiled. “That’s very you.”
“What, scrappy?”
“Independent,” Agatha corrected softly. “And stubborn.”
Rio grinned. “You say that like it’s a bad thing.”
Agatha laughed. “It’s not. It’s why I love you.”
That earned her a smug smile from Rio, who leaned back with exaggerated satisfaction. “Good answer, Harkness. Very good answer.”
“Mm-hmm,” Agatha murmured, picking up her tablet and stylus and passing them across the desk. “Here. But if you draw anything inappropriate—”
Rio gasped. “Babe! I am an artist, not a weirdo.”
Agatha gave her a skeptical look.
“Fine,” Rio said, smirking. “Mostly an artist.”
Agatha rolled her eyes but couldn’t suppress the fondness tugging at her lips. She watched as Rio settled the tablet on her knees, already doodling something with intense concentration. For all her bravado, Rio looked content, her brow furrowed, her tongue caught between her teeth, utterly absorbed in whatever nonsense she was creating.
Over the past months, Rio had turned her office into her unofficial playground. Agatha had a whole folder on the tablet labeled “Rio’s masterpieces”, a growing collection of clumsy sketches: cartoonish drawings of chessboards, exaggerated self-portraits, doodles of Agatha in superhero poses. None of them were technically good, but each one was a small piece of Rio’s restless energy, her humor, her heart.
And Agatha cherished every one of them.
She smiled to herself and returned to work, the rhythmic clicking of her mouse mixing with the faint scratching of Rio’s stylus.
Minutes passed, quiet and easy. Agatha lost herself in her design, but every time she glanced up, Rio was there, sometimes frowning at her own lines, sometimes grinning to herself as if she’d just made the world’s funniest joke.
At one point, Rio looked up, catching Agatha watching her.
“What?”
“Nothing,” Agatha said, smiling. “You’re cute when you concentrate.”
Rio smirked. “You’re biased.”
“Completely.”
Rio preened, clearly pleased, then bent back over the tablet.
For a while, they worked side by side, each absorbed in their own world, yet perfectly aware of the other’s presence. Rio didn’t always understand Agatha’s work—design and marketing were foreign languages to her—but she liked being there. She liked the smell of Agatha’s coffee, the way her fingers moved fast and precise over the keyboard, the occasional frustrated mutter when something didn’t align perfectly.
And Agatha liked this too, having Rio nearby, filling the sterile office with life. It reminded her that beyond deadlines and campaigns, there was something more waiting for her. Someone who made her laugh and stole her stylus and left terrible doodles in her tablet but somehow made everything better.
When Rio finally lifted the tablet to show her what she’d drawn—an utterly chaotic doodle of the two of them sitting at a desk, surrounded by chess pieces and coffee cups—Agatha burst out laughing.
“Not bad,” she said, still chuckling. “You’re improving.”
Rio beamed proudly. “I told you, I’m a woman of many talents.”
Agatha leaned over to rest on her elbows. “You definitely are.”
Rio grinned, settling back against the couch with her tablet. “Told you you wouldn’t regret letting me stay.”
Agatha smiled at her. “I never do,” she said softly.
Agatha returned to her work content, because Rio was there. Because this was what happiness had come to look like for her: a messy, barefoot chess prodigy doodling on her tablet and filling her quiet, ordered world with laughter.
They stayed in silence for a long while, longer than Agatha had expected, actually. For maybe an hour, there was nothing but the tapping of her keyboard, and the scratch of the stylus as Rio continued to doodle. Agatha was half lost in her design files, tracing color palettes and font sizes, making adjustments, occasionally pausing to sip her coffee or stretch her neck.
It was calm. Peaceful.
Until Rio got bored.
“So, what are you actually working on?”
Agatha didn’t look up. “A campaign for the new eco-bottle line from that start-up I told you about.”
“The one that says their bottles are ‘ocean-positive’?”
“Yes.”
“What does that even mean?”
“Good question.”
Rio hummed thoughtfully. “You think they actually test that by letting them decompose in the ocean?”
Agatha smiled faintly, still focused. “If they do, they’ll definitely need to hire a better PR team after my invoice.”
Rio grinned and kept going. “You know, if you ever need a slogan, I could help. I’m great at slogans.”
“Mm-hmm.”
“Seriously! How about, ‘Hydrate like you mean it’? Or maybe, ‘Nemo likes to breathe clean water!’”
Agatha glanced up, amused. “Are you auditioning for my job?”
Rio smirked. “Maybe. I think I’d be great in marketing. I already sell myself very well.”
“That’s… certainly one way to put it.”
The silence returned for all of ten seconds.
Then—
“Hey, Agatha?”
“Yes, Rio?”
“Do you ever name your fonts?”
“No.”
“You should. They’d feel appreciated.”
Agatha stifled a laugh. “I think Helvetica is doing just fine without me.”
Rio kept going, apparently on a mission to derail her concentration entirely. “Do you think fonts have personalities? Like, Comic Sans is that one guy who tries too hard to be funny and fails, right?”
Agatha smirked. “Yes, and Times New Roman is your high school English teacher.”
“Exactly! And Calibri’s that one coworker who’s too nice but secretly judges everyone.”
“Hey Rio, you know I love you right?”
Rio grinned. “Yeah, you tell me almost every day.”
“I do,” Agatha said flatly, not looking up, “but that love has limits when I’m on a deadline.”
Rio chuckled but didn’t stop. “Fine, fine. I’ll be quiet. Promise.”
Silence lasted maybe thirty seconds.
“Do you think anyone has ever played chess with soup cans?”
“Rio…”
“I mean, like in prison or something? Or, you know, the apocalypse?”
“Go for a walk,” Agatha said, not looking up.
“What?”
“Go. For. A. Walk. Or go bother my team. Or go get coffee. Or literally anything that doesn’t involve asking me existential questions about soup cans.”
“You’re kicking me out?”
“I’m suggesting a productive break,” Agatha corrected.
Rio crossed her arms, pouting. “Unbelievable. I bring you lunch, provide moral support, liven up your sterile corporate environment, and this is how I’m treated?”
Agatha smirked. “Yes. Now go before I put you in the corner.”
Rio grumbled as she stood, slipping her hands into her pockets. “You’ll miss me when I’m gone.”
“I’ll risk it.”
She ambled toward the door with a deliberately heavy sigh. When she stepped outside, she turned to dramatically wave through the glass wall. Agatha didn’t look up right away, but when she finally did, Rio was still there, grinning and wiggling her fingers in farewell.
Agatha shook her head, biting back a smile. Once Rio finally disappeared down the hallway, she exhaled and turned her focus back to work. But then she noticed the old, beat-up Chucks with mismatched laces and a faded doodle of a hand-drawn knight chess piece on the toe box still next to the couch.
“Of course,” Agatha muttered, pinching the bridge of her nose. “Professionalism is officially dead.”
She could practically picture Rio now, padding barefoot around her office floor, probably talking too loudly to her employees, maybe charming them into giving her snacks.
“Barefoot,” Agatha murmured under her breath as she clicked through her slides. “In a graphic design agency. Unbelievable.”
She worked quietly for about forty minutes, finally sinking into a rhythm again. Her fingers flew across the keyboard, adjusting layouts, refining mockups, swapping color schemes. It was peaceful until the door burst open again.
“Guess who’s back!”
Rio’s voice filled the room before Agatha even turned. There she was, holding two steaming coffee cups in a cardboard tray and what looked like half the office’s cookie supply piled on a napkin.
“Please tell me you didn’t steal those,” Agatha said without looking up.
“Borrowed,” Rio corrected cheerfully. “From every team on this floor. Turns out I’m a hit here.”
“Oh no.”
“Oh yes,” Rio said proudly, setting the coffee down on Agatha’s desk. “They love me. I’m like the office mascot now. Everyone knows me as ‘the one who tamed the great Agatha Harkness.’”
Agatha froze mid-keystroke. “They what?”
Rio grinned wickedly. “Yup. That’s my new office legend. ‘The woman who tamed the dragon.’ I think it’s romantic.”
Agatha groaned, covering her face with one hand. “You are banned from my workplace forever.”
“You wouldn’t dare,” Rio said, taking a long sip of her coffee. “They’re already planning to rename the next intern after me.”
“Rio, please.”
Rio just laughed, flopping back onto the couch—still barefoot—and unwrapping her loot. “Look, I brought tribute.”
Agatha finally gave in and turned toward her, trying to look stern but failing. “Cookies?”
“Cookies,” Rio confirmed proudly, holding one out. “Chocolate chip, peanut butter, oatmeal, somebody even had biscotti in their drawer. I took one of everything.”
“You’re a menace.”
Rio winked. “A beloved menace.”
Agatha sighed. “Fine. If you’re going to terrorize my office, at least give me a cookie before you eat them all.”
Rio tossed one at her—a surprisingly accurate throw—and grinned as Agatha caught it.
“See?” she said smugly. “Perfect aim. I’m a natural.”
“At stealing cookies?”
“At everything,” Rio said, mouth full.
Agatha bit into the cookie. “You really are worse than a kid.”
Maybe professionalism could take a tiny break, just this once. Because Rio Vidal, barefoot and smug and eating stolen cookies in her office, made even the most ordinary Friday afternoon feel like a small adventure.
Rio had left hours ago, after more teasing, more cookie theft, and a goodbye kiss that had earned them a few playful whistles from Agatha’s team as Rio disappeared down the hallway towards the elevator.
Now, the sun had long dipped below the Manhattan skyline, the soft orange light replaced by the deep blue of early night. Most of the office had emptied out when Agatha decided she should probably call it a night soon. But, out of habit, she checked her inbox one last time.
One new email.
Subject: Congratulations – Harkness Designs wins the Artemis Review Rebranding Project
For a moment, Agatha just stared at the email header. Her heart gave a small jolt of disbelief. Slowly, she clicked it open.
Dear Ms. Harkness,
We are delighted to inform you that Harkness Designs has been selected for the nationwide rebranding of The Artemis Review, one of our flagship publications focused on art, culture, and history. We were deeply impressed by your presentation, especially your vision for merging classical art themes with modern design sensibilities.
We look forward to beginning the collaboration immediately.
Agatha reread it twice.
Then a smile began spreading across her face, small at first, then blooming fully, until it reached her eyes. She leaned back in her chair and let out a long, quiet laugh of relief and pride.
They’d done it.
Her company had just landed one of the biggest contracts in its history: a rebranding for a magazine that every major design firm in the country had been after. She could already picture the headlines, the visibility, the creative opportunities.
And, of course, the mountain of work that came with it. Because this would be a marathon of deadlines, sleepless nights, meetings with impossible executives, and the pressure of producing something brilliant enough to justify their win.
Agatha didn’t care. She was glowing.
She was still staring at the email when the sound of heels clicking against the tile made her look up. Jen appeared in the doorway, clutching her own phone.
“Oh my God,” Jen said breathlessly, “please tell me you’ve seen it.”
Agatha grinned. “Just did.”
Jen rushed inside. “Agatha, this is huge. Huge. We beat out Richter & Bloom. Richter & Bloom.”
“I know,” Agatha said, the words tasting good in her mouth. “It’s… unreal.”
Jen was practically vibrating. “You understand what this means, right? This is the biggest art-related branding project in the country right now. If this goes well, we’ll be on the shortlist for next year’s GGDEMA.”
Agatha blinked. “You think?”
Jen grinned like a child at Christmas. “Can you imagine us? Winning a Global Graphic Design Excellence and Mastery Award? The real deal. Nobody outside of Europe wins it anymore. But this could change that. Your presentation was flawless, Aggie. That mix of minimalist design with classical tones? Genius.”
“It was a team effort.”
Jen rolled her eyes. “Oh please. You can be humble later. Right now, I’m finding that bottle you keep hidden in the bottom drawer.”
Agatha chuckled. “You mean the ‘only for client wins and near-death deadline escapes’ bottle?”
“Exactly that one.”
Jen crouched behind the desk, rummaging until she pulled out a half-full bottle of aged Scottish Whisky and two tumblers. “See? I know you too well.”
Agatha raised an eyebrow. “You know, I was planning on celebrating this with Rio and Nicky tonight.”
Jen handed her a glass, already pouring. “You can celebrate twice. Once for your family, once for your legacy.”
Agatha accepted the glass. “Fine. Just one drink.”
They clinked glasses. The Whisky was smooth, burning just enough on the way down to remind her she was alive and triumphant.
“To Artemis,” Jen said.
“To sleepless nights,” Agatha countered.
“And to our future GGDEMA.”
After a moment, Jen leaned against the edge of Agatha’s desk, exhaling. “You realize this project is going to be brutal, right? Nationwide rollout, editorial redesign, social rebranding, new color identity, the whole thing.”
“Oh, I realize,” Agatha said with a small smile. “But it’s also the kind of challenge we live for.”
“God, you really are a workaholic.”
“Takes one to know one.”
Jen smirked and raised her glass again before finishing her drink. “You should probably get going. It’s almost nine. I promised Alice dinner. And you’ll need all your energy for the chaos starting Monday.”
Agatha nodded, glancing at the time. She could already imagine Rio’s face when she told her. Nicky would probably jump up and down, demanding pizza to celebrate.
“Yeah,” she said softly. “I should go.”
Jen lingered for a moment, studying her. “You did good, Agatha. Really good.”
Agatha smiled. “Thanks, Jen. You too.”
When Jen finally left, the office fell silent again. Agtha sat for another minute, just soaking it in, the surreal stillness of success. She reread the email one last time, her smile widening again.
The Artemis Review. A full rebrand. Her studio’s name on the masthead of a legendary publication.
It was everything she’d dreamed of when she started her firm. And it had taken years of late nights, client rejections, impossible balancing between motherhood, leadership, and now, love.
She turned off her monitor, packed her bag, and slipped into her coat. When she turned out the light, the reflection of the city glittered in the glass in a thousand little stars against the dark.
As she stepped into the elevator, her phone buzzed. A message from Rio.
Rio: You’re working too late again. I’m making pasta. Hurry home before I eat it all.
Agatha laughed softly.
Agatha: On my way.
“Nicky, if you talk during this scene again, I swear I’m revoking your chess privileges.”
Agatha smiled to herself as she closed the front door quietly behind her and she dropped her keys and bag on the console table. The faint smell of popcorn hung in the air. She loosened her scarf and stepped farther in, the exhaustion of the day fading just a little at the domestic sight before her.
On the couch, Nicky was sprawled sideways, blanket half-sliding to the floor, his eyes glued to the TV. Rio was next to him, legs tucked under her, wearing one of Agatha’s oversized sweaters, looking far too comfortable for someone who’d spent the second half of the afternoon complaining about paperwork at the academy.
Without a word, she stepped right in front of the television.
Both Rio and Nicky groaned loudly in unison.
“Hey!” Nicky protested. “Mama, mooove!”
Rio threw a piece of popcorn in her direction. “Unacceptable behavior, Harkness. You can’t just block the plot twist!”
Agatha just smiled, practically glowing. “I have news.”
Something in her tone caught their attention immediately. Nicky sat up straight. Rio tilted her head, curious.
“News? What kind of news?”
“The best kind,” Agatha said, her grin widening.
She perched on the coffee table, facing them, and took a deep breath. “Harkness Designs won the Artemis Review rebranding project.”
For a second, there was silence. Then Nicky blinked. “Is that… good?”
Rio gasped. “Wait, the art magazine? The one you said was impossible to get?”
Agatha nodded, still smiling. “That’s the one.”
Nicky looked from one woman to the other, confused but sensing the magnitude of it. “So… like, really good?”
Rio turned to him, eyes wide, practically bouncing on the couch. “Nicky, it’s huge. Like career-defining huge. This is the project every big firm in the country wanted, according to you mom.” She turned back to Agatha, her expression softening with awe. “Agatha, that’s incredible.”
Agatha’s chest swelled at the way Rio said it, with pride and warmth, without a hint of surprise.
“I know,” she said softly. “It’s… kind of unbelievable.”
Nicky grinned and threw himself into his mother’s arms. “Congratulations, Mama!”
Agatha hugged him tightly, laughing as he squeezed her around the middle. “Thank you, baby.”
Rio stood and, without hesitation, crossed the room in three strides. She didn’t say a word at first, just grabbed Agatha’s face between her hands and kissed her hard, right there in the middle of the living room.
Agatha squeaked against her mouth in surprise.
Nicky groaned loudly, dragging a pillow over his face. “You guys are so gross.”
Rio laughed against Agatha’s lips. “You’re just jealous.”
“Am not!” came the muffled reply from under the pillow.
Agatha chuckled, resting her forehead against Rio’s. “I’m so proud.”
“You should be,” Rio said, brushing her thumb over Agatha’s cheek. “God knows I am.”
Agatha smiled brightly. “Thank you, my love.”
Nicky sat up again. “So what happens now? Do you, like, become famous or something?”
Agatha laughed. “Not exactly. It just means a lot of work. Big meetings, tighter deadlines, and a ton of stress. But it’s worth it.”
Rio sat back down beside Nicky, tugging Agatha down between them. “Okay, but let’s focus on the important part first: how are we celebrating?”
Agatha arched an eyebrow. “We just celebrated our anniversary two weeks ago.”
Rio shrugged. “So? That was love. This is career glory. Different categories.”
Nicky nodded. “I agree with Rio.”
Agatha looked between the two of them and sighed. “Oh, perfect. A united front.”
Rio smirked. “Exactly. So? Champagne?”
“I’m not opening champagne on a Friday night at ten p.m.,” Agatha said, though her tone was already softening.
“I would argue Friday night is the perfect moment,” Rio grumbled.
“Then cake?” Nicky suggested hopefully.
Rio gasped. “Yes. Cake. I’ll run downstairs to that bakery open till eleven. The triple chocolate one you like.”
Agatha watched as Rio and Nicky started arguing about which kind of cake to get, their banter flowing so naturally it almost made her tear up. There had been a time, not even that long ago, when her nights had been lonely, when success had meant coming home to an empty apartment because it was later than her son’s bedtime at the time, an untouched dinner, and the glow of a laptop screen.
Now, success meant this. Laughter. Noise. Warmth. Family.
“Okay,” she said finally, laughing when Rio was already halfway to the door to get her shoes. “No need, you maniacs. We’ll just order dessert from room service.”
Rio turned around. “You mean, from the hotel across the street?”
“Yes, they deliver,” Agatha said smugly, pulling out her phone. “At least they do for me.”
“God, you’re fancy.”
Nicky leaned into Rio’s side. “Told you my mom’s the coolest.”
Rio looked down at him, smiling. “She really is.” Then she turned back to Agatha, and there was that look again, the mix of admiration and love that always hit Agatha right in the chest.
When the desserts arrived—three individual molten chocolate cakes—they sat cross-legged on the floor, eating directly from the boxes, laughing over the TV still paused mid-scene.
Between bites, Agatha looked up, “I should warn you two. This project is going to mean long hours. Late nights. Maybe a few weekends at the office. It’s a big deal, but it’s going to be rough.”
Rio immediately shook her head. “Don’t even start apologizing. We’ve got you.”
“Totally,” Nicky said through a mouthful of chocolate. “You always help us with our stuff. Now we help you.”
Agatha smiled softly, reaching out to ruffle his hair. “Thank you, sweetheart.”
Rio leaned in and brushed a kiss against Agatha’s temple. “We’ll manage. Nicky will make sure she eats, I make sure she sleeps, and between the two of us, we’ll keep her from collapsing.”
Agatha laughed. “Sounds like a plan.”
When they finally cleaned up and Nicky disappeared to his room, Agatha lingered by the window, watching the city lights. Rio came up behind her, looping her arms around her waist.
“Proud of you,” Rio murmured against her shoulder.
Agatha leaned back into her warmth, closing her eyes. “You always are.”
“Always will be.”
Chapter 4: Nicky
Summary:
(How is it already December, wtf?)
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
On Tuesday, the second-year students of the Calderu Chess Academy gathered in a loose semicircle in front of the grand staircase, sixteen of them in all.
