▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀

chapter five
"FRIENDS IN UNFRIENDLY PLACES"

▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄

tw: mentioning of forced prostitution/sex trafficking

━━━━

For perhaps the first time in her life, Yelena is actually eager to arrive in The Capitol again. Upon receiving her latest invitation, dread has been replaced by something else. Anger. But not the kind of anger that eats at you inside and leaves you to implode in the corner. This is the kind of anger that propels you forward with an intense drive to act on the heat that burns just beneath your diaphragm.

She packed her bags almost immediately while her mother anxiously paced in the kitchen and her father stared at her from the corner. She didn't even check in on Chenille or her fellow Victors before leaving, something she does almost every time if she can help it. Just boarded the bullet train silently, secretly willing it to rush at its top speed while she glared out the window. If her Escort Cersei noticed Yelena's ambition, she didn't say anything, merely reading from one of her magazines in the seat across from her.

Her brown eyes glance to the gown laid neatly on her hotel bed, a note beside it. She recognizes the handwriting immediately.

One of a kind, of course! See you tonight.

- Greer

Yelena stares at the gown. It's beautiful, of course. Everything Greer makes for her is. Holding it up to her body, she can tell it'll be a slim fit, ribbed lines following a diagonal direction of the geometrical layers she's added across the dress. She pinches the inside of the fabric between her fingers. It'll be comfortable even if it doesn't look it. The high neck has a clasp behind, the back completely open.

Sighing, she unclips it, preparing to slip herself inside the dress. She's somehow chased off her Prep Team, insisting to them that she can manage just fine and they should really check on Greer during such an important time. That seemed to be enough. After all, tonight is Greer's first ever fashion show dedicated solely to her designs, herself opening a new clothing line.

Hence, Yelena's invitation to The Capitol.

She strains to clasp the dress, her triceps burning as her fingers fumble over the button. Her anger is accompanied by something else now as the hours grow closer. Bubbling nerves. She feels her heart hammering against her chest bone relentlessly. A grunt of frustration leaves her lips, about to throw the dress off her body, when finally the clasp catches. Her arms fall to her sides in exasperation, aching.

Then her eyes start watering. She hates that they're watering. Stinging and blurring, she clenches her jaw and stalks toward the bathroom mirror, heels clicking with each stride. "C'mon," she huffs to herself. Blinking over and over again, she dabs underneath her makeup, careful not to ruin the beautiful wings of eyeliner her Prep Team worked so hard for.

Running her fingers through her high ponytail, she attempts to catch her breath as she stares at her own reflection. One of her loose strands meant to frame her face sticks to her natural lip gloss. She huffs as she tucks it behind her ear. Then her eyes fall to the counter.

It's really a beautiful ring. Completely captivating, the diamonds and sapphires putting the stars and oceans to shame. But even if it's one of the World's Wonders, Yelena completely despises it, the desire to crush it with a hammer overwhelming. Betrayal still stings in her heart, and she tentatively reaches for the engagement ring once more.

She thought he was her friend. She never thought he'd become just another Capitol citizen seeking to claim her.

Yelena's bottom lip quivers. She inhales a sharp breath, feeling that warmth burning beneath her diaphragm again. It gives her the strength she needs to straighten her back, touch up her lip gloss, and slip the ring onto her middle finger. With that, she grabs her matching clutch and hotel key, slamming the door behind her.

━━━━

When Yelena slips backstage, it doesn't take her long to find her Stylist. All she has to do is follow the nervous voice giving instructions and the clicking heels darting in various directions.

"Wait, wait, it goes like this. See?" Greer adjusts the skirt of a model's dress hastily. Eventually she nods, wild brown eyes searching for another error. Her gaze lands on a model two people down the line. "Oh my god. You're totally missing a sequin!"

"Juno! Can you get me the box of blue sequins?!"

Sure enough, the man on Yelena's Prep Team offers Greer the box within a moment. The Stylist anxiously searches for one that matches the gown. She hardly notices her Victor approaching with a pleasant smile.

"Is there another box? None of these match, Juno!"

"This is the only box of blue sequins, Greer," he reminds pointedly, side-eyeing her with annoyance.

Yelena peers over at the gown, then over her Stylist's shoulder. Her eyes settle on a midnight blue sequin. "How's this one?" She asks, plucking it from the array of sparkles. She holds it up for Greer to see.

Her eyes widen, still failing to notice who stands in front of her as she snatches the sequin, holding it up to the model's dress. She brightens. "It's a perfect match!" Within a moment, she fumbles for her needle in the pin cushion that seats neatly on her wrist. She crouches down to sew it quickly.

"Great eye, Yelena," Juno compliments, offering a faint smile.

"Yes, great eye, Y—" Greer straightens, her right hand jerking. The model yelps and glares down at the designer with a pained scowl. "Yelena!"

Both girls beam at each other. Greer straightens, extending her arms for a hug. The two embrace, and her Stylist giddily sways side to side in their hug. "I'm so glad you could make it!"

Yelena smiles as she pulls away. "I wouldn't miss it for the world." Then her eyes trail across the lined-up models, their various clothing uniquely crafted, the fabrics arranged in bright colors. "Everything looks amazing."

Greer places her hands on the small of her back behind her, dark brows pinched into a worried frown. "You think so?" Then she must catch herself, because she straightens immediately, clearing her throat and firming her tone. "Of course. Thank you."

"I just wanted to say good luck."

"Thank you. Will you be coming to the After-Party? It's at the Pink Chandelier."

Yelena nods, knowing she probably doesn't have a choice anyway. Something Greer doesn't understand. "Absolutely."

Another appreciative smile as the Stylist's brown eyes beam in relief. "Well good. I assigned your seat to the front row, down ten chairs on the right side of the stage." She squeezes one of Yelena's hands, luckily not the one with the ring. "I hope you enjoy the show."

"I'm sure I will."

With that, Yelena bids her Stylist and Prep Team a brief goodbye, finding her way toward her seat while avoiding the Runway itself. She only gains about five seconds of peace before flashes of cameras attempt to blind her, reporters shouting her name. She does her best to ignore them, squinting as she reads the names on the chairs to her right. As she makes it to the tenth chair, just like Greer instructed, she finds her seat.

She sighs as she removes the card with her name, pinching it between her freshly manicured nails. Lowering herself carefully, she crosses her legs neatly and smooths her dress. There's still some flashing cameras in her direction, but they've also diverted to other famous guests of the Fashion Show. Across the aisle, she spots both Gloss and Cashmere Kincade, the siblings from One. Not only are Victors like her here, but also several Stylists from the Games themselves, herself growing familiar with them as the years of mentoring drone on.

Curiosity causes her to shift, daring to glance to the card beside her for who might be seated beside her. A figure blurs before she can check, snatching it and allowing their form to take place instead. His sea-green eyes make her jolt.

Finnick Odair sighs, adjusting the coat of his tuxedo, it reflecting a pearly teal. Yelena just stares in bewilderment, watching as the Victor from Four makes himself comfortable. It's when he catches her (it wasn't very subtle, of course), that an embarrassed blush creeps up her cheeks. He flashes a bright smile as he raises his brows.

"Ah, fancy seeing you here."

Yelena forces herself to blink. Then she presses her shoulders back into her seat, struggling to mask her surprise. "You know, the seats are assigned."

Finnick pinches the seating card between two tanned fingers, holding it up for her to see. Sure enough, the print says his name. Yelena side-glances back toward the curtain of the Runway where Greer likely scampers around, ensuring everything about her first show is perfection. Did she make all the seating arrangements?

"If I didn't know any better, I'd assume you didn't want me to sit here," Finnick comments, a corner of his lips twitching upward in amusement.

Yelena shakes her head, adjusting her ring awkwardly. "No, no, I don't care where you sit. Sit where you want."

"Well, actually I'm just sitting where I was assigned." He shrugs, glancing around the various chairs surrounding them, guests piling into them. "Surely, I could switch with someone if you'd like."

Something about his tone annoys Yelena to no end. She forces her brown eyes to meet his devious green ones as she exhales shortly through her nose. "You don't have to switch with someone. I just didn't know you were meant to sit there, that's all."