At the top of the staircase stood Lilia Calderu herself, radiant as ever as she surveyed her students. Behind her, four teachers stood in a neat line: the team mentors for the upcoming internal competition. Rio, poised and effortlessly cool, with her hands tucked in her pockets and her brown eyes scanning the students. Hela, tall and imposing in her icy composure, and two others, Mr. Banner, the academy’s veteran coach known for his calm demeanor, and Ms. Williams, a sharp-tongued strategist adored by the students for her humor.
The chatter dimmed when Lilia cleared her throat. “Good afternoon, everyone. As you all know, next week, the Calderu Chess Academy will host its annual friendly competition.” She paused, eyes twinkling. “Though, of course, the word friendly is always used… generously.”
A ripple of laughter went through the students.
“This year,” she continued, “we have sixteen competitors among our second years. All volunteers, all brave enough to put their skills to the test in a team-based tournament. The goal is simple: teamwork, strategy, and growth. It is not just about winning individual games, but about learning to think as one unit.”
Lilia continued, “Each of our four teachers will serve as mentors. Their teams will train together, strategize together and, next week, face each other for the Calderu Cup. The winning team will be honored at our spring showcase, and,” she added with a wink, “the top-performing student across all teams will receive a personal trophy and a private session with the teacher of their choice.
Excitement rippled through the crowd again. Nicky stood among them, shifting on his feet, his heart thudding. He was trying hard not to look directly at Rio, but his eyes kept sneaking back to her. He’d been hoping all week that he’d end up on her team. He’d even joked to his mom that he’d consider it fate if his name was drawn first. Now, as he stood beside Yelena, his best friend, he was silently crossing his fingers behind his back.
Yelena leaned toward him, “You look like you’re trying to summon magic.”
“I’m manifesting,” Nicky whispered back. “For Rio.”
Yelena grinned. “Same. But if I don’t get her, I’m fine with Ms. Williams. She gives candy to her team.”
Nicky chuckled nervously, crossing his fingers tighter.
On the staircase, Lilia reached for a black box that sat on a small podium beside her. Inside were four envelopes, each labeled with the teachers’ names in looping handwriting.
“All right,” she said. “We’ll start with Team Vidal.”
A murmur of anticipation rippled through the students. Rio straightened, crossing her arms, her expression unreadable but her eyes sharp.
Lilia opened the envelope with all the students’ names and withdrew a stack of folded slips of paper, each with a name written neatly in her cursive.
“Four students per team,” Lilia reminded them. “Miss Vidal’s first student will be…”
She unfolded the paper slowly, the dramatic pause making half the kids hold their breath. “...Thomas O’Connell.”
Thomas, a tall boy with freckles and permanently messy hair, let out a relieved whoop. He bumped fists with the classmate next to him and jogged toward the staircase, grinning wide.
Rio smiled faintly as he joined her side. “Don’t make me regret volunteering already, O’Connell.”
“I won’t, Miss!” he promised, standing proudly behind her.
“Good,” Rio said dryly. “That’s what the last one said before blundering a queen on move six.”
Lilia chuckled softly and unfolded the next slip. “Team Vidal’s second student will be… Jordan Kwong.”
A short girl with dark braids and glasses stepped forward with an excited squeal, high-fiving Thomas on her way up.
Rio nodded approvingly. “Solid choice, Lilia,” she said teasingly.
“Luck of the draw, my dear,” Lilia replied. “I didn’t do anything.”
Now, only two spots left for Rio’s team. Nicky’s fingers were starting to hurt from how tightly they were crossed. Yelena gave him a sympathetic glance.
Lilia drew the next name. “Yelena Romanoff.”
Yelena broke into a wide grin.
She turned to Nicky with an apologetic wince but was too excited to feel guilty for long. “Sorry, dude. Manifestation worked for me first.”
“Go,” Nicky said with a small smile, trying to sound upbeat.
Yelena bounded toward the staircase, joining Thomas and Jordan behind Rio. “Hi, Miss Vidal!”
Rio gave her a little salute. “Yelena. Nice. We’ll need your endgame precision.”
“Got it,” Yelena said, grinning proudly.
Now, only one spot remained for Rio’s team. Nicky’s pulse was pounding in his ears. He could almost feel his name in that envelope, like it was waiting to be read.
Lilia reached in again, eyes scanning the final slip of paper.
“And the last member of Team Vidal will be…” She paused, then smiled. “...Ava Torres.”
The crowd clapped as Ava, a quiet, serious girl known for her calm under pressure, walked up to join the team. She nodded politely to Rio, who smiled back.
And just like that, Rio’s team was full.
Nicky’s heart dropped into his stomach. He tried to keep his expression neutral, but disappointment prickled hot behind his eyes. He clapped with the others, forcing a small smile, but it didn’t reach his face.
Yelena turned around halfway up the stairs, mouthing sorry with a wince. He shrugged like it was nothing.
Rio’s gaze swept across the students again and she caught Nicky’s for the briefest second. She smiled gently and mouthed, It’s okay.
Nicky exhaled through his nose, trying not to look as deflated as he felt. He nodded back, barely.
From the top of the staircase, Lilia looked pleased as she gestured toward the assembled group. “Excellent. That’s Team Vidal. I expect great things from all of you.”
Rio stepped forward slightly, her hands in her pockets, projecting confidence. “Don’t worry, we’ll deliver.”
“I have no doubt.”
Then she turned back to the podium, reaching for the envelope again. “Now, let’s move on to the next team, Miss Odinsdottir’s.”
And as the murmur rose again through the lobby, Nicky’s hands fell to his sides, his fingers finally uncrossed. The mention of Hela’s name brought a faint hush to the room. The tall Icelandic woman stood perfectly straight, hands clasped behind her back, eyes fixed somewhere above the students’ heads. Even in a simple black shirt and slacks, she looked like she could be walking into a royal court rather than a kid chess tournament draw.
Lilia reached into the envelope and unfolded the first slip of paper.
“The first member of Team Odinsdottir team will be… Nicholas Harkness.”
Nicky froze.
For half a second, he thought he’d misheard. Then a kid bumped his side and grinned at him. “Dude! That’s you!”
His heart sank. He wanted to be happy—after all, getting to participate was something—but the name on the envelope his name had ended up in was not Rio Vidal.
Still, he straightened his shoulders and walked toward the staircase.
Lilia smiled down at him warmly. “Excellent. Go on, Nicholas.”
He gave her a respectful nod before turning toward Hela. The woman watched him approach. When he stopped in front of her, she extended her hand almost mechanically. Nicky, having been well-raised by his Mama, smiled and shook it. “Nice to join you, Miss Odinsdottir.”
“Likewise,” Hela said in a low voice. “I’ve heard you’re one of the promising ones.”
“Oh, uh… thank you,” Nicky replied, caught a little off guard.
The handshake ended quickly, and he stepped back to stand behind her, just as he’d seen the other students do with Rio. There was no warmth to her but Nicky told himself not to overthink it. She was just a teacher. Probably just strict.
As Lilia began drawing the next name, he turned his head slightly, eyes wandering across the lobby.
“Next, we have… Amari Greene.”
A tall, quiet boy with a buzzcut and a bright smile made his way up the stairs, giving Nicky a friendly nod as he joined him behind Hela. Then came two girls: Sofia, a bubbly student who was more known for talking than concentrating, and Kara, one of the quieter, more strategic players in the year.
When all four were assembled, Hela nodded faintly to them. “We’ll make a strong team,” she said simply. “I expect you all to be ready to work hard.”
Her tone wasn’t harsh, but it wasn’t encouraging either. It had that clipped, precise rhythm that sugggested high standards, and Nicky wasn’t sure if it inspired confidence or dread.
Lilia, of course, was delighted. “Wonderful! That’s Team Odinsdottir!” she announced, clapping her hands together. “I look forward to seeing your strategies.”
The lobby filled again with applause and chatter as the next team was drawn, but Nicky wasn’t really listening anymore. His eyes drifted toward the far end of the staircase where Rio’s team had gathered. Thomas and Jordan were already laughing at something Yelena said, their shoulders shaking as Rio grinned and teased them about it.
He wanted that.
The camaraderie. The comfort. The teacher who made chess feel like play and learning at the same time.
He sighed quietly, running a hand through his hair. Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad. Maybe Hela was just… different. Maybe once he got to know her, she’d warm up. Still, a pang of disappointment sat heavy in his chest.
When the last names were drawn, and the other two teams had joined their mentors, Lilia declared the official start of the competition preparations. The students began breaking off into their new groups, murmuring with excitement about strategy sessions, practice matches, and name ideas for their teams.
A few minutes later, as the crowd began to disperse, Nicky quietly slipped around the edge of the staircase toward where Lilia was gathering her papers and envelopes.
“Miss Calderu?” he asked hesitantly.
Lilia looked up immediately, her kind eyes brightening when she saw him. “Nicholas! You did well today, my boy. I am very happy you decided to join the competition this year.”
“Thank you,” he said softly, shifting from one foot to the other. “Um… can I ask you something?”
“Of course.” She tucked the last of the papers under her arm. “What’s on your mind?”
He hesitated. “It’s about the teams.”
“Ah,” she said, smiling knowingly. “Already thinking strategy?”
“Not exactly.” He swallowed hard. “I was wondering… would it be possible to switch teams?”
Lilia blinked, surprised. “Switch teams?”
“Yeah, um, maybe with someone from Miss Vidal’s team.” His voice was careful, polite, but hopeful. “I mean, Yelena’s my best friend, and I’ve been in Miss Vidal’s class since I joined the academy. I just think I’d… learn better from her. And I know Miss Odinsdottir’s probably a really good teacher, but—”
Lilia raised a hand gently, stopping him before he could stumble over his own words.
“I understand, Nicky,” she said kindly. “I truly do. You and Miss Vidal have built quite the bond and you’ve grown a lot under her guidance. She’s told me so herself.”
Nicky brightened slightly at that, but the hope was short-lived.
“However,” Lilia continued, “the teams have been drawn, and it would be unfair to make changes now. Everyone deserves an equal start. And besides,” her eyes softened, “it will be good for you to learn from different teachers. A different style, a different way of thinking. You’ll grow in ways you might not expect.”
“But…” he tried again, “I really think I’d do better—”
Lilia shook her head gently. “I know it’s disappointing, my dear. But trust me, this will be good for you. You’ll see.”
Nicky pressed his lips together, wanting to argue, but Lilia’s tone carried quiet finality. She rested a comforting hand on his shoulder. “You’re talented, Nicholas. Truly. You’ll shine no matter whose team you’re on.”
Nicky managed a small nod, even though the words didn’t make the disappointment go away.
“Now,” Lilia added, smiling again, “chin up. I want to see your best smile when the teams start practice.”
“Yes, Miss Calderu,” he murmured.
“Good boy.” She gave his shoulder a gentle squeeze and turned toward the staircase again.
Nicky watched her go, his hands buried deep in his pockets, a frown tugging at the corners of his mouth. He knew she meant well. But still.
But as he turned to look across the lobby again, at Rio laughing with her team, he couldn’t help but wish things had gone differently.
He wanted to be standing over there, not here.
He wanted his teacher back.
He wanted Rio.
When he saw Hela and the three other kids start to move towards the hallway, he rushed to follow, not wanting to be late for the very first practice. When they entered the classroom, Hela didn’t waste a second. She turned to them with her arms folded behind her back. “Take out your sets,” she said.
The students obeyed immediately. Chairs scraped, pieces clattered onto boards. Nicky followed suit, settling into a seat near the middle. He looked up, trying to read Hela’s expression. There was nothing there. Not a smile, not even a flicker of emotion.
“Before we begin,” she said, walking between the rows, “I expect discipline. This competition may be labeled as ‘friendly,’ but it is still a test of your ability, your focus, your composure, your capacity to think under pressure. I do not tolerate laziness or excuses. If you are on my team, I expect excellence.”
Nicky’s stomach twitsed a little. Rio would have made a joke right about now, something to break the tension, to make the kids relax. She would’ve smirked and said something like ‘Excellence is expected, but snacks are allowed.’
“Pair up,” Hela continued briskly. “Play a rapid game. I will observe.”
They did as told. Nicky found himself across from the other boy in his team, Amari.
“You start,” Amari said.
Nicky nodded, moving his pawn forward.
Hela paced slowly between the tables, her heels clicking softly on the floor. Every few seconds she stopped behind a player, leaning over to study the board, then murmuring a few sharp words of advice, correction, sometimes just a hum.
“You’ve weakened your center,” she said when she reached Nicky, her voice low. “You push too soon. Why?”
He glanced up at her. “I thought I was trying to control the tempo. That’s how I learned.”
Her eyes flicked to him. “Control is not achieved by impulse. Think first. Always think before you move.”
“Yes, ma’am,” he murmured, cheeks warming. Not what Rio would have said.
She moved on without another word. Nicky clenched his jaw and refocused on the game. He wasn’t going to let this throw him off. He could handle a teacher being strict. He could handle disappointment. He just needed to prove himself, to show that he could be a good player, no matter who he was paired with.
After a few games, Hela called them all to stop. “Good,” she said simply. “Some of you play impulsively. Probably the influence of certain teachers here. Some of you play too timidly. Chess is a balance: attack and defense, confidence and patience. You must learn that. Over the next two weeks, I will make sure you do. Now, take a break, come back in five minutes.”
The kids nodded, though none of them looked particularly excited.
Nicky sighed softly, stood up, heading toward the door.
As he reached the hallway, he saw Rio, on her way to her own class
“Hey, champ,” she said. “Rough day?”
He nodded, trying to act braver than he felt. “A little. I just… really wanted to be on your team.”
Rio’s tone softened. “I know, kiddo. Believe me, I wanted that too. But hey, it’s not the end of the world. You’ll still crush this thing. And don’t think I’m not gonna help you practice at home, okay? You’re still my number one student.”
Nicky’s frown faltered into a shy smile. “Promise?”
“Promise.”
She held out her pinky. He rolled hies eyes, but hooked his pinky with hers anyway.
“Now go back in there and show Hela what you’ve got,” she said with a grin. “Make her regret not smiling more.”
He laughed at that and jogged to catch up with his new teammates back towards the classroom down the hall.
At the end of the class, Nicky gathered his set, notebook and pencil, slipping them into his backpack, trying to look like he wasn’t still thinking about how cold the class had been.
He was clsing his bag when Hela’s voice cut through the background noise.
“Mr. Harkness.”
Nicky froze, his fingers still on the strap. “Yes, ma’am?”
“Stay a moment,” she said simply.
The other students glanced between them. Amari gave Nicky a pitying half-look, then shrugged and left with the others. When the last of them had filed out, Hela walked to the front of the classroom and closed the door with a soft click. She turned back toward him.
Nicky stood near his table, unsure whether to sit or not. Hela tilted her head slightly. “You are… Rio Vidal’s kid, yes?”
The question caught him completely off-guard.
“I—uh—” He blinked, shifting his weight. “Not exactly.”
Her eyebrows lifted faintly. “Not exactly?”
He swallowed. How was he supposed to explain this? It wasn’t a simple yes or no question.
“I mean, she’s… she’s my mom’s girlfriend,” he said finally, words stumbling out. “They live together. We live together. So she’s… around. A lot.”
Hela’s expression didn’t change. “So she helps raise you.”
“Yeah, kind of,” he said, scratching the back of his neck. “She helps me with homework, takes me to her tournaments sometimes. We hang out.”
Hela’s gaze stayed on him, unreadable. “And you call her what?”
He hesitated. No one had ever asked him that directly before. “Just Rio,” he said quietly.
“I see.”
And then, almost before he realized what he was saying, the truth tumbled out of him. “But… yeah,” he added. “I guess I am Rio’s kid.”
The words surprised even him, how natural they felt once he said them. Because it was true, in a way. She might not be his mom, not officially, not on paper, but she was his person. One of them. The one who came to his school events, who made him hot chocolate when he was stressed before an exam, who gave him that look of fierce pride whenever he won a match. She teased him, scolded him, encouraged him. Sometimes it really did feel like having two moms, one who designed whole worlds with her art, and one who built strategies out of sixty-four squares.
So yes, he decided, maybe he was Rio’s kid.
When he looked back at Hela, he almost regretted answering that way. She was staring at him, eyes narrowed just a fraction, her mouth a thin line.
Then she nodded once, curtly. “Very well.”
And that was it. No smile, no comment. Just that quiet hum again, and she turned toward her desk, gathering a few folders into a neat pile. “I suppose I will see you at dinner tomorrow, then.”
Nicky blinked. “Dinner?”
“Yes. Miss Vidal invited me and Miss Calderu.” Her tone was so casual, so matter-of-fact, that it took him a second to process the words.
Rio invited her over?
He frowned slightly, surprised. That didn’t sound like Rio at all. She wasn’t the formal dinner-hosting type, especially not for someone she barely liked. Nicky had heard her complain more than once about Hela’s “frosty energy.”
But he just nodded politely. “Oh. Okay.”
“Good evening, Mr. Harkness.”
“Good evening, Ms. Odinsdottir,” he replied automatically, hoisting his backpack higher on his shoulder and leaving the classroom.
The academy was mostly quiet now. Most of the kids had already gone home or were waiting for rides in the lobby. He started walking that way, and as he rounded the corner, he spotted Yelena sitting on one of the benches, backpack open, half-eaten granola bar in hand.
“Hey!” she said, hopping up. “How was your first team class?”
He hesitated, forcing a smile. “It was… fine.”
“Fine?” she echoed, raising an eyebrow. “You look like you just got back from a dentist appointment.”
That made him laugh a little. “Yeah, well, she’s… intense.” Then, trying not to sound too bitter, he added, “So, how was Rio’s team?”
Yelena’s grin widened immediately. “Oh my god, it was awesome. She let us pick our team name—we’re the Queenslayers—and we’re designing logos tomorrow, because apparently she knows how to do that now.” Nicky snorted at that. There was no wonder who even taught Rio how to design logos. Yelena continued. “She even told us we could bring snacks for practice.”
Nicky’s smile faltered slightly, though he tried to hide it. “That’s… cool.”
“She’s seriously the best,” Yelena went on, unaware of his sinking mood. “She’s funny and strict at the same time, you know?”
Nicky nodded, but his stomach twisted. He wanted to be happy for her but it was hard not to feel that pang of jealousy. He could picture it so easily: Yelena laughing with Rio, getting advice, practicing openings. All the things he was supposed to do with her.
“Yeah I know, I live with her, remember?”
“Anyway,” Yelena said, oblivious to his snappy tone, “wanna grab another snack before heading out?”
He shook his head. “Nah, I should go. Rio will be done too soon.”
“Okay, see you next time, then!” she said cheerfully before jogging off toward the vending machines.
Nicky watched her go, then sank onto the bench she’d left behind. He set his backpack beside him and stared at the floor for a long moment, until Rio came out, and they made their way towards the subway station, his mama still at work.
On the subway platform, Nicky stood beside Rio, hands deep in the pockets of his hoodie, staring at his sneakers. He was unusually quiet, which Rio noticed immediately. Normally, when they left the academy together, he’d be talking a mile a minute, about class, about his friends, about new openings he wanted to test against her. But today, he just shuffled his feet, shoulders a little drooped.
“Okay, kid. What’s up?”
“Nothing,” he mumbled, which of course meant everything.
“Uh-huh,” Rio said dryly. “You’ve said exactly three words since we left the building, and one of them was ‘nothing.’ That’s suspicious behavior.”
Nicky cracked a tiny smile, but it faded fast. The next train whooshed into the station. They stepped on together, finding a spot near the doors. Rio grabbed one of the poles, balancing easily as the train lurched forward. Nicky sat, backpack in his lap, still quiet.
She frowned, leaning down a little to catch his eye. “Okay, spill. Did Hela bite you or something?”
That made him laugh, short and sharp. “No.”
“She gave you detention?”
“No. And it’s a chess school, you don’t give detentions.”
“Then what? You look like someone canceled your birthday.”
Nicky hesitated, eyes flicking toward the floor. He fiddled with the strap of his backpack before finally blurting, “It’s just… I didn’t get picked for your team.”
Rio blinked. “Ah. Still on that I see.”
“I know it’s stupid. I just really wanted to be on your team. And then Lilia said no switching, and Yelena got picked for yours, and she won’t stop talking about how cool it is…” He trailed off, cheeks coloring with embarrassment. “Sorry. It’s dumb.”