Finnick pinches his brows into a frown that feigns thoughtfulness. "But you don't want me to sit here."

"I never said that." Annoyance ripples down her spine at his continuous banter. What's even more annoying is that he seems to be going back and forth with her out of pure amusement. She tucks her leg over her other one even tighter as she adjusts the skirt of her gown. "You can sit here, it's fine."

A pause. Finnick's stare bores into her, and she silently dreads him speaking again. That's why he does. He inhales a sharp breath as he points to the chair beneath him. "So you want me to sit here?"

"Yes," she blurts, gritting her teeth together. Her eyes blaze into his with frustration. "I want you to sit here."

Finnick smirks a big gleaming smirk at that, his dimples showing. Satisfied with himself, he straightens, swiveling in his seat to face the Runway completely. "Well good, I like this seat." He leans over, his cologne whirling softly in her nose. "Has a great view."

Yelena clenches her jaw silently, fidgeting with the ring along her finger. She averts his gaze completely as she just glowers at the Runway. This is what Finnick does. He flirts, then he ignores. Maybe makes some small talk with you as if he might view you as an estranged friend, playing catch up with your life. Then he disappears again, coming back to flirt when he's just in the mood for it. It's all for his own amusement, and just like the other Victors who fall victim to it during Mentoring, Yelena just tries to ignore it the best she can. It's best not to take it so seriously.

That doesn't mean it isn't annoying.

Her thoughts are interrupted by him clicking his tongue to the roof of his mouth loudly. "So. How has The Revenant been?"

Here comes the small talk.

Yelena looks down to her manicured nails, pushing back one of her cuticles her Prep Team must've missed. "Peachy. And you?"

"Can't complain," Finnick shrugs. "Will you be going to the Pink Chandelier after this?"

"Of course." She forces a fake smile, daring to glance at him. "To support Greer, you know."

He sees right through her lie, mostly because he knows the true reason she has to be there. In fact, it's the same for his own summons to The Capitol. Another unfortunate aspect the two Victors share in common. Even though she notes the recognition in his eyes, he hardly misses a beat. "She's your Stylist, right?"

There's a twinge of pride in her chest, and Yelena smiles lightly, nodding. "The one and only."

"I'm surprised she didn't ask you to be one of the models," Finnick ponders, straightening in thought. Her brows furrow as she studies him uneasily. Another one of his shrugs. "You have the perfect look for it. You know, with your whole brooding, deadpan glare." He then tries to mimic it, scowling with exaggeration and pouting his lips playfully.

Yelena rolls her eyes as she folds her arms across her chest, begging for the show to start. Perhaps once the models are stalking across the stage, the crowd oohing and awing at her friend's designs, he'll finally keep his comments to himself. She glances to the DJ along the balcony, still adjusting the lights with other assistants. "I can't tell if you're trying to compliment me or insult me right now."

"You can take it however you'd like," his voice rolls smoothly. She can feel his green gaze boring into her cheek, it twinkling with so much amusement she swears it's brighter than the lights glaring into the Runway. Finnick chuckles lightly and shakes his head. "I'm kidding, I'm kidding."

She inhales sharply, letting out an irritated sigh. Her knee bobs on top of the other as her stiletto shakes. "Hopefully the show is starting soon."

Finnick doesn't have anything to say to that, seemingly. He just shifts in his seat again, finally removing his stare away from her. She glares everywhere and anywhere as she waits, each ticking second passing like a painfully slow grain of sand dropping in the hourglass.

Just when she thinks she might finally have some peace, Finnick straightens, pointing with his name card to somewhere across the Runway. "Ooh, there's your friend."

Yelena's dark brows knit into a curious frown. She dares to follow his gaze, searching for a hint of a familiar face. But when she finally finds him, his features strike another fuse beneath her heart, preparing to set her entire being on fire. And not in the good way. Heat pulses beneath her skin as her spine grows rigid.

Seated almost directly across from Yelena and Finnick is Caspian Steele himself. He sighs as he lowers himself into his chair, checking his watch briefly before bidding a polite smile to those beside him. It only takes him a few seconds to feel Yelena's scalding stare. She's surprised his skin hasn't begun to blister and char from the third degree burns.

He's taken aback for a moment, whether it be from the look in her eyes or just her very presence. He even has the audacity to glance behind him curiously, implying her glare could be for anyone else. Caspian returns her gaze, bidding her another one of his friendly and warm smiles. She used to take comfort in those friendly and warm smiles. Now she just knows they were never anything kind, only predatory.

She straightens and inhales sharply, offering a tight and thin-lipped smile. Yelena makes sure to wave with her ringed hand. The lights cause it to sparkle and gleam like a shooting star, enough to catch anyone's eye. Caspian stares at the ring on her middle finger quizzically and uneasily.

Meanwhile, Finnick's gaze darts between the two of them stiffly. "Brr." Music from the DJ begins to play, signaling the start of the show, purple spotlights whirling around the Runway and finding the center of the stage. He leans toward her ear. "Not your friend anymore?"

Yelena hardly flinches, clenching her jaw as she averts her gaze toward an emerging Greer. "Something like that."

━━━━

Greer's designs were so adored that it's impossible to steal more than a moment with her. What seems like hundreds of socialites and reporters hover around her, cooing compliments in her ear and inquiries about when her next line of clothing will be released. Yelena has found a spot around the outskirts of the ballroom, sipping on a tall glass of champagne silently. She doesn't attempt to make conversation with anyone really, knowing if there's a Capitol citizen seeking her company for the night, they'll find her. When they do, she'll have no choice but to follow.

The Pink Chandelier is a beautiful building, usually used to host galas and other parties. It's ceilings are made of pure crystal, ornately decorated with pieces dangling just like a chandelier. The marble tile, silky curtains, decorative shrubbery, even the fountain of two flamingos near the center are various shades of pink.

The color reminds Yelena of her cousin. Chenille would love this place. If she could have everything in the world be pink, she would. Guilt gnaws at her for not bidding her goodbye before leaving for The Capitol.

A familiar figure sidles up beside Yelena, sipping her own champagne as she stares out at the crowd. "Any suitors catch your eye?" Cersei asks.

"They don't really need to catch my eye to be one of my suitors."

"You're right." She takes another light sip of her beverage. "It does help, though."

"I'll manage." Yelena clears her throat as she sighs. "I always do."

Cersei doesn't argue with that. Instead, she just nods, her heels clicking as she stalks off through the crowd. Typical of her. Always strictly business. Yelena used to be deathly afraid of her, her seriousness replacing the typically shrill and airy nature of most Capitol Escorts seen on T.V. Now she just knows how to please her enough that she won't have to hear her stern chastising.

An orchestra begins to play, signaling the start of a dance. Couples pair together, working their way to the center of the pink tile. There's still a fair amount of those who choose to watch rather than dance. Perhaps Yelena will get away without making an appearance.

"Yelena," a familiar voice greets, his figure approaching.

Perhaps not.

Her dark gaze slowly meets the light one of Caspian Steele, his friendliness seeming to feign as he inspects her carefully. She notices he glances to the ring on her finger again, likely perplexed by the choice of its placement. He bids her one of his kind smiles.

"Could I invite you to a dance?" Caspian asks, offering his large palm. He still wears his own wedding ring, the one from his previous marriage. The late wife he's mentioned now and again, proclaiming her as the love of his life.

So how could he dare send her those romantic gestures in the mail? Particularly the romantic gesture weighing down her hand with diamonds and sapphires.

Yelena straightens, tilting her head back to chug the rest of her champagne. She holds up a manicured finger. The bubbles burn the back of her throat, and she sighs, placing the glass carefully on a nearby waiter's tray. Caspian's dark brows furrow slightly.

She takes his hand and stifles a shudder. "I'd love to."

Her tone makes him pause, but nevertheless, he leads the two of them to the dance floor. Caspian places his hands at a respectable location, avoiding the lower area of her waist like he always does. Her ringed hand clasps his, the other clamping down on his shoulder. They easily fall into the orchestra's arrangement, the tune light but easy to follow. Other couples twirl around them methodically.