Rio’s expression softened instantly. “Hey, that’s not dumb.”
“It kind of is,” he muttered.
“It’s not,” she said firmly. “You wanted to work with me, that’s all. That’s actually pretty sweet.”
He shrugged, still sulking a little.
Rio nudged his knee with hers. “You’re still my favorite student, Nicky.”
He looked up at her with the smallest flicker of a smile. “You say that to everyone.”
“I really don’t,” she said. “You’re the only one who listens when I talk about pawn structures for an hour straight before breakfast. Even Agatha tells me to shut up.”
That earned a soft laugh from him, and she grinned, satisfied. The subway rattled as it sped through the tunnel, fluorescent lights flickering.
“Besides,” Rio added, “you’re going to crush it, no matter what team you’re on. Hela’s… different, but she’s not a bad teacher. You might even learn something new.”
At the mention of Hela’s name, Nicky looked up again, suddenly remembering. “Speaking of her… is it true she’s coming to dinner tomorrow?”
Rio groaned immediately, throwing her head back. “Ugh. Yes.”
Nicky blinked at the dramatic reaction. “So that is true.”
“Unfortunately.”
“Why unfortunately? You just said she was okay.”
Rio scoffed. “That woman gives me the creeps. She’s like…” She paused, looking for the right word. “Like an ice statue that talks.”
Nicky giggled. “She’s just serious.”
“She’s weird,” Rio countered. “She sat in on my class the other day, didn’t say a word, didn’t blink, didn’t move, just watched me. Like she was waiting for me to mess up or something.”
“That does sound weird,” Nicky admitted.
“Thank you!” Rio said, raising a hand in triumph. “Finally, someone agrees. But noooo, your mom thinks I’m being dramatic.”
Nicky laughed, shaking his head. “So, why is she coming over then?”
Rio sighed, leaning back against the subway door. “Because your mother has this adorable belief that dinner fixes everything. She thinks if we all sit around eating Lilia’s lemon tart, Hela and I will suddenly braid each other’s hair and become best friends.”
Nicky snorted. “You braiding her hair? That’s… that’s actually hilarious.”
“I know, right?” Rio said, smirking. “I’d rather braid Lilia’s cat’s tail.”
“She doesn’t have a cat.”
“Exactly.”
Nicky laughed again, properly this time, and the tension that had been clinging to his shoulders started to fade. He leaned into Rio’s side without really thinking about it. Rio froze for half a second, startled, it wasn’t often he got clingy these days. He was fourteen now, growing fast, half his conversations punctuated with eye rolls and sarcastic quips. But now, with his head resting lightly against her arm, he just looked tired and disappointed in a soft, boyish way that made him look a little younger.
She didn’t say anything. She just let him stay there, throwing a arm around his shoulders. “You’re growing too fast, you know that?”
He groaned. “Don’t start, you sound like Mama.”
“What? I’m serious. You’re almost taller than me.”
“Not even close.”
“I dunno, give it six months.”
He smiled, still leaning against her.
The subway slowed for the next station, the brakes squealing. A few passengers got off, others came in. Rio adjusted her stance, holding onto the pole with one hand, keeping her other loosely around Nicky’s shoulder as the train started again.
“Mama’s working late again?” he asked.
“Yeah,” Rio replied. “She texted me earlier. Said not to wait for her.”
Nicky nodded. “Figures. Big project and all.” Then, he continued after a moment of silence, “Do you think she’s okay?”
“She’s fine,” Rio said, smiling faintly. “You know your mom. She’s like a dragon guarding her gold, except the gold is deadlines and brand logos.”
“That sounds about right.”
The next few minutes passed in easy quiet. They both stared out the window, where the dark tunnels blurred by in streaks of black and gold.
Finally, Nicky said softly, “Thanks, Rio.”
“For what?”
“For letting me be your kid,” he said, not looking up.
Rio blinked, the words hitting her like a soft punch to the chest. She looked down at him. “Hey,” she said, voice gentle. “You don’t have to thank me for that.”
He finally glanced up at her. “Still.”
She smiled, tugging him into a side hug. “You’re a good kid, Nicholas Harkness.”
He grinned. “You’re an okay teacher, I guess.”
“Excuse me?” she said, pretending to glare. “You’re lucky I don’t make you solve sixty-four endgames for that. One for each square.”
He laughed again, and the sound was so genuine that Rio’s chest loosened.
By the time they reached their stop, the mood had lifted completely. They climbed the stairs up to the street, greeted by the sharp chill of early New York evening. They started the short walk home, weaving through familiar blocks. The penthouse wasn’t far now, and Rio shoved her hands into her jacket pockets, looking over at Nicky.
“So,” she said casually, “if you behave tomorrow during dinner with Miss Weirdo Frostbite, maybe I’ll let you choose the movie afterward for once. Because I’m sure we’ll need it.”
“Really?”
“Yeah. But only if you promise not to tell your mom I called her guest that.”
“Deal.”
Once up in the penthouse, Nicky retreated to his room, saying he had homework to do. He sat at his desk, his notebook open, a pencil in his hand, and not a single thing written on the page.
Math homework, he reminded himself. Algebra problems, something about quadratic equations, but the only numbers swirling in his head were chess moves, not x’s and y’s.
He sighed, slumping back in his chair. His mind drifted instantly to the tournament , about what opening he should master next, about how to train hard enough to impress both Rio and Mama (even if Mama didn’t know anything about chess), maybe even place.
Finally, he dropped his pencil with a groan, pushed away from his desk, and flopped onto his bed, eyeing his laptop. Just one game, he told himself. One quick round to clear my head, then I’ll do my homework.
He opened it and logged into his online chess account, the one Rio had helped him set up last summer, and within seconds, he was deep in a fast-paced match against some stranger halfway across the world.
He lost himself in it.
After the first win came a second. Then a loss. Then another win. And by the fifth game, he was so far gone that he didn’t even notice time slipping. It wasn’t until he heard the soft pad of footsteps down the hallway and the knock on his door that he blinked back to the present.
“Hey, kiddo,” came Rio’s voice through the door. “You need any help with your homework?”
Nicky froze, his heart skipping a beat. He scrambled to minimize the window.
“Uh—” He cleared his throat, trying to sound casual. “No, I’m good. Just working on some math problems.”
There was a pause. “Math, huh?”
“Yeah.”
Rio hummed in approval. “Alright then. Shout if you need help, okay?”
“Okay!” he said a little too quickly.
“Don’t fry your brain too much, genius. I’m starting dinner before your mom gets home.”
Her footsteps retreated down the hall, and only when he heard the faint sound of the kitchen cabinet doors opening did he exhale in relief.
“Sorry, Rio,” he murmured under his breath, pulling the laptop back toward him. “Just one more game.”
He wasn’t sure why he felt so guilty. It wasn’t like Rio or his mom would forbid him from practicing chess, quite the opposite, really. They were both supportive, in their own ways. But Agatha always insisted on balance. Homework first, chess later. “You can’t checkmate your way out of bad grades,” she’d said once, half joking, half serious.
And Rio… well, she’d tease him endlessly for sneaking chess into everything just like her, but she’d also be the first to grin when he pulled off a good win. Or a good grade. Still, he didn’t want to disappoint her either.
He pushed the guilt aside and dove into another match.
The minutes blurred again: fifteen, thirty, an hour. Somewhere down the hall, he could hear Rio humming softly to herself, pots clinking, the smell of tomato sauce and garlic slowly filling the air.
Between games, Nicky pulled out one of his chess books, the one Rio had given him for his birthday: Mastering the Middle Game. He flipped through it, following the notes he’d scribbled in pencil. Diagrams of knights and pawns filled the pages, with little stars next to the positions he wanted to memorize.
He was so absorbed he didn’t even hear Rio approach again.
“Dinner’s in twenty. Tell your mom if she calls, okay?”
“Okay!”
He heard her footsteps fade again.
He hesitated for a moment, staring at the screen. He knew he should close it, go set the table or at least pretend to do homework properly. But the temptation to play one last game was too strong. He hit new match.
This one was tougher, the opponent was fast, aggressive. It pushed Nicky to his limits, forcing him to think several moves ahead. He leaned forward, biting his lip in concentration.
Game over.
He groaned loudly. But the pout was short-lived when he heard Rio shout faintly from the kitchen, “Everything okay in there?”
“Yeah! Just… math!” he shouted back, wincing at how fake it sounded.
He could practically hear her skeptical look from the other room.
He closed the laptop quickly, cheeks a little warm, and finally reached for his actual homework. The numbers swam on the page, blurry after all that screen time. He sighed, tried to focus, but it was hopeless.
Eventually, he pushed his chair back and sprawled out on his bed, staring up at the ceiling. His thoughts drifted to how awkward dinner tomorrow would probably be. He hoped Lilia would bring that lemon tart. Maybe that would make things better.
He could picture it already: his mom, trying to be the perfect hostess, chatting politely; Lilia telling stories about Rio; and Hela, sitting perfectly still, analyzing everyone the way she analyzed chessboards. And Rio… she’d probably be fuming, sending Nicky looks across the table that said I told you this was a bad idea.
He chuckled softly to himself. Yeah, tomorrow was going to be interesting.
A few minutes later, he heard the sound of keys turning in the front door, indicating Mama was finally home.
“Hey, babe,” Rio called. “Dinner’s almost done!”
“Smells amazing already,” Agatha replied, her voice warm and tired all at once.
Nicky sat up, closing his books and laptop in a rush, guilt crawling up his spine again. He’d done zero homework, and now his mom was home. He hurried toward the kitchen, hoping no one would ask too many questions about what he’d been and not been doing.
Notes:
Next : THE dinner.
Chapter 5: Agatha
Chapter Text
Dinner day arrived faster than expected. Agatha was standing at the kitchen counter, stirring a pot of sauce with one hand while balancing her phone between shoulder and cheek. “Yes, I know I said Thursday,” she barked into the receiver. “But if Artemis wants those drafts before Monday, we’ll need the color boards finalized by tomorrow afternoon.”
She paused, tasted the sauce, and frowned. Needs a touch more salt. “Mhm. Yes. Tell Jennifer to stop changing the font every two hours, please. It’s Helvetica, not a personality trait.”
Her voice remained strong and poised even if she was tired, and tonight she was very tired. But she’d promised Rio she’d be here, really here, for this dinner: no laptop at the table, no phone, no half-hearted “mm-hm”s while checking her email. So after hanging up, she slid her phone onto the counter and exhaled slowly, letting the scent of simmering garlic and tomato sauce calm her.
From down the hall came faint, muffled grunts that could only belong to one person.
Agatha stifled a laugh, leaning on the counter. “Oh, Rio…” she whispered to herself, shaking her head with affectionate disbelief.
Her girlfriend was currently locked in the bedroom, where for the past half hour she had been waging war with her closet. It was, apparenlty, an impossible mission to find something appropriate to wear for a dinner with Lilia and Hela Odinsdottir, who had somehow managed to ignite every one of Rio’s competitive instincts in under a month.
Agatha couldn’t help it, the image made her grin. It was rare to see Rio Vidal (of all people) flustered. The woman was all arrogance and calm precision at the chessboard, untouchable and unshakable. But put her in front of a dinner she couldn’t control and apparently she came undone.
Agatha turned down the heat on the sauce, smirking to herself. “It’s just dinner,” she murmured out loud, as if Rio could hear her. “Not the World Chess Championship.”
She smiled to herself and went back to slicing bread. The smell of baking lasagna filled the air, stronger by the minute.
From the bedroom came another, louder grunt, followed by a very exasperated, “For God’s sake.”
Agatha snorted, unable to hold back the laugh this time. “Do you need assistance, Miss Vidal?” she called teasingly down the hall.
A muffled, “No!” came back, followed by more rustling.
Agatha shook her head, amused beyond measure. “You’re adorable when you’re panicking,” she murmured to no one in particular, rinsing her hands in the sink.
Fifteen minutes later, just as she was setting the salad on the counter, she heard the bedroom door open. Rio emerged, looking… well, not dressed up exactly, but certainly more polished than usual. Her usual jeans and hoodie combo had been replaced by black slacks, a fitted forest-green blouse that brought out the warm undertones in her skin, and a small pair of gold hoops. Her hair, usually tousled and wild, had been tamed into a sleek low bun.
Agatha turned at the sound and froze for a moment, taking her in. “Should I be jealous?” she asked with a grin. “You’re making an awful lot of effort for a colleague you supposedly can’t stand.”
Rio rolled her eyes so hard it was almost audible. “It’s not for Hela,” she said. “It’s for Lilia. I don’t want to look like I just crawled out of bed.”
“You don’t need to worry,” Agatha said, smiling as she wiped her hands on a dish towel. “She’s seen you in worse get-ups.”
“Yeah, well,” Rio muttered, crossing the room to grab silverware, “I still don’t see why you had to invite both of them.”
“Because it’s good for you to step out of your comfort zone,” Agatha replied cheerfully, picking up a wine glass and inspecting it against the light. “And because I haven’t had the chance to meet all your colleagues. Lilia, I adore. And Hela—”
“—is insufferable,” Rio cut in, moving to the dining table with a clatter of forks. “Cold, arrogant, weirdly smug for someone who’s not even that good.”
“You sound jealous.”
“I’m not jealous,” Rio said quickly. “I just don’t like her face.”
Agatha couldn’t stop herself from laughing again. “You are jealous.”
“Am not!”
“You absolutely are,” Agatha teased, coming over to where Rio was aggressively aligning the silverware. “You’ve been complaining about her for weeks. I half-expect you to challenge her to a duel.”
Rio gave her a sidelong look. “You mean a chess duel?”
“I mean any duel.”
“Ha. Ha.”
Agatha chuckled and reached up, pressing a quick kiss to Rio’s cheek. “You’re cute when you’re grumpy.”
Rio made a noise that was somewhere between a groan and a laugh, but some of the tension melted out of her shoulders. She set the last fork down, leaned against the table, and finally met Agatha’s gaze.
“I just don’t like her,” she muttered again, softer this time. “There’s something off about her, Agatha. You’ll see.”
Agatha gave her a patient smile. “Maybe. Or maybe she’s just not your type of person. That’s fine too. But tonight, we’re going to be civil, right?”
Rio huffed, but nodded reluctantly. “Fine. Civil.”
“Good.” Agatha reached up to straighten the collar of her blouse. “And if you behave, I’ll open the nice bottle of Bordeaux.”
Rio’s mouth twitched into a reluctant smile. “Bribery?”
“Motivation.”
That earned her a small laugh, which she took as victory enough.
“Now,” Agatha said, stepping back toward the kitchen, “go light the candles, please. And stop glaring at the empty chairs, they haven’t done anything to you.”
Rio grumbled something that Agatha didn’t catch but obeyed anyway.
In his room, Nicky had music playing faintly through his speaker that reached all the way to the rest of the penthouse. In the kitchen, Agatha smiled to herself as she plated the food. She still didn’t understand Rio’s bizarre animosity toward Hela Odinsdottir. But for now, it was just funny. Endearing, even. Watching Rio Vidal, the famously unflappable chess prodigy, lose her cool over a dinner party? That was something she’d savor forever.
The chime of the penthouse doorbell cut through the soft hum of the music. Agatha glanced up from where she was finishing arranging the last few sprigs of basil on the lasagna.
“That must be them!” she called out, wiping her hands on a towel. “Nicky! The guests are here, sweetheart!”
From somewhere down the hallway came a muffled, “Coming!” followed by a door shutting and the sound of quick footsteps.
Rio, already halfway across the living room, paused for a heartbeat before going to the door. Agatha caught the faint twitch of nerves in her shoulders. For all her bravado, Rio was wound tight tonight. She smoothed her palms down her slacks, exhaled once, then swung the door open.
Her whole body seemed to relax in an instant.
“Lilia!” she said, breaking into a grin.
The older woman was standing there in her usual kaleidoscope of colors and a beaming smile that lit up the dim hallway. In her hands she held a large glass pie dish, carefully wrapped in a floral kitchen towel.
“Amore,” Lilia greeted warmly. “Did you think I’d forget your favorite dessert?”
“Never,” Rio replied, taking the dish from her carefully, almost greedily. “You’re a lifesaver, Lilia.”
From the kitchen, Agatha approached, smiling genuinely. “Lilia! I’m so glad you could come.”
“Ah, Agatha,” Lilia said with a grin, opening her arms. “Always a pleasure to see you, darling. You’ve been keeping this one out of trouble, I hope?” She nodded toward Rio, who was already carrying the lemon tart into the kitchen like it was her first born.
“I try, but she’s a full-time job.”
“Oye,” Rio called from the kitchen. “I heard that.”
“I meant for you to,” Agatha replied, and Lilia laughed in delight.
Agatha moved forward to take Lilia’s coat, hanging it by the door. By then, Nicky had emerged from the hallway, fidgeting slightly with the hem of his hoodie. He hovered by the living room door, clearly trying to look casual but not quite managing it.
Lilia turned, spotting him, and her whole face lit up. “Ah! Nicholas!”
“Hello, Ms. Calderu,” he said politely, cheeks pink.
“Oh, none of that ‘Ms. Calderu’ business here,” she said at once, waving a hand dismissively as she approached him. “Call me Lilia. You’re one of my best students, no?”
“Uh, I… I try to be,” Nicky stammered, caught off guard by her warmth.
Rio reappeared then, wiping her hands on a towel because of course she had to sneak a little taste test. “He’s definitely one of your best,” she said proudly. “You should see how hard he’s been training lately.”
Nicky’s ears went pinker. “Rio…”
Agatha leaned against the doorway, smiling at the scene. She always found it endearing, how Rio could brag endlessly about Nicky like he was her own kid. And the way Nicky tried to hide how much he loved it never fooled anyone.
Lilia clasped Nicky’s shoulder warmly. “That’s what I like to hear. You have a good teacher, you know. And she’s a good role model too.”
At that, Nicky ducked his head, muttering a shy “thank you.”
Rio shot Agatha a look, something between affection and a small panic, that complicated feeling whenever someone referred to her as part of Nicky’s family dynamic. Agatha met her gaze with a small, reassuring smile.
Lilia, meanwhile, had made herself at home. She drifted into the living room, admiring the tall bookshelves and the enormous windows looking out over the New York skyline. “You have such a beautiful home, Agatha,” she said genuinely. “So full of light. I can see why this one moved in.”
“Oh, she didn’t have much of a choice,” Agatha said smoothly, coming around to pour Lilia a glass of wine. “I simply refused to let her go home one night and she’s been here ever since.”
Rio smirked, crossing her arms. “That’s not true. You asked me nicely.”
“Hmm. I remember a lot less niceness in your answer,” Agatha replied, handing Lilia the glass.
Lilia chuckled over the rim of her glass as she sipped. “You two are adorable. Always pretending to argue when you’re really just flirting.”
Agatha smiled. “Oh? Is that what we’re doing?”
Rio muttered, “It’s mostly just me suffering.”
Agatha threw her a look, and Lilia burst out laughing. She set her wine glass down and turned to Rio, suddenly shifting into the role of mother-hen. “Now,” she said, “let me look at you.”
“Oh no,” Rio muttered, but she didn’t move away when Lilia reached up to smooth an invisible wrinkle on her blouse or fussed with the collar.
Agatha watched, utterly charmed.
Lilia clucked her tongue. “You look thin again. Are you eating enough? You look too pale. And don’t tell me it’s the lighting, I know your tricks.”
“It’s the lighting,” Rio deadpanned.
“Mhm. You’ve been overworking again.”
“She’s fine,” Agatha interjectd lightly, eyes glimmering with amusement. “I make sure she eats.”
“Good. Keep doing that. And maybe make her sleep, too.”
Rio groaned. “Lilia…”
But Agatha was laughing outright now, leaning against the counter with one hand over her mouth. “Oh, I love this,” she said between chuckles. “She actually listens to you.”
“She respects me,” Lilia corrected, patting Rio’s cheek fondly. “And because she knows I can still beat her at chess when I want to.”
“Lies,” Rio muttered. “I let you win.”
“Sure, tesoro.”
Even Nicky laughed at that, the tension around him dissolving completely. Everybody knew Rio was unbeatable.
Soon the four of them were seated in the living room. Rio was perched beside Agatha on the couch, one leg tucked under her, while Nicky hovered close by, still slightly shy but listening attentively as Lilia launched into stories about her early years teaching chess, how she’d once held classes in a noisy Brooklyn café, how she’d taught a prodigy who quit after discovering basketball, how she had found a twelve-year-old Rio playing against three men at once in Central Park once when she was supposed to already be in her class at the Academy and everybody was looking for her.
Agatha had heard the story before, but never tired of it. The image of a scrappy, teenage Rio, with messy hair and fiery confidence, always tugged at something deep in her chest.
Rio buried her face in her hands. “Oh God, please don’t tell this story again.”
“I will tell it again,” Lilia said cheerfully. “It’s a beautiful story. You were all fire and no manners.”
Agatha grinned. “Nothing’s changed, then.”
Rio glared at her. “I’m sitting right here.”
Then, just as Agatha reached to pour another round of wine, the doorbell rang again. Rio’s expression shifted instantly, warmth replaced by something taut and wary.
Agatha looked toward the door, eyebrows raising. “Ah,” she said lightly, “that must be Hela.”
The room suddenly felt a little too quiet. Rio stiffened even more where she sat, her spine going rigid.
Lilia glanced at her. “Relax, little girl,” she murmured softly, giving Rio’s knee a squeeze. “It’s just dinner.”
Rio forced out a smile, one that didn’t reach her eyes. “Yeah. Just dinner.”
Agatha, who was already halfway to the door, smoothed her blouse and shot them a teasing grin over her shoulder. “Don’t look so grim, Vidal. You’d think I invited a debt collector.”
Rio rolled her eyes, muttering something that made Lilia chuckle, and Nicky hide a smile behind his juice glass.
Then Agatha opened the door to let Hela in.
She had seen photos on the academy website, and of course, she had heard Rio’s exasperated descriptions, but seeing Hela in person was something else entirely. She was tall, startlingly so, and moved with the deliberate grace of someone who knew the space around her would always make room. Her platinum hair was slicked into a neat low ponytail, and her eyes—so pale they were almost translucent—caught Agatha’s immediately.
“Miss Harkness,” Hela said in a low voice, the faintest accent curling around the words. “It’s a pleasure to finally meet you.”
Agatha blinked and offered her warmest smile. “Please, call me Agatha.”
She stepped aside to let her in, taking Hela’s long wool coat. The Icelandic air seemed to cling to it, a faint chill brushing Agatha’s fingers.
“Thank you,” Hela said, with a polite dip of her chin, and handed over a small white box. “A little something for dessert. Homemade.”
Agatha closed the door behind them. “You brought another dessert? Then you’re already welcome here.”
If Hela smiled, it was only barely. “It’s tradition. I couldn’t come empty-handed.”
As they crossed the short hall, Agatha took a moment to study her guest, the immaculate posture, the faint scent of cedar and something colder, like sea salt. Hela looked almost sculpted, and her presence filled the air in a way Agatha couldn’t quite explain.
When they entered the living room, Rio looked up from the couch and the atmosphere changed. Gone was the easy, domestic warmth from before. The quiet laughter that had lingered between her, Lilia, and Nicky faded, replaced by a subtle tension that hummed under the surface.
“Hela,” Rio greeted flatly.
“Rio.”
That was all. No smile. No handshake. Just two names hanging in the air like opposing chess pieces waiting for the first move.
Agatha stepped forward smoothly. “Hela, this is my son, Nicky.”
Hela’s eyes flicked to the boy. “We’ve met,” she said, in that same level tone.
Nicky nodded, his expression polite, though his shoulders stiffened a little. Agatha filed that away, something about this woman unsettled both of them, apparently.
“And you already know Lilia, of course,” Agatha continued, still smiling, still effortlessly keeping the energy buoyant.
“Of course,” Hela replied, inclining her head toward the older woman. “Miss Calderu. It’s good to see you outside the academy.”
“The pleasure’s mine,” Lilia said, though her voice carried none of that maternal warmth only Rio ever seemed to get. “You made it through the New York traffic. That’s worth celebrating.”
Hela’s lips twitched. “Barely.”
Agatha gestured toward the armchairs. “Please, make yourself comfortable. What can I get you to drink? We’ve got wine, whiskey, or something softer if you prefer.”
“Red wine, thank you.”
As Agatha moved toward the bar cart, Nikcy watched the adults carefully, feeling like he was in one of those high-level chess games Rio made him analyze, every move deliberate, every silence heavy with strategy.
Rio hadn’t taken her eyes off Hela since she had walked in. She was leaning against the arm of the couch now, arms folded, jaw tight.
Agatha returned with the glass and passed it to Hela, who accepted it with a small nod. “Thank you,” she said, taking a sip. “This is lovely.”
“Agatha has great taste,” Rio said dryly, her tone hovering between pride and warning.
Agatha shot her a look. Behave. But she still reached over, under the guise of adjusting Rio’s sleeve, to squeeze her wrist gently.
To break the silence, Agatha smiled brightly. “So, Hela, Rio tells me you’re from Iceland. That must’ve been quite a move. New York’s a bit of a jungle compared to all that nature.”
“Yes,” Hela said. “I needed a challenge. The quiet there was… too much. Here, at least, the noise keeps you sharp.”
Agatha laughed softly. “That’s one way to put it. I can’t remember the last time I heard real silence.”
“And yet,” Hela said, taking another sip of her wine, “you look quite at home here. You and Rio.” Her gaze slid briefly to the younger woman. “A good team, I imagine.”
“We are,” Agatha said easily. “She keeps me grounded, and I keep her fed.”
Lilia chuckled. “That’s the secret to lasting love, my dear: feed your genius before she starves herself over a board.”
Rio huffed a laugh, leaning back into the couch. “Hey, I’m not that bad anymore.”
“Oh, please,” Agatha said, teasing. “You forgot lunch twice this week.”
Hela’s smile this time was thin, almost razor-like. “The life of a chess prodigy never changes. Even champions need caretakers.”
Something in her tone made Rio’s eyes flash. “I manage,just fine,” she said, a little sharper than she meant to.
Lilia patted her knee again, quietly steering the conversation away. “So, Agatha, how’s work going?”
Agatha’s expression softened, grateful for the change of subject. “Yes. Oh, it’s going well. Busy, of course, but we’re starting the brand design for a new project this month. It’s been… intense, but exciting.”
“She’s being modest,” Rio interjected proudly. “It’s a massive project. The biggest her firm’s ever had.” Then she turned towards Hela. “Agatha is a graphic designer. The best one in this city. Maybe the country,” she explained as her hand found Agatha’s and squeezed.
Agatha shot her an adoring look. “You’re my biggest cheerleader.”
“Someone’s got to make sure people know you’re brilliant.”
The warm words briefly melted the earlier tension. Even Nicky relaxed a bit, his shoulders dropping as he refilled his juice. But Hela only watched, her pale eyes flicking between them like she was studying a position on the board, calculating moves that no one else could see.
Then she smiled faintly, setting her wine down. “It’s admirable,” she said, her voice soft but deliberate. “To balance such different worlds so seamlessly. The academy, the business, the family.”
Agatha’s polite smile held, but there was something about the way Hela said it all that unsettled her. Rio caught it too. Her gaze narrowed, protective, almost territorial.
Lilia sensed the storm forming and rose gracefully. “Shall we move to the dining room?” she suggested. “Before the food gets cold.”
Agatha exhaled, relieved. “Perfect timing.”
Rio stood, helping carry the dishes to the table, her movements sharper now, quieter. The tension hummed under her skin like a low-grade electric current.
Agatha balanced the lasagna dish while Rio trailed behind her, grumbling about how she wasn’t allowed to carry the “nice serving plates” because she “might break them.” Lilia followed with a bright smile and the lemon tart carefully cradled in her hands, and Nicky ran ahead to set out the napkins, determined to be helpful.
The table itself looked beautiful, Agatha’s touch, of course. The golden light from the chandelier caught on the wine glasses, the deep navy plates, and the soft linen runner down the middle. It all looked like something out of a magazine.
“Smells divine,” Lilia said as she sat down. “Agatha, you’ve really outdone yourself.”
Agatha beamed, cheeks faintly pink with pride. “It’s nothing fancy, just lasagnas, but thank you.”
“Nothing fancy,” Rio scoffed under her breath as she helped pour water into glasses. “You’ve got a Michelin-star soul, babe.”
“Flattery will not get you extra dessert,” Agatha warned, playfully tapping her girlfriend’s hand with a fork.
The first few minutes of dinner passed in relative peace. Lilia complimented the seasoning, Nicky enthusiastically told the latest math joke he’d heard at school, and Rio made a face about it being “the nerdiest thing she’d ever heard and she knew a lot about nerds.”
Then, as it often did in this household, the conversation turned toward chess.
“So,” Agatha said, leaning back in her chair. “I hear there’s a friendly competition coming up at the academy?”
Hela finally spoke. “I’m quite looking forward to it. It’ll be my first time mentoring at the academy.” She turned slightly toward Nicky. “And your son is on my team, I believe.”
Nicky straightened a little, smiling politely. “Yeah! I’m excited. It’s my first competition ever, so… I’ve been practicing a lot.”
Rio, seated beside him, grinned. “That’s an understatement. He’s been glued to his chessboard for days. I think Señor Scratchy is starting to get jealous.”
Agatha laughed, “It’s true, I caught him explaining the Two Knights Defense—whatever that is—to the poor rabbit yesterday.”
Nicky groaned and covered his face. “Maaama, don’t embarrass me.”
“I’m not embarrassing you, I’m celebrating your dedication,” Agatha teased. “Big difference.”
Lilia leaned toward him. “You’ll do wonderfully, Nicholas. You’ve got a good mind and good mentors. You’ll learn from this experience, no matter the result.”
“Exactly,” Agatha agreed, smiling at her son. “Winning isn’t the only goal. Just do your best.”
“Winning’s always the goal,” Rio said. “But I guess your mom’s right, too.”
That made Lilia laugh, shaking her head. “You are a terrible influence on him.”
“Best influence,” Rio corrected with a wink.
Through all the warmth and banter, Hela remained composed. “I’m glad to hear that, Nicholas. Focus and consistency will be key.”
Rio ignored her. “Just remember you can still come to me for practice. I’ll make sure Hela doesn’t teach you any bad habits.”
“Rio!”
“What, Agatha? I’m joking!”
Dinner went on like that, bursts of laughter, the clinking of forks against plates, the easy rhythm of family life that filled the penthouse like any other nithg. Agatha’s cooking was, as always, spectacular: perfectly seasoned, warm, and comforting in a way that brought everyone together, even Hela, who eventually admitted that the food was excellent.
“Thank you,” Agatha said graciously. “It’s nice to have everyone here. We don’t do dinners like this often enough.”
Lilia raised her glass. “Then let’s make it a tradition.”
Nicky immediately agreed, Hela only nodded.
Rio forced a smile, looked away, and reached for Agatha’s hand under the table.
Everything was going so well.
Until Hela spoke again.
“Actually,” Hela said suddenly, “the academy isn’t the first time Rio and I have met.”
Rio froze mid-laugh, her glass halfway to her mouth. The color drained from her face, her eyes darting toward Hela in confusion. “What?” she said finally, her tone somewhere between disbelief and suspicion. “We’ve met before?”
Hela smiled faintly. “You don’t remember?”
Rio blinked, shaking her head. “No. I don’t.”
Around the table, everyone else chuckled lightly.
“She does have a terrible memory,” Agatha said teasingly, reaching to brush her hand against Rio’s knee under the table. “She forgets where she’s left her phone every morning.”
“Or her keys,” Nicky added with a grin.
Rio managed a small, automatic smile, but her eyes never left Hela’s face.
Hela tilted her head. “Oh, I remember it well. France, twelve years ago. The Paris Open.”
That made both Rio and Lilia straighten slightly.
“I was barely eighteen,” Rio said slowly, her mind racing. “Paris Open…” She glanced at Lilia, whose brow furrowed in thought.
“Yes,” Hela said, her voice still calm, but the undertone was unmistakably sharp. “You were representing the United States. I was representing Iceland. We met in the semifinals.”
“Oh!” Nicky said, his eyes lighting up with sudden interest. “Wait, you played against each other? That’s so cool! Who won?”
Rio’s lips twitched, but her expression was tight. “I did,” she said after a pause. “I won the whole thing. Barely.”
“I remember that,” Lilia murmured, her face softening into a reminiscent smile. “That was a difficult match. You were exhausted by then, Rio. You’d played three consecutive rounds that day.”
“Ah, yes,” Hela said lightly, swirling the wine in her glass. “You were quite… energetic back then. A wild little thing. All barking and bravado.”
Agatha chuckled, unaware of the tension creeping in. “That sounds about right.”
Rio’s smile faltered. “Excuse me?”
Lilia laughed softly, trying to defuse the subtle spark. “It’s true, amore, you were a bit feral back then. Every word out of your mouth was an argument.”
Nicky giggled. “I can totally see that.”
Hela didn’t laugh. She kept her eyes fixed on Rio, the faintest smirk pulling at her lips. “Some things never change.”
It was subtle—too subtle for anyone else to notice—but Rio caught it. The condescension. The quiet cruelty hiding behind that calm, poised demeanor. The memory was starting to return now, piece by piece, like a wound reopening.
She had met Hela before. She remembered now. The long hours, the crowd, the bright Paris lights, the smell of coffee and tension in the air. And how Hela had made little comments under her breath during the game. About Rio being self-taught. About her lack of “discipline.” About how “street players” could never understand the elegance of the game.
It had been the first time Rio had felt truly humiliated at a board. And she’d fought back the only way she knew how: by mocking Hela, rolling her eyes, throwing in sharp little barbs to cover the sting.
Rio took a breath and forced a small smirk onto her face. “Well,” she said, “I won in the end. So I guess all that barking paid off.”
Lilia chuckled, reaching for her glass. “That it did.”
But Hela’s eyes gleamed, still fixed on her. “Maybe. But winning or losing one match doesn’t change who you are.”
Agatha frowned, a trace of confusion flickering across her face. “What does that mean?” she asked lightly, trying to keep things civil.
“Nothing,” Hela said with a little shrug, pretending innocence. “Just that temperament can be… revealing.”
Rio’s jaw clenched. The table went quieter.
Agatha smiled at Hela, trying to ease the tension. “Oh well, she’s still half-feral now, trust me,” she said playfully as she turned towards her girlfriend. “I wouldn’t have her any other way.”
Hela’s smirk deepened. “I’m sure.”
And just like that, something snapped in Rio.
The last puzzle piece clicked into place. She remembered the way Hela had spoken to her that day, the way she’d sneered about Rio’s “lack of pedigree,” about how she “played like a child from the streets” or a “rabid little dog”, how she’d better run back to Mama now. Oh wait, she didn’t have one. Rio had wanted to forget it, had buried it deep. But now it was back, burning like acid.
She could have stayed silent. Could have taken the high road, smiled sweetly, changed the subject.
But she didn’t.
“Well,” Rio said, her tone cool and deceptively calm, “maybe if you’d been a better player back then, you would’ve beaten me. A shame, really. Kind of embarrassing for you given the age advantage.”
The air turned razor-sharp.
Agatha blinked. “Rio,” she hissed softly, giving her thigh a quick warning swat under the table. “Be nice.”
Lilia’s face hardened immediately. “Rio!” she snapped. “That’s not how we talk to guests.”
Nicky went still, his fork frozen midair.
Hela smiled, venomously satisfied.
Rio’s pulse thudded in her ears. She wanted to shout, to explain, to tell them all what Hela had said back then, what she was really saying now. But to do so would mean reopening wounds she didn’t want Agatha or Nicky to see.
So she did what she always did when cornered. She shut down.
“Excuse me,” she said abruptly, pushing her chair back. Her napkin fell to the floor as she stood, her face unreadable. “I need a minute.”
And before anyone could say another word, Rio turned and walked out of the dining room.
Agatha stayed seated for a moment after Rio left, her glass still raised halfway to her lips. The sound of the chair scraping across the floor still echoed faintly in her ears. The tension Rio left behind clung to the air like smoke, heavy and suffocating.
“I’m so sorry about that,” Agatha said finally, forcing a polite smile as she turned toward Hela. “She didn’t mean to be rude. I assure you, that’s not how she usually behaves.”
Hela’s smile was demure, graceful even. “Oh, please,” she said softly, shaking her head. “No harm done. I understand passion when I see it.”
Lilia cleared her throat quietly, setting down her glass. “Still,” Agatha continued, her tone gentle but firm, “you’re a guest in our home. You shouldn’t be spoken to like that. I’ll go check on her.”
Hela nodded. “Of course. I didn’t mean to cause any trouble.”
Agatha smiled again, though it didn’t quite reach her eyes this time. Something was off, she could feel it. Rio wasn’t perfect, sure, but this felt different. Yes, her girlfriend was sharp-tongued and often let her temper flare, but she wasn’t cruel. Not like that.
Agatha stood, laying her napkin on the table. “I’ll be right back.”
She slipped out of the dining room towards the kitchen. As soon as she stepped into the door, the sharp scent of tomato and herbs filled the air again, clashing with the uneasy quiet.
Rio was there, standing by the counter, pouring herself a glass of water. Her shoulders were tense, her back rigid, her jaw tight.
“Hey,” Agatha said softly.
Rio didn’t turn around. “I know what you’re going to say,” she muttered.
Agatha approached her slowly, leaning a hand on the counter. “Then say it for me.”
Rio sighed, setting the glass down. “I shouldn’t have snapped.”
“That’s not quite what I wanted to say.”
Rio finally turned to face her, eyes sharp with frustration. “She’s lying, Agatha. Or at least not telling the whole story.”
Agatha frowned, crossing her arms. “What story? About Paris?”
“Yes,” Rio said quickly. “You don’t understand. She wasn’t some innocent opponent I was mean to, okay? She was horrible to me. She kept mocking me, all through the game. Not just about chess, about me. About where I came from, the fact that I had no formal training, that I was just some random, nobody’s kid who didn’t belong in the room, about how I used Lilia as a crutch. That I milked my ‘sob story’ to get ahead.”
Agatha blinked. “Twelve years ago?”
“Yes, twelve years ago!” Rio snapped, her voice rising slightly before she caught herself. She took a deep breath, lowering it again. “You don’t get it, it stuck with me. The way she made me feel like trash, like I didn’t deserve to even be sitting across from her.”
Agatha’s brow softened, but her voice stayed calm. “I’m sure that hurt, back then. But Rio… it’s been more than a decade. And you do plenty of trash talking yourself. It was just a chess match.”
Rio stared at her, disbelief and hurt flashing across her face. “It’s not just a chess match,” she said quietly. “It’s my whole life. And it’s not about the game, it’s about what she said. About who I was. And I might egg my opponents on, sure, but I never go after someone’s life. Ever.”
“Even so,” Agatha said gently, “that doesn’t give you the right to talk to her like that in our home. You embarrassed her, and you embarrassed yourself.”
Rio’s throat worked silently for a moment. She wanted to yell, to defend herself, to explain the sharpness that still lived in her like an old scar that never healed. How those insecurities still lingered and she didn’t want them rekindled. But she could hear voices faintly from the dining room, Nicky’s polite murmurs, Lilia trying to smooth things over, Hela’s calm tone that grated on her nerves, and she didn’t want to give them another show.
So she leaned on the counter, staring down at the sink, her voice dropping to a whisper. “You don’t understand.”
Agatha exhaled slowly. “Maybe not,” she admitted. “But right now, what I do understand is that we have guests waiting, and you need to go back out there. You don’t have to like her, but you do need to be civil.”
Rio didn’t move.
“Rio,” Agatha said softly, but firmly, “please. Just apologize, okay? Be the bigger person.”
The words tasted bitter. Be the bigger person. Rio almots laughed. She’d spent her whole life being told that. Bite your tongue. Smile. Don’t show them they got to you. It was exhausting.
“I didn’t do anything wrong,” she said finally, her tone subdued but taut.