"How did you enjoy the show?" Caspian asks, clearing his throat.

"It was great. Greer is very talented."

He nods. "Yes, she is." There's an infuriating lightness to his warm brown eyes. "I've seen your designs too. They're lovely."

"Hm."

Silence. It builds uncomfortably, weighing down the music and making their feet almost drag against the marble floor. Caspian's gaze slips toward the ring.

"I see you got my birthday present."

Yelena feels a muscle in her cheek twitch. "I did. It's blinding."

Caspian chuckles lightly at that, nodding in agreement. "It was a family heirloom. Passed down by my mother."

Her brows crease into a frown. She tries to keep her voice level, but can't seem to, the frustration leaking through. "So why give it to me if it has so much sentimental value?"

A pause, his lips parting but no sound coming out as he studies her. Her stare is unwavering, and she feels the hurt and rage bubbling inside of her again, threatening to go over like a boiling pot. She doesn't know what she might do if it goes over.

Caspian licks his lips thoughtfully. He's lowered his voice. "I was actually hoping we could discuss that. Perhaps over lunch tomorrow?"

"That sounds like a great idea," Yelena chirps quickly. The gears in her mind spin, and she tilts her head. "But I don't think I'll be around for lunch. How about you meet me at my hotel room after this instead?" Her brows raise inquisitively, studying his features very carefully. "I'm staying at Ambrosia. Ninth floor, room twelve."

Behind them, the other couples begin to change their pace with the music, twirling their partners away to new ones. Caspian glances around them with a frown, lips forming a tight line. "Breakfast, then?"

"I prefer to sleep in," Yelena lies coolly.

They're about to become behind in the dance. Caspian inhales shakily, something clouding in his eyes. He offers her a half-hearted nod. "Alright. I can stop by."

And with that, he twirls Yelena away, right into the arms of another suitor. His hands find her waist as they fall back into the rhythm of the song. They eventually catch up to the other couples with ease.

"You took a while."

Yelena almost groans at the familiarity of his voice, finally locking gazes with those notable sea-green eyes. They're practically haunting her at this point. All the betrayal burning in her makes her want to squirm out of his grip.

"Twirl me back," she tries, glancing behind her for any other partners.

Finnick shakes his head, adjusting his grip on her hand. "I can't. We'd be off beat again." Then he tilts his head to the side, the fuchsia lights reflecting along his bronze locks. "I'm sorry my company seems to be such a bother to you. It usually has the opposite effect with others."

At that, Yelena becomes awkwardly aware of the jealous looks darting in her direction, various Capitol Socialites watching the pair dance. She glances back up to Finnick's towering frame, and she feels herself sink. Suddenly, the flames inside her are dying out, nothing but sad embers barely burning. She gnaws on the inside of her cheek as remorse eats at her.

It's not Finnick she's angry with. In fact, there's a part of her that was secretly delighted that he was assigned to sit beside her. Not to mention, they might've finally gotten their dance she denied years ago.

Yelena's shoulders slump, and her voice softens. "I'm sorry. It's not you I'm angry with." His green eyes blink down at her patiently. She avoids them, staring at his shell necklace peeking beneath the collar of his shirt, the twine fraying. "It's just..." She hesitates, glancing to the ring on her finger again. Should she tell him? What would he care?"

A shrug of her shoulders as she dares to meet his gaze again. Her voice is barely above a sad whisper. "Everything's been so tense lately, ya know?"

Finnick nods knowingly, something new crossing his features. Not the usual arrogance, pride or light-hearted demeanor he fashions. But instead, an understanding. "It can be," he agrees. "I'm sorry for what happened when we came to your District."

It was only a month ago that Annie's Victory Tour embarked its journey to a wrathful District Eight. The memories of that day still give Yelena nightmares, guilt continuing to eat at her like a parasite she can't cleanse herself of. The mother's furious shouting and anguished cries. The pure hatred that ravaged her eyes. And then the thundering gunfire that ended her life right on that stage. It all still haunts her. Yelena shudders.