Agatha sighed, rubbing her temple. “Maybe not. But from where everyone else is sitting, it looks like you did. And this—” she gestured toward the dining room “—isn’t the time or place to prove otherwise. Just go apologize, and we can talk later.”
Rio looked at her for a long moment, searching her face for some sign of understanding, some trace of belief. But all she saw was Agatha’s quiet insistence, the calm, composed adult trying to keep order in a house full of tension.
“Fine,” Rio said finally, her voice flat. “If that’s what you want.”
She left the kitchen before Agatha could answer.
Back in the dining room, the atmosphere had changed. The laughter from earlier was gone, replaced by the quiet, polite clinking of forks on plates. Nicky was pushing food around his plate, eyes downcast. Lilia was murmuring something about how “these things happen,” but even she seemed uneasy.
Rio stopped at the entrance, taking in the sight. For a brief second, she wanted to turn back and escape.
But instead, she stepped forward.
Everyone looked up.
“I’m sorry,” Rio said, her tone clipped, restrained. “I shouldn’t have spoken like that.”
Hela looked up at her with the perfect expression of grace and magnanimity. “It’s quite all right,” she said sweetly. “I understand how emotions can run high when old stories resurface.”
The condescension was invisible to everyone else, but Rio felt it like a knife.
She wanted to throw something cutting right back at her, to tear down that perfect, saintly facade. But then she caught Lilia’s warning glance—a sharp, silent don’t you dare—and she felt Agatha’s presence behind her.
So Rio swallowed the words burning on her tongue and sat back down.
Nicky cleared his throat softly. “The food’s really good, Mama,” he said, his small voice trying to patch the rift.
Agatha smiled faintly, grateful, but her eyes flicked toward Rio. Rio didn’t look at her. She just picked up her fork, staring at her plate without really seeing it. Across from her, Hela took another sip of wine, that same serene expression still on her face.
The rest of dinner passed under a veil of strained civility. The tension that had crackled after Rio’s outburst didn’t dissolve, it only settled. The soft clinking of cutlery and glasses filled the silence in place of conversation.
Agatha, determined not to let the evening dissolve entirely, tried to revive the mood. “So,” she began brightly, forcing a note of cheer into her voice, not caring if the subject at hand had already been dissected earlier, “Lilia, I imagine the friendly competition must be a lot of work to organize.”
Lilia smiled kindly. “Oh, it’s keeping me busy, but it’s always a joy to see the students so motivated. You’d think we were preparing for an international championship with how seriously they’re taking it.”
Nicky chuckled softly. “I’ve been studying every night,” he said, his voice a touch proud. “Even Rio said I’m improving.”
Across the table, Rio gave a faint hum in acknowledgment, though she didn’t lift her eyes from her plate.
“That’s wonderful,” Agatha said, smiling at her son. “But you still have to make time for your other classes too, young man.”
“I know,” Nicky replied, taking another bite of food, trying his best to lighten the air. “I just want to do well, that’s all.”
Lilia’s eyes softened as she looked at him. “You will, sweetheart,” she said warmly. “You’ve got the best teachers around you.”
Hela, seated directly across from Rio, gave a small, polite laugh. “Yes, indeed,” she said. “Though I suppose we’ll see which teacher’s methods are more effective next week, won’t we?”
Agatha, still not sensing the deeper undercurrent, smiled. “A little friendly rivalry never hurt anyone.”
“Of course not,” Hela said smoothly, taking another sip of her wine. “I just find it fascinating to see how differently we approach the same game. Rio has… such a distinctive style.”
It was meant to sound like a compliment. It didn’t.
Rio’s fork scraped against her plate as she cutthrough a piece of lasagna she wasn’t actually eating. Her jaw flexed, but she said nothing. She knew better now. Every word out of Hela’s mouth was a trap, a test, a way to make her look smaller in front of the others. And the worst part was that no one else seemed to notice.
Agatha smiled politely, filling the silence again. “Yes, she does. Her mind works faster than anyone I’ve ever seen.”
Hela’s lips curved faintly. “Speed is valuable,” she said, “but patience too.”
Lilia, sensing the spark of tension returning, quickly interjected. “Both are essential. Rio’s intuition and energy are unmatched, and Hela’s analytical mind is remarkable. That’s what makes this academy so great: diversity in approach.”
It was a smooth save, and everyone, except perhaps Hela and Rio, seemed grateful for it.
For the next few minutes, conversation limped along. Agatha and Lilia carried most of it, trading pleasant topics, the academy, New York’s terrible traffic, a new exhibit opening at MoMA. Nicky chimed in occasionally with his characteristic earnestness, trying to pull Rio back into the moment by asking her something about chess or school, but she only answered with monosyllables.
Hela, on the other hand, seemed oddly relaxed. Her demeanor had lightened noticeably since Rio’s brief departure earlier. She laughed softly at Lilia’s jokes, complimented Agatha’s cooking, even praised Nicky’s progress in her class.
And somehow, that was what unsettled Agatha most. It didn’t make sense. Hela was supposed to be the uncomfortable one after being snapped at, the wronged guest who should be nursing wounded pride. Instead, she looked almost pleased, radiant, even. Like she had won something invisible.
Agatha pushed that thought away and focused on serving the dessert. “All right,” she said, her voice a touch too loud as she tried to shift the mood again. “Time for the best part.”
Lilia smiled, rising to fetch the lemon tart she had brought. “Don’t all rush at once,” she teased, placing it delicately in the center of the table. “I made it just like always: extra sugar, a touch of zest, and a lot of love.”
“Oh, I’ve been waiting for this all week,” Agatha confessed, clasping her hands. “You have no idea how much I’ve been craving this.”
“Then I’ll cut you the first slice,” Lilia said warmly.
Nicky, eyes wide with excitement, was already half-reaching for his fork before the tart had even been sliced. When Lilia finally placed a piece in front of him, he dug in eagerly, his whole face lighting up. “This is amazing,” he said through a mouthful. “You’re a genius, Miss Calderu.”
“I’ll take that as the highest compliment.”
Agatha took her own first bite and let out a a small, blissful sigh. “Oh, Lilia, you’ve outdone yourself again.”
Even Hela took a forkful, her expression softening. “Truly delightful,” she said with an approving nod.
But Rio didn’t move.
Her slice sat untouched on her plate, the lemony scent wafting upward, comforting and familiar. It was her favorite dessert, almost everyone at the table knew it. She never missed a chance to eat it, no matter the occasion.
And yet tonight, she didn’t take a single bite.
Agatha noticed it after her second mouthful. Her fork froze midair, her eyes darting toward her. Rio’s posture was rigid, her eyes down, her hands clasped tightly in her lap. The glow of the city lights from the window caught the faint sheen of moisture at the corner of her lashes, though she blinked it away before anyone else could notice.
Agatha frowned slightly.
Rio didn’t even look up when Lilia offered seconds, just shook her head silently.
“Not even you, my darling?” Lilia asked softly, surprised. “You always say I should make two of these just for you.”
Rio forced a small smile. “I’m not really hungry,” she murmured.
Lilia tilted her head, puzzled, but said nothing.
Agatha’s chest tightened a little. She knew Rio well enough to know that when she withdrew like this, it wasn’t about appetite, it was about something deeper. Something that stung. Still, she didn’t want to press, not now, not in front of everyone. Especially not with Hela sitting across the table, watching everything with those cool, unreadable eyes.
So Agatha smiled again, though her heart wasn’t in it, and turned back to the conversation.
“So, Hela,” she said, trying to keep her voice light, “how are you finding New York so far? Adjusting well?”
Hela smiled. “It’s been… invigorating,” she said smoothly. “So much energy here. So much ambition. It keeps one sharp.”
“Sounds like you’re fitting right in,” Lilia said politely.
“Oh, I try.”
The conversation meandered a bit longer after that, surface-level pleasantries and shallow laughter, but the warmth never truly returned.
Rio stayed quiet until the very end, eyes down, fork untouched. And though Agatha kept smiling, a small voice in the back of her mind whispered that maybe, Rio wasn’t being dramatic after all.
Eventually, the evening came to its slow heavy end. Nicky had long since excused himself, taking his plate to the sink before retreating to his room with the vague excuse of “homework,” though Agatha doubted he’d get much studying done after such an eventful dinner. She was just glad he’d escaped before the tension could etch itself too deeply into his memory.
When the clock struck ten, Lilia finally stood, smoothing her bright shawl over her shoulders. “Well,” she said, “it’s getting late, and I should probably head home before the trains stop running regularly.”
Agatha rose with a polite smile. “I’ll call you a car, Lilia. It’s the least I can do after you brought dessert and saved the evening from total disaster.”
Lilia chuckled softly and patted Agatha’s arm. “You didn’t need saving, darling. It was a lovely dinner.” Then she turned to Rio, who was still sitting stiffly in her chair, her plate untouched, her expression unreadable. “And you, my dear,” Lilia said warmly, bending to kiss Rio’s cheek and lowering her voice just enough so only Rio could hear, “you don’t let anyone shake you. Do you hear me?”
Rio blinked, startled by the tenderness in her voice. She nodded mutely. Lilia squeezed her shoulder affectionately before straightening up again. “Thank you for having me. And the food was wonderful, as always.”
“Thank you for coming,” Agatha said sincerely, escorting her to the door.
Hela rose next. “It was a pleasure,” she said evenly, offering her hand to Agatha. Her smile was precise and Agatha, always the perfect hostess, returned it graciously.
“The pleasure was ours,” Agatha said.
Then Hela turned to Rio. “Goodnight, Rio,” she said, tone smooth, almost courteous.
Rio forced a tight smile, shook her hand quickly, and muttered a curt, “Goodnight.”
And just like that, Hela was gone too.
The silence that followed was thick. For a moment, Agatha simply stood there, her hand still resting on the doorknob, listening to the elevator descending. She exhaled slowly, turning back toward the apartment. The living room looked like a battlefield now: empty glasses, used plates, a forgotten serving spoon still resting in the empty tart dish.
When she glanced around for Rio, she found only emptiness. Her girlfriend had vanished, leaving her alone in the wake of the awkward dinner.
Agatha frowned. “Really?” she muttered under her breath.
She heard a faint noise from the hallway, the sound of a door closing. Of course. Rio had retreated to their bedroom without a word. Agatha felt the irritation rise in her chest. She was tired—physically, emotionally, utterly drained—and nowshe was left to deal with the cleanup on top of everything else. She gathered the dishes mechanically, stacking plates and loading the dishwasher. Her movements were brisk, each one a silent release for the frustration building inside her. When she passed the empty wine glasses, she paused, staring at the faint lipstick mark Rio had left on hers.
She sighed.
It wasn’t just annoyance. She didn’t like seeing Rio like that, shut down and brittle. But she also didn’t know how to reach her when she got like this, locked behind walls built from stubbornness and pride.
Still, she wished Rio hadn’t just… disappeared.
When the last plate was in the dishwasher and the counters wiped clean, Agatha pushed off the counter and headed toward their bedroom, her resolve firming with each step. They needed to talk. She wasn’t going to let another misunderstanding fester between them.
Rio was lying on her side of the bed, already in her pajamas, her back to the door. The sight made Agatha’s annoyance falter. She looked so small like that, curled in on herself, the proud, fierce energy that usually defined her now gone, replaced by something quiet and fragile.
Agatha hesitated in the doorway. “Rio?” she asked softly.
No response.
She stepped closer, her voice gentler now. “Are you awake?”
Still nothing.
Agatha sighed and sat on the edge of the bed. Rio didn’t move, not a flinch, not even a change in her breathing. It was possible she was asleep, but something about her stillness felt deliberate, like she was pretending not to hear.
Agatha brushed a hand through her hair and exhaled again. “Okay,” she murmured. “We’ll talk tomorrow, then.”
She stood to change into her nightclothes, slipping into the bathroom briefly before returning. The faint scent of lemon from the tart still clung to her fingers, reminding her of the awkward, tense laughter that had filled the room earlier. It made her stomach twist.
When she slid under the covers, the distance between them on the bed felt like a canyon.
Rio still hadn’t moved.
Agatha turned to her side, facing Rio’s back, watching the slow rise and fall of her shoulders. For a long time, she said nothing, just listened to the faint hum of the city through the windows. She thought about the dinner, about Hela’s perfectly polite jabs, Rio’s sudden anger, Lilia’s uneasy attempts to keep peace.
It didn’t add up.
Rio could be impulsive, yes—defensive, even—but not without reason. Something had been under her skin all night. Something deeper than jealousy or pride.
Agatha frowned slightly, chewing on her lower lip. She wanted to understand. She wanted to help. But for now, Rio was unreachable, a locked door in the dark. And Agatha didn’t want to go to sleep angry. So, she shifted closer, leaned in, and pressed a gentle kiss to Rio’s shoulder.
“Goodnight,” she whispered. “We’ll figure it out tomorrow.”
Rio didn’t stir.
Agatha turned away then, eyes closing slowly, trying to let exhaustion pull her under.
But if she’d looked a little closer, if she’d dared to reach out and turn Rio toward her, she would have seen the faint shimmer of tears drying on her cheeks, the tightness in her jaw, the way her hand was clenched in the sheets.
Because Rio wasn’t asleep at all.
She was just too hurt to speak.
Notes:
I know one person (you know who you are) will be screaming in my DMs after that. So… I’m sorry, I accept my fate, and my heart is open. More will be explained in the next chapter, I promise. I know things might feel a little confusing right now (or maybe they’re not, in which case yay for me). I’ve spent the last three days writing, so objectivity has officially left the chat.
On another note, I’m currently working on a silly little one-shot set in this universe about their first Christmas together, and I’ll be posting it on the 10th! Stay tuned. I hope to have chapter 6 finished by then too… but we’ll see.
Chapter 6: Rio
Notes:
Okay, so everyone is angry at Agatha. And I get it. She made a mistake. Honestly they BOTH did. Miscommunication is a bitch sometimes.
Also and that's on me: in the last chapter, for the first time, I didn’t stick strictly to a single POV (Agatha’s). There were a few snippets from Rio’s perspective too, and I think that made things a bit confusing. I’ll try not to do that again for the sake of coherence.
I hope you won’t hate me too much, because I love all of you and I love your reactions, even when I don’t agree with every single one (only because I know what happens next, lol. If I didn’t, I’d be right there with you, trust me). Keep them coming, loves!
Also Christmas one shot is a little delayed, I'll lock in on it tomorrow hihi
And 100 kudos!!! THANK YOU SOOOO MUCH
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
The next morning, Rio woke to the quiet hum of the city far below, faint and distant through the thick windows of the penthouse.
Agatha was still asleep beside her, lying on her stomach, her face turned toward Rio, one arm lazily draped over her waist. Rio froze for a moment, her breath caught between comfort and guilt. She looked at Agatha’s face, the relaxed expression, the faint crease between her brows that lingered even in rest, the soft curls of dark hair falling over her cheek. She looked peaceful in a way she rarely allowed herself to be when awake.
Rio’s first instinct was to lean into the warmth of her girlfriend’s body, to let the quiet rhythm of her breathing soothe her the way it always did. She could have stayed like that, eyes closed, face buried in the pillow, the world held at a distance by the comfort of Agatha’s touch.
But the memory of the night before returned, sharp and painful.
The dinner. The tension. The way Agatha had defended Hela.
The way she had looked at Rio, not angry, not even disappointed, just… disbelieving.
Rio exhaled slowly, turning her gaze toward the ceiling. The knot in her chest hadn’t loosened overnight. If anything, it had grown tighter, pressing against her ribs.
Agatha’s arm tightened slightly in her sleep in the unconscious pull of someone seeking closeness, and for a moment Rio almost let herself sink into it. But no. Not now. Not when the memory of that polite, awful dinner was still fresh.
Carefully, she lifted Agatha’s arm and slipped out from under it, moving as silently as she could. The cold air outside the duvet made her shiver as she padded barefoot to the bathroom. The tiles were cold under her feet as she turned on the shower and stepped in before the water had fully warmed, the chill of it shocking her awake.
For a few long minutes, she just stood there, letting the water beat against her skin, her forehead resting against the cool tile. She tried to replay the evening in her head, tried to make sense of it. But every memory came back in jagged pieces: Hela’s perfectly composed smile, Agatha’s voice saying “she’s a guest here,” Lilia’s nervous glances across the table.
Rio clenched her jaw. She wasn’t proud of what had happened. She knew she had lost her temper, that she’d let her emotions get the better of her. But she also knew she hadn’t imagined the venom in Hela’s words, the way she’d twisted the story, pretending to be the victim of something Rio had done years ago.
By the time she stepped out of the shower, the water had turned lukewarm. She wrapped herself in a towel and wiped the condensation off the mirror, staring at her reflection. Her eyes looked tired, shadowed with sleeplessness, her hair damp and wild.
She got dressed mechanically in black jeans, a dark red sweater, her usual armor of simplicity. She tied her hair back into a messy ponytail and stood for a moment at the edge of the bed, looking down at Agatha. She hadn’t moved. Agatha was still asleep, cocooned under the sheets, one arm now lying across the empty space where Rio had been.
Rio hesitated. She could wake her. She could sit on the edge of the bed, touch her shoulder, say softly, “We need to talk.”
But not yet. The emotions were still too raw. She needed to sort through them before she said something she’d regret.
So, without a word, she turned and left the room. In the hallway, she slipped on her jacket, grabbed her phone and keys from the counter, and left. The elevator ride down was silent except for the creaking of the machinery. When the doors opened to the crisp air of the lobby, she breathed in deeply. The air outside the building was sharp and cold, biting at her cheeks as she stepped out onto the street. Rio zipped up her jacket and began to walk.
She didn’t have a destination at first. She just needed to move. To think.
Her feet carried her toward Central Park, her old refuge, the place she’d gone to whenever the world felt too heavy. The streets were still half-empty, save for the occasional jogger or dog walker. By the time she reached the edge of the park, her coffee craving had set in. She stopped at a small stand near one of the entrances, ordered a black coffee, and wrapped her hands around the paper cup, savoring the heat seeping into her fingers. The park was quiet this early. The paths were dotted with runners, their footsteps soft against the gravel, and a few people walking dogs in sweaters. Rio walked without really seeing where she was going, her thoughts looping in circles.
She’d come hoping for distraction, maybe to stumble upon one of the old men who played chess at the stone tables near the fountain. She’d spent countless mornings there in her teens, before fame had found her, before people started whispering her name at tournaments. Back then, she’d just been another girl with a board, hungry to prove herself. Now, no one was there. The tables were empty, the boards slick with dew.
“Great,” she muttered under her breath.
Her breath came out in little clouds as she sipped her coffee. The warmth did little to fight off the chill seeping through her thin jacket. She should have taken one of Agatha’s oversized sweaters, the soft ones that smelled like her perfume and laundry detergent. But she hadn’t wanted to. She’d been too proud, too stubborn to admit she needed that kind of comfort this morning.
She kept walking until she found an empty bench overlooking a small pond. The trees around it were half-bare, their reflections rippling faintly in the water. A few ducks drifted lazily near the shore, indifferent to the cold. Rio sat down slowly, the bench cold beneath her.
For the first time that morning, she allowed herself to stop moving.
And think.
She sat still on the cold wooden bench, eyes unfocused on the pond in front of her. The water rippled faintly with the breeze, and all she could see in it was the distorted echo of last night. She replayed it in her mind, every detail sharpened in hindsight: the smell of lasagna and lemon tart, the soft clinking of glasses, the polite laughter that filled the room before everything went wrong. Then Hela’s voice, dropping that quiet bomb about Paris.
And everything unraveling from there.
Rio closed her eyes, pressing her lips together. What stung wasn’t even Hela’s words, not really. It was Agatha’s reaction. And Lilia’s too.
Instead of defending her, they had laughed.
“Every word out of your mouth was an argument.”
“Oh, Rio is still half-feral now.”
They’d said it lightly, teasingly, trying to smooth things over, but to Rio, it had landed like a slap. They thought she was being ridiculous, overreacting. They didn’t see the look in Hela’s eyes. They didn’t feel the condescension under her tone.
They didn’t know what it had felt like to be eighteen, standing on that stage in Paris, shaking hands with an opponent who smiled as she dissected your worth.