Then she remembers Annie. She was already so traumatized, so terrified, only to be screamed at and attacked even more. Her frantic escape from that stage replays in her mind, Finnick immediately stepping into action to soothe the poor girl.

"I'm sorry for what Annie had to go through," Yelena murmurs softly. Her brown eyes float upward, and she pinches her brows together. "She didn't deserve that."

Finnick's voice is as soft as a feather. Maybe the most somber she's ever heard it. "Neither did the mother."

Tears want to prick at her eyes, she can sense it from the way her heart is heaving in her chest, but she manages to hold them at bay. Her gaze falls back to the floor, the words tumbling out of her before she can stop them. "I wonder if it'll ever end..."

As soon as she says that, her body tenses up, the marrow in her bones forging like iron. Her wide gaze flickers around them for listening ears. Who knows how well The Capitol microphones can hear them?

But when she looks to Finnick, he doesn't falter at all. In fact, he's completely steady, still leading them across the dance floor. "Maybe sooner than we think," he murmurs carefully.

Yelena almost pauses, and her stiletto slightly drags against the marble. He keeps them moving, their little hiccup not even noticeable. Just when her lips part, curiosity of his daring words building inside her. She just clamps her mouth shut, studying him silently.

Other couples begin to twirl again, preparing to switch partners once more. Yelena braces for him to let her go. But he doesn't, inhaling a sharp breath, that bright gleam finding his eyes again.

"I've been dying to ask. What's got you shooting glares toward Aristocrat Caspian Steele all night?"

For whatever reason, Yelena decides to tell him. She holds up her middle finger, the ring's gemstones dancing in the moving light.

Finnick frowns. "Are you telling me to fuck off, or are you trying to show me your ring?"

An eye roll as she puts her finger back down. "It's an engagement ring." She huffs, glaring back down at their twirling feet. Bitterness laces her tone. "He sent it to me on my birthday. His way of proposing, I guess."

"Why are you wearing it on your middle finger?"

"Because it's a no. I don't know, I guess I was trying to make a statement," she admits. Finnick seems like he might say something smart, a bewildered but amused look on his face forming as he blinks at her. She interrupts before he can. "He's old enough to be my father. And besides... I thought—"

Yelena's voice trails off along with her gaze, it shifting past Finnick's shoulder. There's that pain again. That pain that's been there long before a proposal from a man she considered a friend. It's been festering since her name was called at her very own Reaping. After all, that's when all this Hell started. Being paraded around like an animal for the nation to see, placed in a cage labeled as an Arena, people cheering for her death, cheering for her kills. All so she can just go home.

But that's not enough. Not only do they need to drown you with trauma, but they need to ensure you relive it over and over again. Mentoring other young children through exactly what you went through, knowing you can only save one, and that's even if you can. Not to mention the very reason why people like Yelena and Finnick and Cashmere are at parties like this.

Sometimes Yelena wishes they would've never restarted her heart.

Finnick waits patiently. She shakes her head, climbing back out of her thoughts, and her voice cracks slightly in her throat. "I thought Caspian was my friend." Yelena dares to meet his gaze again, preparing to wince at the pity. But again, he surprises her, only meeting her with pure empathy. She shrugs. "Not just another Capitol man trying to claim me..."

Neither of them say something for some time. Yelena already starts to silently kick herself for saying too much, for allowing herself to show even just slivers of the rawness inside her. Perhaps he wasn't the best person to confide in about this. She should've gone to Chenille before she came.

"It's hard to make friends in The Capitol." Finnick continues to move them across the dance floor, seemingly timing his words carefully with the volume of the orchestra's song. It reminds her of his strange knocking on the balcony when they first met those years ago. "Especially with its people."

That's for sure. Yelena becomes painfully aware of the crowd that surrounds her, their alien-like features and over the top outfits, their shrill voices that cackle and coo, even the way their hollow eyes stare at her like prey. She feels hunted all over again, just in a different way.

"Sometimes, though, you can find one in The Capitol." Finnick squeezes her hand lightly. The smile that tugs along his lips is quaint, barely drawing out his dimples, but it's perhaps the most genuine one she's seen from him.

"That's why people like us have to stick together."