Rio exhaled slowly, the air visible in the cold. She could still hear Agatha’s voice from last night, soft but firm, echoing in her head. Something like “It was just one chess match, Rio. It happened twelve years ago. You should let it go.”
That phrase, “just one chess match”, had stuck like a splinter under her skin.
To Agatha, it probably was just a match. To anyone else, it would have been. But to Rio, that game had been everything. It was the moment her career had truly started: the match that put her on the map. But it was also the one that nearly broke her before it even began. Because Hela had made sure of that.
Rio still remembered standing behind the curtain before the semi-final, her palms sweaty, her mentor whispering encouragements in her ear. She’d been a kid from Queens, self-taught, unpolished, in a room full of prodigies who had armies of coaches and sponsors and years of formal training. She was the outsider. The girl with nothing but instinct and hunger.
And Hela, with her perfect accent and perfect posture, had smiled at her like she was something dirty that had wandered in from the street.
“You play like a street rat,” she had said once, between moves. “All instinct, no refinement. No wonder you need your babysitter there to keep you focused.”
Lilia had heard it, too, though she’d brushed it off at the time, telling Rio to ignore it, to stay calm. And Rio had, at least until Hela started laughing under her breath every time Rio hesitated before a move.
Her brain had forgotten that day until yesterday.
And last night, when Hela mentioned it again, when she called her “wild” and “barking,” it had all come back. Every humiliation. Every insecurity she had buried so deep she thought they were gone.
And what did Agatha see?
Her girlfriend snapping at a dinner guest and losing her temper over somthing ancient.
“You embarrassed her,” Agatha had whispered in the kitchen. “And you embarrassed yourself.”
Those words echoed now, relentless.
Rio set her coffee down on the bench beside her, rubbing a hand over her face. Her throat burned, but she didn’t cry. She’d done enough of that last night when Agatha couldn’t see.
The worst part was that Agatha hadn’t even let her explain. She’d just sighed, told her to calm down, told her to apologize, as if the issue were that simple.
Agatha didn’t understand.
And maybe that was her fault, too—Rio’s. She’d never told Agatha the full story of who she had been back then. She’d let her see the new and improved version, the version that had clawed her way out of poverty and into prestige. She’d hidden the ugly parts, the anger, the defensiveness, the chip on her shoulder that still sometimes dug deep.
Because Rio knew she wasn’t easy. She knew she could be sharp, petty, dramatic, stubborn. She knew she had a temper and that she wasn’t always graceful. But what hurt wasn’t that Agatha saw that, it was that Agatha seemed to think that was all there was.
That she was still that feral girl from Queens.
Rio looked out over the pond again, jaw tightening.
Hela had won last night. She had known exactly how to get under Rio’s skin, and she’d done it effortlessly, without a single overt insult. Just tone, implication, that serene little smirk. And Rio had played right into her hands.
Eat or be eaten. That was how it had always been for her. The streets and group home she grew up on, the tournaments she scraped through, the people who looked down on her… she’d learned to strike first. To make them laugh, or flinch, or back off before they could make her feel small.
Lilia had spent years trying to tame that instinct. And Agatha… Agatha had softened it. With her patience, her warmth, her endless calm. Rio had started to believe she didn’t need the armor anymore.
But one dinner, one perfectly orchestrated trap, and she was right back there, baring her teeth, trying not to feel like the girl no one took seriously.
She hated it.
She hated how easily she could regress. She hated how much power a few words still had over her after all these years. And most of all, she hated that Agatha had seen the worst version of her and sided with the person who had caused it.
A small, unwelcome voice in the back of Rio’s head whispered that she’d handled it wrong. That she should have been clearer. That she should have talked and explained instead of doing what she always did—baring her teeth the second she felt cornered. Because when she replayed Hela’s words from the night before, isolated from the tone and the timing and the subtle ugliness that sat beneath them, she couldn’t find a single thing Agatha could reasonably object to. They had been perfectly polite. Perfectly civil. Comments that sounded harmless if you didn’t know where to look for the blade hidden between the syllables.
Agatha couldn’t have known.
And when she had tried to explain in the kitchen, she had kept it to a bare minimum. Three sentences maybe about something that did happen more than a decade ago. She had offered Agatha a ghost of the truth and expected her to see the whole corpse. Rio could see that.
There was no wonder why an overworked Agatha hadn’t picked up on it to the level Rio had hoped. Agtaha had been tired. Long day, short fuse, guests to entertain, a mess in the kitchen, a headache Rio knew she had kept pushing through. She’d walked into Rio and Hela’s quiet little cold war with no map, no warning, and no idea that the battlefield had actually existed long before last night’s dinner. No she only had had the facts of the evening, Rio’s half-baked explanation and the reminder of Rio’s past dramatics over Hela that even Rio could admit she had milked because she thought it was funny at first.
Rio knew the full story and connotations. Agatha didn’t.
Of course she’d told Rio to apologize. Of course she’d tried to put out the fire she could see. She hadn’t known the room was already full of smoke only Rio could smell.
And a dinner with guests was hardly the moment to unravel a twelve-year-old wound. Especially when Hela had kept everything so exquisitely deniable. No weapon drawn, not one that anyone else would recognize. Just those soft little nudges, the kind that sounded almost like compliments if you ignored the direction they landed.
Rio rubbed the heel of her hand over her eyes. She wasn’t angry at Agatha. Not really. She was angry at herself for freezing up, for lashing out, for letting Hela get under her skin again after all this time. For leaving this morning without explaining any more than she had last night. And she was angry that Agatha didn’t know the whole map of her scars well enough to see the old ones glowing.
But how could she? Rio had never shown her the full picture. She only ever gave people the pieces she wasn’t afraid of them touching. And now here she was, sitting in the ruins of another half-explained moment, wishing she’d just said the whole truth before everything went sideways.
Rio leaned back on the bench, staring up at the sky. It was lighter now, the sun trying to burn through the clouds. The city around her had fully woken, a low constant buzz of life.
She took another sip of her coffee and grimaced. Agatha was probably awake by now, maybe wondering where she’d gone. But Rio wasn’t ready to go back. Not yet.
She needed to think. To breathe.
To find a way to explain what last night really meant, without sounding like she was making excuses. Because she knew Agatha deserved honesty. And she knew she owed her that conversation. But right now, all she felt was small. Small and raw and tired.
She rested her elbows on her knees and buried her face in her hands for a moment. She sighed, letting her hands fall back to her lap. The wind picked up, brushing through her hair, carrying with it the faint sound of a violinist warming up somewhere deeper in the park.
It was going to be a long day.
When Rio finally emerged from the fog of her thoughts, the park had changed completely. The faint grey dawn that had cloaked the city earlier was gone, replaced by the full brightness of morning. The sky had turned a soft blue, streaked with the pale gold of the rising sun filtering through the thinning leaves of Central Park’s trees. The joggers had been replaced by families, by people walking to work with coffee cups in hand, and by the occasional street performer tuning a guitar or setting up a little cart of trinkets.
Rio blinked at the light, momentarily disoriented, as though she’d lost a few hours of her life to that endless mental loop she’d been trapped in. Her coffee sat beside her on the bench, stone cold, the paper cup crumpled slightly from how tightly she’d been gripping it earlier. Her fingers felt numb.
She sighed, reached into her jacket pocket, and pulled out her phone. The screen’s sudden brightness made her squint. 10:37 a.m.
She’d been sitting here for nearly three hours.
“Damn,” she whispered under her breath. She hadn’t even realized time was passing.
Her phone showed several notifications, some generic news alerts, a message from Alice about a shipment mix-up at the bar, a few academy emails, and then one that made her throat tighten instantly.
Agatha: Hey. I know you needed space. Can we talk tonight? I think we both should. Have a good day, sweetheart.
Rio’s chest squeezed.
Agatha had every reason to be annoyed with her. Rio had shut her out last night, had barely looked at her, had gone to bed stiff and cold and unresponsive. And then this morning, she’d slipped out before sunrise like a coward, without a note, without a text. Yet Agatha still sent that. Still wished her a good day. Still called her sweetheart. Still reached out gently, giving her the choice to talk when she was ready.
For some reason, that broke her a little.
Rio bit her lower lip and swallowed hard, blinking against the sudden burn in her eyes. She didn’t want to cry in the middle of Central Park where kids were laughing and dogs were barking and old couples were feeding pigeons, but it was hard not to.
Because she didn’t deserve Agatha’s patience.
She’d been impossible last night: sharp, defensive, sarcastic. She’d shut down when Agatha had tried to mediate, had refused to explain herself properly, had basically stormed off like a sulky child. And yet Agatha was still here, sending her soft words, still being steady and kind, even when Rio hadn’t been either of those things.
With a shaky breath, Rio unlocked her phone and started to type back. But nothing felt right. No words were coming to her. She didn’t know what to say.
For a moment, she just stared at the message thread, the little purple heart emoji next to Agatha’s name, the blue and grey bubbles sitting there on the screen, and waited for the familiar rush of guilt.
It came, of course.
No matter what had happned last night, she didn’t want to be angry anymore. It was exhausting, and not just emotionally. Anger always left her feeling wrung out, raw in a way that went bone-deep. And she’d promised herself, when she’d moved in with Agatha, that she wouldn’t fall back into the same patterns she used to like picking fights, holding grudges, pretending she didn’t care.
She did care. Probably too much.
The phone vibrated lightly in her hand, and for a hopeful second she thought it was Agatha again. But it was just an academy group chat, something about class schedules.
Rio locked her phone again and tucked it back into her pocket.
She leaned back against the bench, staring up at the canopy of leaves above her. They were starting to turn shades of orange, red, and gold speckled through the fading green and it gave the whole park a sleepy, autumnal glow. She watched a few leaves detach and drift lazily down to the ground, carried by the light wind.
She could almost hear Agatha’s voice in her head, teasing her for getting so sentimental over trees.
A faint smile tugged at the corner of her mouth before she sighed again and stood up. Her mind was still heavy, but at least it wasn’t spinning anymore. Agatha’s text had anchored her a bit, pulled her back to herself. They’d talk tonight. Rio would explain everything, calmly this time. She owed her that.
She picked up the empty coffee cup and tossed it into a nearby trash bin before slipping her hands into her jacket pockets. She walked aimlessly, her sneakers crunching against the gravel, letting the rhythm of the city morning surround her.
After about twenty minutes of wandering aimlessly through the park’s meandering paths, Rio found herself growing restless again. Maybe she needed something else. Without thinking too much about it, she turned toward the nearest subway entrance.
Alice was working today. Maybe seeing her, even for a bit, would help.
The subway ride was mercifully short. Rio barely registered the people around her, the tourist couple arguing over directions, the kid blasting music from his headphones, the old man reading a newspaper as though it were still 1978. She sat with her elbows on her knees, eyes unfocused, the clatter of the train muffling the noise in her head.
By the time she reached the familiar corner where Alice’s bar sat, the city had fully stretched into its late morning rhythm. The bar was half-dark inside, like it always was during the day. Only a few customers lingered: two men in suits eating lunch in silence, a woman at the far end with a laptop and a glass of wine.
And Alice was there, behind the bar.
She was in her usual black T-shirt and dark jeans, hair pulled back with a red hair tie that went with her dyed strands. When she saw Rio walk in, her face lit up instantly.
“Well, if it isn’t the prodigy herself,” Alice said, leaning on the counter as Rio slid onto a stool. “What brings you here this early? Shouldn’t you be terrorizing children at the academy right now?”
Rio rested her elbows on the bar. “Morning off.”
Alice tilted her head, eyes narrowing. She’d known Rio too long not to see through that. “You look like you’ve been run over by a bus. Twice.”
“Thanks.”
“You wanna talk about it?”
“No,” Rio said simply. “I’d rather have a drink.”
Alice raised her brows. “It’s not even noon.”
Rio gave her a look that could silence even the boldest challenger at a chessboard.
Alice sighed and held up her hands in surrender. “Okay, okay. Message received.” She grabbed a clean glass, pulled the tap, and filled it with pale frothy beer before sliding it toward Rio. “Drink your poison.”
“Thank you.”
“Don’t thank me yet,” Alice muttered under her breath.
Rio ignored that, bringing the glass to her lips. The first sip was cold and bitter, and it went down far too easily. It wasn’t even that she liked the taste, it was the sensation she wanted, the dull warmth that spread through her chest after a few gulps. Something that made her brain slow down, just enough to stop the loop of last night’s dinner replaying in her mind. Alice went back to wiping down the counter, glancing at her every few minutes. She knew better than to press when Rio was in this mood.
Still, Alice tried to nudge her gently out of her fog. “So,” she said casually, stacking clean glasses. “Trouble in paradise?”
Rio didn’t even lift her gaze from the drink. “Something like that.”
Alice chuckled. “I thought you two were doing great. You practically own that fancy penthouse now, don’t you?”
Rio swirled the glass slowly, watching the foam dissolve. “Yeah. We’re fine. Just… not right now.”
That was all she offered, and Alice didn’t push. If Rio wanted to talk, she would, in her own time, in her own way.
When Rio finished the first beer, she pushed the glass forward slightly. “Another one. Please.”
Alice hesitated, dish towel still in hand. “You sure? You look like you could use a sandwich more than a refill.”
“I didn’t come here for lunch, Alice,” Rio said, tone sharper than she intended. “Please.”
Her friend studied her for a moment, concern flashing behind her teasing expression. “You planning to drown whatever it is before you tell me, or after?”
Rio gave a humorless smile. “Before. Maybe during.”
Alice exhaled through her nose but finally relented, pulling the tap again. “You know, I’ve been told I’m too nice for my own good,” she muttered, sliding the second pint toward her. “Don’t make me regret it.”
Rio raised her glass in a small salute. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”
She took a longer sip this time. The alcohol buzzed warmly through her system, loosening the tension in her shoulders. For a few minutes, it worked. The edges of her thoughts softened, the constant replay of last night faded a little. But as the glass emptied, the quiet of the nearly empty bar started to echo too much. The same memories that had haunted her all morning slipped right back in: Agatha’s voice, Hela’s smirk, Lilia’s laughter. The beer didn’t erase them. It only made them blurrier, which somehow hurt even more.
Alice kept herself busy checking the taps, rearranging bottles, occasionally humming a tune. Every so often she’d glance over, trying to gauge how deep Rio had sunk into her own head. When she noticed Rio’s eyes had gone glassy, she leaned forward again. “Hey. You okay?”
Rio gave a small nod, but it was unconvincing.
“You sure? Because you look like you’re about to start reciting tragic poetry or something, and I’m not paid enough for that.”
Rio managed a weak snort. “You’d make a terrible therapist.”
“Yeah, but I make a damn good bartender,” Alice said lightly, reaching for a rag. “Now, are you gonna tell me what’s got you sulking in my bar, or should I start guessing? My first guess is Agatha. Second guess, Agatha. Third—”
“Drop it, Alice.”
That shut her up. For a few seconds. “Okay,” she said softly, retreating back behind the bar.
Rio finished the second beer halfway before the familiar, treacherous lump rose in her throat. She set the glass down a little too hard, staring at the amber liquid still swirling inside it.
And then, without warning, the pressure she’d been holding in all morning broke. Her breath hitched, her shoulders trembled, and before she could stop herself, tears spilled over. She folded her arms on the bar and buried her face in them, sobs breaking free in uneven gasps.
Alice froze for half a second before instinct took over. She dropped the rag, hurried around the counter, and leaned over her friend.
“Hey, hey,” she said softly, placing a careful hand on Rio’s back. “What the hell happened? Talk to me.”
Rio only shook her head, her voice muffled against her sleeve. “I don’t—”
“Okay,” Alice said gently. “You don’t have to. Just breathe, alright?”
Rio’s shoulders heaved as she cried harder. Alice wrapped her arms around her and held on tightly, rubbing small circles into her back. “It’s okay, babe,” she murmured. “Whatever it is, you’re okay.”
Rio only hiccupped in response, unable to speak. She was still shaking through the remnants of her sobs when her phone started ringing on the counter beside her. The shrill vibration cut through the muffled haze of the quiet bar, startling both her and Alice.
For a moment, Rio didn’t move. Her head was still buried in her arms, her breathing uneven, chest tight from the release of everything she’d been holding in since the night before. The sound felt distant, like something happening in another world.
Alice leaned forward, frowning. “You gonna get that?”
Rio didn’t answer. She didn’t even lift her head. She just wanted the world to leave her alone for a little longer.
When the phone kept ringing, Alice reached across the counter, picking it up before it could vibrate itself off the surface. She squinted at the screen, her expression changing in an instant.
“Uh, Rio? It’s Nicky’s school.”
Rio’s head snapped up so fast she nearly knocked into Alice’s arm. “What?”
“His school,” Alice repeated, holding the phone out to her.
For half a second, Rio just stared at the screen, the caller ID burning into her foggy brain. Her stomach dropped, the remains of her buzz evaporating in an instant. The high school never called her, not once in the whole year Nicky had been attending. She was listed as the second emergency contact, sure, but Agatha’s number was always the one they tried first. Always.
Which meant they had tried Agatha. And she hadn’t answered.
Rio’s fingers were suddenly unsteady as she took the phone from Alice. “Shit,” she muttered under her breath, trying to blink the leftover tears and beer-haze out of her eyes. She straightened on the stool, forcing her voice to sound composed as she hit the green button.
“Hello? This is Rio Vidal.”
A polite voice answered. “Miss Vidal, thank you for pickcing up. I’m calling from Saint Magnus—Nicholas Harkness’s school. We tried reaching Miss Harkness, but she hasn’t answered, and Nicholas told us you were his secondary contact.”
The mention of Nicky’s full name made Rio’s pulse spike. “Yes. What’s going on?”
The voice on the other end sighed. “I’m afraid Nicholas was caught cheating during his mathematics exam this morning.”
Rio blinked. “What?”
“His teacher discovered him with an unauthorized set of notes and his phone under his desk,” the voice continued briskly. “Given the seriousness of the infraction, we had to report it immediately. He’s been assigned a one day exclusion and detention next week. We’ll need a guardian to come pick him up as soon as possible.”
For a moment, Rio couldn’t even process the words. Cheating. Nicky. Her Nicky—Agatha’s Nicky—the polite, rule-following, straight-A kid who apologized when he sneezed too loud.
It didn’t make sense.
There had to be a mistake.
“I—” She cleared her throat, trying to sound more in control than she felt. “There must be some kind of misunderstanding. Nicky wouldn’t—”
“I understand this must be a shock,” the voice said, almost gently. “But the teacher was quite clear. We’ll explain everything in person when you arrive.”
Rio rubbed at her temple, trying to fight through the dull ache in her skull and the creeping panic rising in her chest. “Alright,” she said finally. “I’ll be there soon.”
“Thank you, Miss Vidal.”
The call ended with a click, and Rio stared at the dark screen for a second before setting the phone down on the counter.
Alice leaned in. “What’s going on?”
Rio exhaled shakily, her mind racing. “It’s Nicky. He—” She paused, the absurdity of it still catching her off guard. “He got caught cheating. On a test.”
Alice’s eyes widened. “Nicky? Your Nicky? The same kid who apologizes to pigeons when he startles them?”
Rio nodded, almost laughing from the disbelief. “Apparently.”
“Okay, that’s… weird. Did they say why? Or how?”
“They said he had notes under his desk.”
“Notes?” Alice frowned. “Maybe he dropped something? Or someone else put them there?”
“I don’t know,” Rio said, rubbing her forehead again. “They said they’ll explain when I get there.” She looked toward the door, heart already pounding with urgency. “I need to go.”
“Yeah, obviously,” Alice said, then frowned again. “Wait. How many beers did you have?”
Rio froze. “One and a half. Two.”
“On an empty stomach.”
“I—”
“Uh-huh.” Alice crossed her arms. “You’re not showing up at your pseudo-kid’s school reeking of beer, Rio. You’re not that adult.”
“Alice, I don’t have time for this—”
“Then make time.” Alice turned, grabbed a tall glass from the shelf, and filled it with ice water. She slid it toward Rio like a bartender delivering a moral ultimatum. “All of it. Now.”
Rio scowled, but the logic of it landed. She knew Alice was right. If she walked into that school smelling like alcohol, she’d be adding “irresponsible guardian” to whatever disaster had just unfolded with Nicky.
She grabbed the glass and downed half of it in one go, grimacing at the chill that hit her stomach.
“Good girl,” Alice muttered, softening a little. “Take a second, okay? You’re shaking.”
Rio hadn’t realized it until now, but her hands were trembling slightly. Adrenaline, maybe, or guilt, or sheer disbelief that any of this was happening.
She set the empty glass back on the counter. “Okay. I’m going.”
Alice grabbed her wrist before she could turn away. “You sure you’re okay to handle this?”
Rio nodded. “I’ll be fine.”
Alice studied her a second longer, then squeezed her wrist once and let go. “Text me later. And if you need me to go get him with you—”
“I’ll be fine,” Rio repeated, softer this time.
Alice sighed. “Alright. Go be a responsible adult or whatever.”
Rio managed a ghost of a smile. “Trying my best.”
She grabbed her phone, shoved it in her jacket pocket, and headed toward the door. The early-afternoon light hit her as soon as she stepped outside, sharp and too bright after the dim interior of the bar. She blinked against it, pulling her jacket tighter around her as she started walking fast toward the subway.
Her mind was already shifting gears, from pain and anger to focus and worry.
Nicky. Cheating.
The subway ride had been a blur. Rio barely registered the people coming and going, the recorded voice announcing each stop, or the faint screech of the rails. Her mind was locked on Nicky. What could have possibly driven him to cheat? It didn’t fit. It didn’t make sense.
By the time she climbed the steps out of the subway, her pulse was pounding, her stomach knotted tight, her mind still hazy. The school building loomed a few blocks away, all neat red brick and wide windows. She paused on the sidewalk, taking one deep breath before stepping inside.
The woman at the reception desk looked up immediately when Rio entered. “Can I help you?”
“Yes,” Rio said, pushing her hands into her jacket pockets so the receptionist wouldn’t see they were still trembling slightly. “I’m here for Nicholas Harkness. I was called.”
The receptionist nodded, checking her screen. “Ah, yes. Miss Vidal, right? He’s waiting in the main office. You can go right through.”
Rio thanked her with a brief nod and started down the hall. When she reached the main office, she saw him immediately.
Nicky sat on a hard plastic chair in the corner, shoulders slumped, hands fidgeting in his lap. His backpack rested on the floor by his feet. Next to him, a middle-aged teacher with thinning hair and an earnest expression stood with his arms crossed.
At the sound of the door opening, Nicky’s head shot up. His eyes, red-rimmed and wide, found hers instantly. “Rio,” he said, voice small and trembling. He scrambled to his feet, his guilt written all over his face. “I’m so sorry—”
Rio exhaled slowly, the sound more weary than angry. She crossed the room toward him, glancing at the teacher. “What happened?”
The man straightened his tie. “Miss Vidal, thank you for coming. I’m Mr. Johnson, Nicholas’s math teacher. I caught Nicholas using his phone and some handwritten notes during this morning’s exam. Unfortunately, that constitutes a clear violation of our academic integrity policy.”
Nicky’s head dropping lower.
Rio frowned. “Using his phone?”
“Yes,” the teacher confirmed. “He was looking up formulas and he had some notes hidden on his lap. When I asked him to hand them over, he admitted it.”
“That doesn’t sound like him.”
The teacher sighed. “I understand this must be difficult to hear, but it was quite straightforward. I have to inform you that Nicholas has received a one-day suspension and detention three nights next week. We tried to contact his mother first, but we couldn’t reach her.”
Rio’s jaw clenched. “Right, she’s probably in meetings.”
“So we asked Nicholas who else we could call,” the teacher continued, “and he said we should call you.”
Rio’s gaze flickered to Nicky, whose hands twisted nervously in front of him.
“He asked for you,” the teacher added, as if if that was meant to be reassuring.
Rio’s throat tightened unexpectedly. Despite everything, despite the chaos, the anger, the humiliation, Nicky had wanted her to come.
The teacher’s voice kept going, outlining the formalities: suspension paperwork, rescheduling, parent meetings. But Rio didn’t want to hear it. Her patience was thin, her nerves raw, her mind still fogged by a morning of self-recrimination and half-dulled beer.
She lifted a hand abruptly, cutting him off. “That’s quite enough. I get it.”
The teacher blinked, thrown off by her tone. “Miss Vidal…”
“I don’t need more details right now,” she said, trying to keep her voice steady but clipped. “I’ll handle it.”
She turned to Nicky, who was biting his lip, looking up at her with watery eyes. “Get your stuff, kid.”
“But—”
“Not now,” Rio said firmly. “We’ll talk later.”
He nodded quickly, sniffling, and bent down to grab his backpack. The teacher frowned slightly, as though debating whether to insist on finishing his lecture. But one look at Rio’s expression made him think better of it. She had that dangerous air like she was one word away from snapping.
“Alright,” he said finally. “We’ll see you on Monday, then, Nicholas.”
Rio just nodded curtly and placed a hand on Nicky’s shoulder, steering him toward the door.
Nicky kept trying to speak as they walked, the beginnings of explanations tumbling out in bursts. “It’s not what you think, I didn’t mean to— it’s just—”
“Not now,” Rio repeated, a little softer this time. “We’ll talk later. I’m not angry at you. I swear I’m not.”
He shut his mouth, eyes darting down to the floor. The heavy silence between them followed all the way down the hallway and out into the cool outside air. Rio’s hand was still hovering near Nicky’s shoulder as they descended the front steps.
She opened her mouth, about to say something, soften her tone, ask him why, but a sleek black car pulled up right in front of the school before she could.
She recognized that car instantly.
And when the driver’s door opened, her heart sank further.
Agatha stepped out, her heels clicking against the pavement, her long coat fluttering slightly in the cold wind. Her face was composed. Too composed. The stillness before a storm.
Rio’s stomach twisted. Beside her, Nicky stiffened.
“Uh oh,” he murmured under his breath.
Rio couldn’t even muster a reply. Her throat was dry, her pulse loud in her ears.
Agatha shut the car door with deliberate calm, her blue eyes sweeping over the two of them, taking in Nicky’s slumped posture, Rio’s pale face, the school steps, everything in a single, silent assessment.
She didn’t say anything yet.
But she didn’t need to.
The look alone said enough.
And Rio knew, without Agatha having to open her mouth, that this was not going to be a good conversation.
Notes:
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Chapter 7: Agatha
Notes:
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(proofread it like three times for the typos, iykyk)
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Agatha woke up to an empty bed.
The other side of the mattress was cold, which meant Rio had been gone for a while, long enough for the faint trace of her warmth to fade. The sheets were tangled, the duvet half-pulled to the floor, and the faintest smell of Rio’s shampoo still lingered on the pillow. Agatha turned her head toward it and sighed.
So Rio had slipped out early. Again.
For a long moment, Agatha just lay there staring at the ceiling, one arm folded under her head. She’d hoped (foolishly, apparently) that they would talk this morning. That Rio would stay. That she’d pad into the kitchen in one of Agatha’s shirts and they’d make coffee together and quietly pick apart whatever had cracked sideways between them last night. Maybe not fix it entirely, but at least start untying the knot.
But no. Of course not.
Rio never stayed when things got uncomfortable. She evaporated. Slipped out like smoke before anything real could be addressed.
Agatha dragged a hand down her face, frustration stirring beneath her ribs. She really didn’t understand this situation anymore. She’d replayed the night again and again, trying to find the moment everything had tipped but all of it just blended into a haze of stiff smiles and brittle silence and that awful moment in the kitchen where she’d tried to get Rio to talk and Rio had just… shut down.
Maybe she should’ve pressed a little. Asked more questions. Given Rio more space to explain instead of jumping straight to “just apologize.”
Had she been too sharp? Yes. She could admit that much. She’d been exhausted, had spent half of the afternoon cooking, hosting, stretched thin. She’d told Rio to apologize because that’s what you do in front of guests, when tempers flare and the air gets tense. It hadn’t seemed unreasonable at the moment.
But now, lying in the cold dent Rio had left in the bed, Agatha found herself replaying it all with an uncomfortable twist of doubt. Had she listened enough before she started giving instructions like she was running a meeting instead of a relationship?
She had asked Rio what happened—but she’d only half-heard the answer, too busy trying to smoooth the edges of the evening, trying to keep the atmosphere intact, trying not to let the tension spill past the kitchen doorway where Nicky might notice. She hadn’t had the bandwidth to manage everyone’s emotions at once. God knew she barely managed her own after a day like that.
Rio had said something about Hela all those years ago and Agatha—tired, irritated—had assumed it was just another bout of Rio’s competitiveness or petty rivalry or disbelief that people could change after a decade and inability to let the past stay buried. It had seemed easier, safer, to redirect, to douse the sparks before they caught.
And then there was Nicky. Sweet, perceptive, too-old-too-young Nicky. Her boy who had watched the adults with those quiet, worried eyes. Her boy who didn’t need more tension in the house, not with strangers at the dinner table and the atmosphere thinning like ice underfoot. She didn’t want him seeing Rio’s jaw tighten or Hela’s smile sharpen or her own patience fraying. She’d been trying to hold everything steady, to keep things civil, to protect him—even if she knew she had a tendency to be overprotective. She’d rather be too careful than let him think the ground wasn’t safe under him.
So yes, she had smoothed things over. She had defaulted to diplomacy. She had tried to end the conflict quickly rather than dig into it. And dismissed Rio by the same occasion. And she already hated herself for it.
She had smoothed too aggressively, listened too little, assumed too much.
She was wrong, and she knew it. Plainly and simply.
But then again—Agatha huffed, staring at the ceiling once more—Rio hadn’t exactly made it easy. She’d given barely anything. A few cryptic sentences and then that stubborn silence she deployed like a shield. And now she was gone, again, running off to avoid a conversation she had practically demanded the night before. Even avoided the apology Agatha had been working herself up to say. Because she was ready to apologize. At least try. And that was hard to admit for Agatha. But Rio was worth it.
Maybe it had started with that dinner, when Hela had shown up and Rio’s mood had darkened like a storm cloud. Or maybe before that, when Rio had been jittery for no reason at all, it seemed at first. Agatha wasn’t sure anymore. What she was sure of, however, was that Rio was overreacting. Dramatically. And now acting wounded when Agatha didn’t magically decode her moods.
It was like living with a puzzle that punished you for not solving it fast enough.
But was the puzzle too hard, or was she just bad at it?
Agatha exhaled through her nose, the irritation rising now that she was awake enough to feel it properly. But it was more sadness than annoyance now. Real, painful sadness.
Because maybe Rio hadn’t been wrong to bristle. Maybe there had been warning signs Agatha hadn’t wanted to see.
Because she wanted to apologize. She really did. And now she couldn’t even do that.
Because if Rio wanted her to understand, she had to actually tell her something. Anything. If she wanted her to see what she saw, she had to let Agatha stand beside her long enough to look. If she wanted her to apologize, she had to stay long enough to hear it. Not throw barbed comments across a dinner table, barely elaborate when asked, and then vanish before dawn like a scolded child.
Agatha rolled onto her side, staring at the empty space beside her, the question rose higher in her mind.
Did I get this wrong? Or is she just running again?
She didn’t know the answer. And that—not the argument, not even Rio’s disappearance—was the part that sat heaviest on her chest.
Still, she reached for her phone on the nightstand, unlocked it, and stared at the message thread between them for a moment before typing.
Agatha: Hey. I know you needed space. Can we talk tonight? I think we both should. Have a good day, sweetheart.
She hesitated on the last word before hitting send, debating whether to add something else, something sharper, like if you can manage to be an adult about it this time. But she deleted that thought before it reached her thumbs.
No. She wasn’t going to be petty. That was Rio’s specialty. And in the back of her mind, she knew she had no ground to be petty today.
She pressed send, dropped the phone beside her, and pushed herself up, swinging her legs over the edge of the bed.
Time to move. She had a full day ahead of her, full of meetings, deadlines, endless calls with the Artemis representatives about the new campaign, and she couldn’t afford to start it by brooding over a lover who refused to communicate.
When she stepped out of her room after a shower, the penthouse already smelled faintly of sugar and toast. Nicky was already up. She smiled faintly at the thought. He wasn’t usually an early riser unless there was something big happening at school. She got dressed quickcly and grabbed her phone again just to check, but still no reply from Rio. Not that she’d really expected one.
By the time she walked into the kitchen, Nicky was hunched over the counter, surrounded by open notebooks, papers, and his math textbook. His hair was sticking up in all directions, and he was muttering under his breath, pencil tapping nervously against the page.
“What on earth has you in such a frenzy this early?” Agatha asked, sliding her phone onto the counter and reaching for her coffee cup.
Nicky jumped a little at her voice. “Oh, uh—” He glanced up, his brown eyes wide. “Math. Big test today.”
“Ah,” Agatha said, amused. “That explains the panic.” She took a sip of coffee, watching him. “You studied, right?”
Nicky froze. Just for a fraction of a second. Then he nodded quickly, too quickly. “Yeah. Totally. I, um, reviewed last night before and after that dinner.”
“Good,” she said, smiling, though she noticed how uncomfortable he suddenly looked. “Then you’ll be fine.”
“Right.”
He didn’t sound convinced. Agatha tilted her head, frowning slightly. “What’s wrong? You look like you’re about to confess a crime.”
Nicky’s eyes darted to his papers, then back to her. “Nothing,” he said quickly. “It’s just… a big test, that’s all.”
She hesitated, studying him for a moment longer before deciding to let it go. He was fourteen. Teenagers were basically a walking storm of nerves and secrets.
“Alright. Don’t psych yourself out, sweetheart. You’ll do great.”
He gave her a small smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Thanks, Mama.”
She moved to grab her keys and laptop bag. “I have a very full day today,” she said, mostly to herself as she checked the contents of her bag. “Big meetings with the Artemis representatives. The new project’s turning into a monster already.”
“You’ll crush it. You always do.”
Agatha chuckled. “That’s my line.”
When they were both ready, they stepped out together. They rode the elevator in comfortable silence, Agatha adjusting her jacket while Nicky stared at his shoes. When the doors opened, they stepped out into the marble lobby.
“Alright, subway for you,” Agatha said, turning toward the glass doors. “And a whole day of chaos for me.”
Nicky nodded, shifting his backpack higher on his shoulder. Agatha leaned down and kissed his cheek. “Good luck, love.”
“Bye, Mama,” he said, and turned toward the subway entrance down the block.
Agatha watched him go for a moment then walked towards the penthouse garage, her thoughts still halfway back in her empty bed, on the unread message glowing quietly on her phone screen.
Rio still hadn’t replied.
By midday, Agatha was already running on fumes.
Her morning had been an uninterrupted storm of meetings, presentations, and tense calls. She had started the day with a strong coffee and a stronger sense of purpose, but by the time noon rolled around, she felt like she’d been at war. Three back-to-back meetings, two rescheduled calls, and an inbox bursting with urgent follow-ups later, her head was throbbing.
At some point during the second meeting, right when the Artemis representatives started arguing among themselves about creative direction, her phone had died. Not metaphorically. Completely, tragically dead. She’d meant to plug it in during a bathroom break, but there hadn’t been a bathroom break. Someone had always been waiting at the door with another folder, another pitch, another “just one more quick question.”
So now, when she finally slipped away to her office, it felt like coming up for air after hours underwater. She shut the door behind her and leaned against it for a second, exhaling. Her desk was buried under sketches, print proofs, and half-drunk cups of coffee. She walked across the carpet, and plugged her phone into its charger with a sigh.
“Finally,” she muttered.
She sank into her chair and rolled her neck, waiting for the device to power up. The moment it did, it buzzed violently, one long vibration after another.
Three missed calls. All from Nicky’s school.
Agatha’s stomach dropped.
She immediately opened her voicemail, heart pounding harder with every second of silence before the message started playing.
“Hello, this is the main office at St. Magnus High School calling regarding Nicholas Harkness. We tried reaching you but were unable to get through. Nicholas has been caught cheating during his math test this morning. As per school policy, he’s been given a one-day suspension, and we need a guardian to come pick him up as soon as possible. Thank you.”
Agatha just sat there, frozen, staring at her phone. “Cheating?” she repeated aloud, incredulous. “Nicholas?”
For a full five seconds she simply couldn’t process it. Her Nicky, who color-coded his notebooks, who panicked if his grades slipped below an A-minus, who once cried because he thought he’d disappointed her, cheating? It didn’t make sense. None of it made sense.
She rubbed her temples, “Oh, for God’s sake. Not today.”
This day had already been a disaster. Between Rio being furious with her, the stress of back-to-back meetings, and now this…
But even through the irritation and disbelief, she didn’t hesitate. Nicky came first.
She stood, grabbed her coat from the hook by the door, and shoved her laptop into her bag. As she strode toward the exit, Jen appeared at her office door, a cup of coffee in hand and an eyebrow already raised.
“Whoa, where are you going? You’ve got the Artemis follow-up in twenty minutes.”
“Cancel it.”
Jen raised an eyebrow. “Cancel it? You’ve been trying to land these people for months—”
“Something came up,” Agatha snapped. “I’ll handle it later.”
Jen frowned. “Agatha—”
But Agataha was already halfway down the hall. She didn’t even look back. She didn’t have the bandwidth to explain, not today.
By the time she slid into her car, her pulse was racing. She slumped back against the seat, pressing a hand over her eyes.
Cheating.
Her son.
Unbelievable.
She tried to think rationally, but frustration was winning. She’d barely had a moment to breathe all week, the campaign was falling behind schedule, one of her senior designers was threatening to quit, and now Rio had gone silent on her like a moody teenager. The last thing she needed was an actual teenager making things worse.
Traffic was horrible. Midtown was clogged, a mess of honking cars and irritated pedestrians. The stop-and-go rhythm only made her more agitated. She tapped her fingers against the wheel impatiently, staring out the window at the blur of people and taxis. “Come on, come on…” she muttered under her breath.
Why would Nicky cheat? He wasn’t that kind of kid.
Agatha thought back to breakfast that morning. She’d asked him if he was ready for his test, and he’d said yes. She’d noticed the discomfort in his eyes, but she’d brushed it off as nerves.
Now, she realized, it hadn’t been nerves. It had been guilt.
Her jaw clenched. She was disappointed, yes, but mostly, she was confused. Had he been pressured? Was someone else involved? Or was this just… a slip? A bad choice from a good kid?
It wasn’t like him. Nicky didn’t cut corners. He didn’t lie. He didn’t do this.
Maybe it was stress. Maybe she’d been too busy lately. Maybe she hadn’t been there enough. Maybe he’d been too afraid to disappoint her. The thought made her chest tighten, though her pride refused to let guilt take the front seat just yet.
Still, a quiet voice in her head whispered: You’ve been distracted. You didn’t see it coming.
She ignored it.
Her phone buzzed softly beside her, its screen lighting up with notifications. She glanced at it, half-hoping for a message from Rio, maybe a sign of peace, a single hey or we’ll talk later, but there was nothing. Just the lingering silence she’d come to expect.
Great. Perfect. Everything was on fire today.
By the time she pulled up in front of the school, her mood was a taut wire ready to snap.
She parked, got out of the car and looked up. Halfway down the front steps of the school, coming out through the main doors, were two familiar figures: Nicky, looking small and guilty beside the unmistakable silhouette of Rio.
Agatha froze beside her car door.
Her son. Her girlfriend. Together.
And neither of them looked particularly happy.
The irritation that had been simmering all day finally surged to the surface. She slammed the car door shut and squared her shoulders. She barely gave herself time to breathe before she started marching toward them, her heels biting into the concrete. She was furious now.
The sound made both Nicky and Rio turn toward her. Nicky froze instantly, shoulders shrinking in on themselves, while Rio straightened up, her expression wary.
But Agatha didn’t even look at Rio. Her gaze was locked on her son.
“What on earth is wrong with you?” she snapped. “Do you even know what kind of day I’m having already, Nicholas? Do you have any idea how important today is for me?”
Nicky’s face fell. His mouth opened, closed, then opened again. “Mama, I—”
“No.” She held up a hand, cutting him off before he could continue. “No, don’t even start. I get a call in the middle of the day—in the middle of work—saying my son, my smart, disciplined, supposedly responsible son, was caught cheating on a test? Are you kidding me?”
The word “cheating” came out louder than she intended, drawing a few glances from people passing by. Nicky flinched visibly, his eyes darting downward.
“I didn’t mean—I wasn’t trying to—” he stammered, his voice cracking.
Agatha took a step closer. “Then what, Nicky? You just accidentally brought notes into an exam? Accidentally decided to lie to your teacher?”
“No!” He shook his head quickly, eyes bright with unshed tears. “No, I didn’t--I didn’t plan it like that. I just… I panicked.”
She folded her arms tightly. “You panicked.”
“Yes,” he said. “I sat there and my mind went blank, and everyone else was writing, and I just—I knew the answers, I swear I did, I just couldn’t remember them fast enough. I thought if I looked once—just once—I could get through it and fix it later.”
“Fix it later,” Agatha repeated flatly.
“Yes… I wasn’t trying to—”
“Not trying to what?” Agatha interrupthed. “Not trying to embarrass me? Because that’s exactly what you did.”
“I didn’t mean to! I swear, I just—” He hesitated, looking up at her with trembling lips, and the words tumbled out all at once. “I was busy with chess, okay? And I couldn’t study with that dinner yesterday and I’ve been practicing for the tournament, and I didn’t have time to study properly. I just wanted to do well for once! I wanted to make you proud, and Rio proud, and—”
Agatha let out a sharp, incredulous laugh, shaking her head. “Oh, for God’s sake, Nicky. We had a deal! School first, then chess! That’s what we agreed on, remember?” Her tone was harsh, too harsh, but she couldn’t stop herself. Between the stress of work, the guilt from yesterday and this morning, and the exhaustion of keeping everything together lately, the frustration poured out unchecked. “But no,” she continued, pointing a finger toward him. “You just had to push, didn’t you? You just had to do everything at once, and now look where that got you.”
Nicky’s throat bobbed as he swallowed hard, his eyes glassy. “I know,” he whispered. “I messed up. I’m sorry.”
“Sorry doesn’t fix it,” Agatha said sharply. “You’re going to have to deal with the consequences, Nicholas. You don’t get to cheat your way through school because of a chess tournament.”
Nicky tried again, his voice trembling. “But Mama—”
“Don’t ‘but Mama’ me. You’ll have plenty of time to explain yourself later. Right now, I want you to go wait in the car.”
He froze, torn between obeying and trying again to defend himself. “But I-”
“Now, Nicky.”
The firmness in her voice made him flinch again. He turned to Rio for help.
Rio shifted slightly beside her, clearly uneasy. “Agatha, maybe you should--”
“Not now, Rio,” Agatha snapped. “I’m not finished dealing with this.”
Rio’s brows drew together, the faintest frown creasing her face. “He’s already scared out of his mind. You don’t need to—”
But Agatha didn’t let her finish. “I said not now.”
Rio looked at her silently, reading the storm on her face, the anger, yes, but also the exhaustion, the worry, the hurt. But for the moment, there was no space for softness. Not in Agatha’s posture, not in her voice.
Nicky tried again. “Mama, please, I didn’t—”
“I said go.”
Her voice was quiet this time, but there was no mistaking the authority in it.
Defeated, Nicky’s shoulders sagged. His face was red, his lips pressed together as if he was fighting not to cry. Without another word, he turned away and walked down the steps toward the car.
The silence he left behind was suffocating.
Agatha exhaled shakily, her gaze finally breaking away from the car and landing for the first time on Rio. She was on the verge of softening and greet her properly, but before she could say a word, Rio spoke first. “You don’t need to be that hard on him,” she said, her tone low but laced with irritation. “He made a mistake, sure, but he’s a good kid. I was the same at his age. Cheating once doesn’t make him a bad person. You’re being too harsh.”
Agatha blinked, all softness gone again. “Excuse me?” she said, her voice dangerously calm at first.
Rio crossed her arms, stepping closer. “I’m saying, don’t crucify him for it. He’s a kid under a lot of pressure. It’s not the end of the world.”
Agatha’s jaw tightened. “Do not tell me how to parent my son, Rio,” she said sharply. “You don’t get to decide what’s a big deal and what isn’t. He made a choice, and he needs to deal with the consequences.”
Rio didn’t back down. “I’m not trying to tell you how to parent, I’m trying to give you some perspective. You’re making it sound like he committed a crime. It’s his first offense, Agatha. He was nervous. You know he’s been preparing for that chess tournament. He’s been pushing himself hard. Maybe he didn’t have time to—”
“That doesn’t make me feel better, Rio!” Agatha’s voice suddenly rose, cutting her off. “Do you even hear yourself right now? You’re defending him. He cheated, for God’s sake! I don’t care how nervous he was, I don’t even care about bad grades. I’d rather he got one than cheat! He knows better.”
Rio flinched slightly at the volume, her own anger starting to stir beneath the surface. “I’m not defending what he did,” she said, her voice shaking now, her words jumbling together, “I’m saying I understand it. Because I’ve been there. You have no idea how much chess—”
“Stop.” Agatha’s tone was like ice. “Just stop talking about chess like it’s some divine excuse for everything. Nicky is not like you.”
Rio’s mouth opened slightly, but no sound came out
Agatha didn’t stop. “He’s a child. He doesn’t need to be swallowed by your world, your… obsession. This is exactly what I was afraid of.”
Rio’s voice trembled when she finally spoke. “You think this is my fault?”
“I think,” Agatha said, her tone hard, “that if you’re going to call yourself his role model, then you might want to think about the example you’re setting.”
Rio blinked, stunned. Her lips parted, and she exhaled a disbelieving laugh. “You can’t be serious,” she muttered. “You’re really blaming me because your kid got caught cheating?”
Agatha glared at her. “I’m blaming you for not even calling me! The school said they tried to reach me, and then you showed up. Why didn’t you call when you found out?”
Rio threw her hands up before bringing them to her head. “Because you weren’t there! You never are! So they called me! I’m his second emergency contact, remember? That’s the whole point! If you’re unavailable, they call me. That’s what we agreed on, Agatha.”
“Well, you should have called Jen then!” Agatha snapped back. “She’s at the office, she would have told me immediately. I’m his mother. When something happens with him, I’m the one who should be there first.”
Rio’s eyes flashed with hurt. “You’re unbelievable. We agreed on this together, and now suddenly it’s wrong because it’s me they called? Because you weren’t reachable?”
Agatha pressed her hand to her forehead, trying to breathe, but she was too far gone. Every nerve was raw. Every word Rio said just scraped against the inside of her skull. And that’s when she noticed Rio’s slightly flushed cheeks, the faint glassiness in her eyes, the way she rubbed her temple like her head was pounding.
Something icy slid through Agatha’s stomach. “Oh my God,” she whispered. “Are you… are you drunk right now?”
“What?”
“You’re slurring,” Agatha said, pointing at her. “Your face is red, your eyes are unfocused. Don’t lie to me, Rio. Are you drunk?”
Rio’s nostrils flared. “I’m not drunk, okay? I had a drink with Alice earlier. I didn’t think I’d have to deal with a school crisis today.”
Agatha saw red. “You went to my son’s school after drinking?”
Rio snapped back, “Oh, don’t act so high and mighty, Agatha! You weren’t even reachable! Your phone was dead, you were buried in meetings, like always! Someone had to go!”
Agatha’s voice cracked into a shout. “That doesn’t make it better! You don’t show up to a high school meeting buzzed, Rio! What is wrong with you?”
Rio’s anger surged, her voice rising to match Agatha’s. “What’s wrong with me? What’s wrong with you? You’re always working, always too busy to notice what’s going on around you! You never listen and you act like I’m the problem, but you’re the one who treats everyone like an employee! Like you’re above everything and everyone!”
Agatha’s hands were shaking now. “Don’t you dare talk to me like that. You’re the one who refuses to have a real conversation! You shut down every time something gets uncomfortable, and now you’re picking fights with me in front of my son’s school because you can’t control your temper!”
“Wow,” Rio said, laughing bitterly. “There it is. You really think I’m just some angry wild thing, don’t you? You’ve been waiting to say it. You’re not better than me. At least I’m here for Nicky when you’re not.”
“Do not bring my son into our fight. And I think you’re being childish,” Agatha spat. “And selfish. You always run away instead of dealing with things like an adult. You’d rather pout and sulk than actually communicate.”
“And you’d rather control everything than listen!” Rio shot back. “You act like being right matters more than being fair! If I’m the chess freak, you’re the control freak!”
Agatha’s breath trembled. Rio’s hands were fists at her sides. Both of them were saying too much and not enough all at once, each one trying to make the other understand, but only managing to wound. And still, neither of them stopped arguing. The argument had spiraled far past anything she’d intended: past Nicky, past the cheating, past the phone call. Now it was a storm of everything unsaid between them.
She couldn’t do this anymore. Not here. Not in front of the school. Not with her son watching from the car window, probably scared and confused. She lifted a hand, cutting Rio off mid-sentence. “Enough. I’m done with this conversation.”
Rio huffed, chest heaving. “Agatha, you can’t just—”
“No. I can. And I will.”
“Well, well. Look who’s refusing to communicate now.”
For a second, all that could be heard was the sound of traffic rushing by and the faint wind between the buildings. Agatha exhaled slowly, her jaw tight. Then, with venom lacing every syllable, she added, “Don’t expect Nicky in chess class later. He’s grounded. No more chess, not until he learns some responsibility.”
Rio’s head jerked back. “What?” she said, disbelief flashing in her eyes. “Agatha, that’s not…come on, that’s not fair to him.”
“He cheated. He gets punished. That’s how it works.”
“Taking away chess is not the right way to punish him!” Rio protested, stepping forward. “It’s the one thing he cares about! You’ll just make him hate himself more! You’re taking away the thing that gives him purpose!”
“Now you’re just projecting.”
“I’m not. I just think you’re not being fair to him!”
“Don’t you dare lecture me about how to raise my son,” Agatha hissed, the last threads of her restraint snapping. “You are not his mother, Rio.”
Agatha knew instantly she had gone too far. She knew it the moment she saw Rio’s eyes glisten and her chin lift in that stubborn, brittle way she always did when she was about to cry but refused to let herself.
Still, Agatha didn’t take it back. She couldn’t—not when her blood was boiling and her pride was screaming louder than her heart.
Rio finally managed to speak, her voice breaking slightly. “You don’t have to remind me,” she said softly, almost whispering. “Trust me, I know I’m not his mother.”
The quiet pain in her tone was like a knife twisting in Agatha’s gut, but she ignored it. And she hated herself for it. Because Rio was so good to Nicky.
But she couldn’t stop now, not without losing face. Not after everything. “Good. Then stay out of it. Go home, sleep off your hangover, and when you’re sober, maybe we’ll talk.”
Rio’s jaw clenched, and she crossed her arms tightly across her. She didn’t answer. Didn’t move. Just stood there on the sidewalk, while Agatha stormed past her. Agatha’s heels clacked sharply against the pavement as she crossed the street, refusing to look back. If she did, she wasn’t sure she’d be able to keep walking.
When she reached the car, she yanked open the door and slid in behind the wheel. The door slammed shut with a hollow thud that made Nicky flinch. He was sitting quietly in the passenger seat, staring down at his sleeves, twisting the fabric between his fingers. The silence inside the car was suffocating.
Starting the car, Agatha forced her focus on the road. The school disappeared in the rearview mirror, the red brick façade shrinking behind them, and with it, Rio, still standing there on the sidewalk, motionless.
Nicky finally risked a glance at her. “Mama?” he said softly.
Agatha’s fingers tightened around the wheel. “Not now.”
He swallowed and nodded, turning his gaze back to the window. Agatha’s mind replayed everything in jagged flashes: the voicemail from the school, Rio’s slurred tone, the argument on the steps, the look on Rio’s face. She told herself she was right. She needed to be right. It was engraved into her mind and way of life. Told herself that she’d done what any responsible parent would do. That she couldn’t afford to let emotions get in the way of discipline.
But even as she repeated it in her head, it didn’t sound convincing.
At a red light, she exhaled shakily and pressed her palm against her eyes. For a brief moment, she felt the sting of tears but blinked them away. She couldn’t fall apart in front of Nicky. Not after all that.
The light turned green. She lowered her hand and droveon.
Nicky shifted slightly in the passenger seat, trying again. “Mama, I—”
“Don’t,” Agatha said sharply, without looking at him. “Save it.”
He fell silent immediately, his hands folding in his lap. She could see him fidgeting in the corner of her vision, his shoulders hunched forward like he wanted to disappear. It should have made her soften. It didn’t.
“You’re grounded,” she said finally. “No video games, no phone, and definitely no chess until further notice.”
Nicky’s head snapped up. “What? But, the competition is next Tuesday, you can’t—Mama, please!”
“No.” She cut him off again, more harshly this time. “If chess keeps you from doing your schoolwork, then I’ll make sure it’s not a distraction anymore.”
He twisted in his seat to face her. “That’s not fair! I just… I made one mistake!”
“One big mistake,” Agatha shot back. “You cheated, Nicholas. You know how serious that is. This isn’t about a bad grade or a missed assignment, this is about character. I raised you better than that.”
“I know! I’m sorry!” he blurted out, his voice cracking. “I just… I was scared, okay? I didn’t study enough and I didn’t want to fail. I didn’t want to disappoint you.”
Agatha’s fingers tightened even more around the wheel. “Then you should have talked to me,” she said, her voice trembling. “Not lied. Not cheated.”
Nicky’s lower lip quivered. “I didn’t mean to,” he murmured.
“But you did,” Agatha snapped. “You made a choice. And choices have consequences.”
There was a pause. She knew she was being harsh—too harsh, maybe—but she couldn’t stop herself. It felt like every piece of her life was spinning out of control, and the only way she could keep it from unraveling was to control something.
Unfortunately, the “something” was her son.
“Where are we going?” Nicky asked after a few minutes, his voice barely above a whisper.
“To my office,” Agatha said flatly.
“Your office?”
“Yes. Since I had to cancel my afternoon meeting because of this little episode,” she said, biting out each word like it tasted bitter, “I still have work to catch up on. You’ll come with me and sit in my office. You can spend the afternoon studying. That’s what you should have been doing in the first place.”
“But, Mama, I—”
“No. You’ve said enough for now.”
Nicky slumped back in his seat, defeated.
Agatha stared straight ahead, her jaw working. Her anger was starting to cool, leaving behind a raw exhaustion that settled in her chest. But she couldn’t back down now. Not when she’d just yelled at Rio, not when she’d already lost her temper in front of her son.
So she drove in silence, the rhythm of the city filling the empty space between them. Every time Nicky shifted or drew in a breath to speak, she shot him a warning glance, and he sank back into silence again. After a while, he gave up completely. His face turned to the glass, his breath fogging faintly against it as he traced small invisible lines with his fingertip.
Agatha noticed, but she didn’t say anything. She didn’t dare. If she spoke again, she wasn’t sure what might come out: more anger, or the apology she wasn’t ready to give.
When they finally pulled into the underground parking lot beneath her office building, the silence in the car had become unbearable. Agatha turned off the ignition, the engine’s low hum dying away.
“Come on,” she said quietly, not looking at him. “Let’s go.”
Nicky didn’t answer. He just unbuckled his seatbelt and stepped out of the car, his shoulders hunched, his backpack dragging against his side. Agatha locked the doors behind them and followed.
Neither of them said another word as they made their way toward the elevator, and the quiet between them was heavier than any argument.
That night, when Agatha and Nicky finally got home, the air in the penthouse felt unnaturally still, like the calm after a storm, though Agatha wasn’t sure if the storm was truly over or just gathering strength somewhere out of sight.
Usually, there was sound, music, sometimes the faint click of chess pieces, the smell of whatever Rio had impulsively decided to cook. But now, there was only silence.
Agatha set her bag down on the kitchen island and turned to Nicky. “Go put your things away in your room. Dinner in twenty minutes. Then we’ll talk. A nice big talk. Just you and me.”
He nodded, eyes downcast. “Okay, Mama.”
Agatha watched him go. She’d calmed down since this morning, enough to know she’d been too hard and unfair, both with Nicky and with Rio. She just needed a quiet dinner, an honest talk, and maybe—if Rio had cooled down too—a long overdue conversation with her girlfriend.
By now, Rio should have been home. Her Thursday classes always ended around seven, and she usually came back flushed from the subway, dropping her bag by the door and asking if Agatha had eaten yet. Sometimes, she’d go straight for a shower and emerge in one of Agatha’s oversized shirts, hair damp and mood soft.
Tonight, there was no trace of her.
Agatha frowned, scanning the living room. The space was too tidy. The coffee table was clear except for the vase of fresh flowers they’d bought last weekend. Rio’s beloved green chessboard, the one permanently half set up for whatever match she was practicing, was there in the same position it had been this morning.
But her sneakers weren’t by the door. The battered black Chucks she always kicked off without thinking, even though Agatha kept telling her to leave them on the shoe rack. The entryway looked… bare.
An odd sensation started rising in Agatha’s chest.
“Rio?” she called softly as she moved through the apartment, even though she already knew she wouldn’t get an answer.
Her pulse picked up. She crossed the hall to their bedroom and pushed the door open.
At first glance, everything seemed normal. The bed was made. The curtains were drawn halfway, and the familiar scent of Rio’s perfume still lingered in the air. Her books were stacked neatly on the nightstand, her charger plugged into the outlet beside it. Her jacket was hanging on the back of the chair by the window.
But the longer Agatha looked, the clearer the absences became.
The duffel bag Rio used whenever she stayed overnight at Alice’s was gone. So was her notebook, the one that permanently lived on the nightstand for midnight thoughts. Agatha opened the closet. Most of Rio’s clothes were there, but a few pieces were missing: her favorite jeans, two of her black sweaters, the green hoodie she practically lived in on weekends.
She checked the bathroom. Her toothbrush was missing from the cup by the sink. So was her comb, her perfume.
Agatha’s hand came to rest against the cold marble counter as the truth settled in.
Rio had packed a bag.
Not everything but enough to mean she wasn’t planning to come back tonight.
Agatha closed her eyes. She stayed like that for a long time, breathing in and out, trying to make sense of the hollow ache expanding inside her. When she finally opened her eyes again, the reflection staring back at her in the bathroom mirror looked older. Tired. Guilty.
How did it come to this?
My fault. My fault. My fault.
She leaned on the counter, her head dropping forward. All she could see behind her eyelids was the day: Rio’s face at the school steps, flushed and furious, her own voice, loud and sharp, saying things she hadn’t meant but couldn’t stop herself from saying. And the look in Rio’s eyes when she told her she was a bad influence.
God, that look.
She pressed her fingers against her forhead, trying to block the memory out, but it replayed anyway, clear as crystal.
She’d wanted to hurt her. Just for a second. To make Rio stop.
And she’d succeeded.
The realization made her stomach twist.
For all Rio’s bravado, her sharp tongue, her impossible pride—Agatha had seen the way she closed off when she was hurt She didn’t respond with anger the way Agatha did, but with distance. Coldness. A wall so high it could take days to climb back over.
And now, staring at the empty bathroom shelf, Agatha knew that wall was back up again. And this time, Agatha had built it herself.
She had pushed too far.
For a few minutes, Agatha just stood there, trying to breathe through it. She wanted to call Rio. To text her. To ask where are you? please come home. But her pride, the same damn pride that had made her snap earlier, stopped her.
Instead, she walked back into the living room and stood by the window, looking out at the city lights. Behind her, she could hear faint movement. Nicky probably putting away his things, unaware of what she’d just realized.
Agatha’s fingers itched toward her phone.
Come home. It would have been so easy to type.
But she didn’t.
Instead, she set the phone down, whispering to the empty apartment, “Goddamn it, Rio…”
And the only answer was the low hum of the city outside, indifferent and endless.
Notes:
Don't hate me I swear it's gonna get better!!!!
Also first chapter of the Chess Christmas story is up if you want a little break from angst!!
(Same universe, just a silly story about their first Christmas together)https://archiveofourown.org/works/75642411/chapters/197817121