━━━━

Her heart is racing. Thundering against her chest bone, the pounding making it difficult for enough air to reach her lungs with each breath she attempts to take. She lays on her stomach, the mattress dipping beneath her weight. As much as she hates the ring, truly wishes to throw it down the sewer to be lost forever, it does soothe her somehow. She continues to twist it around her finger, it still being a bit too big, the cool metal a contrast to her warm touch. Earlier, she kicked off her heels somewhere under the bed, the skin red around her ankles and pinky toes.

Finally, there's a knock to her door, and finally, her heart stops racing. The alternative isn't much more comfortable. Instead, it just hangs there in her chest, too afraid to take another beat just yet. Yelena clears her throat as her spine grows rigid. "Come in."

The door to her hotel room creaks in response, a familiar head of dark hair peeking through tentatively. Yelena inhales a sharp breath through her nose, straightening along the mattress. Her drumming heart resumes its anxious symphony.

Caspian Steele gently closes the door behind him with a soft click. He looks stiff, limbs rigid and steps almost robotic. For once, it seems like one of his warm and friendly smiles that naturally pulls at his lips wrestles with whatever might be going on in his mind, unnaturally taking form.

"Hello—"

"Lock the door."

His dark brows crease together as he pauses. He studies Yelena uneasily, hand hovering over the doorknob with hesitation. When his lips part, no sound comes out, pursing them back together into a fine line. The lock clicks with a twist of his hand.

"This is a bit unusual," he tries, adjusting the jacket of his suit. His golden ring flashes as he awkwardly steps further into Yelena's hotel room. He forces another smile, failing miserably to create authenticity, and he lowers himself carefully into a nearby chair. "Usually we meet for lunch or dinner or..."

Yelena straightens, glowering in his direction. She holds up the ring that remains on her polished middle finger. "That was before you sent me this."

Silence. Caspian studies the ring, something shifting his eyes, then flickers his stare back to hers. He rubs his clammy palms across his knees. "I'm not sure why my birthday present changes our meeting style, but..." She clenches her jaw, and he adjusts his weight. "You seem angry. Is there something bothering you?"

That just infuriates Yelena. The Victor scoffs, reaching back toward the clasp of her dress. "Let's just get this over with."

Caspian's eyes double in size. "What are you doing?"

"This is what you wanted, right? Most of my suitors don't try to trick me into being their friend first." Outside, she's hardened like iron, hardly even flinching as she grits her together, mangling her unwilling clasp again. But on the inside, she's quivering, trembling even, threatening to melt into a puddle. A shaky huff. Meanwhile, he's shaking her head at her in horror. "Once in a while one gives me flowers, I guess to make themselves feel better, but you— with this fucking ring, this fucking engage—"

He suddenly jumps up from his chair, hands waving desperately for her to cease what she's doing. His eyes squeeze themselves shut and he turns his face away. "Stop, stop! I don't want you to do that. Not— not at all." Now he's turned his body away from her completely, ducking his head down and tugging at his hair. "Please, keep your clothes on."

"Well what is this then?" She snaps, dropping her arms back to her sides, the clasp unrelenting and still fastened. Yelena's vision blurs with anger and frustration. Her chest heaves, the flames beneath her diaphragm sweltering. Suddenly, she yanks off the ring, chucking it like a blade to Caspian's back. He winces when it clatters to the ground, straining to scoop it up without catching a glimpse of her. "You think what? You'll do me a favor and at least marry me, just so that you can own me?"

She's never heard Caspian raise his voice. Not once. So when he whirls around, features flushed scarlet, she flinches. "Why would I want to marry my own daughter?!"

It's like she's been shot. Something inside her swells and bursts, twists and contorts, yanks and snaps. Everything around her seems to implode, the very foundation of this towering hotel trembling and threatening to fall into itself. What he said doesn't even make sense to her, yet it nearly destroys her. Bewildered, she blinks at a shaking and unnerved Caspian, who clutches the ring to his heart. One of her trembling hands fists the comforter beneath her body to anchor her back into a tumultuous reality.

Yelena's chest aches when she fumbles for a breath, her voice cracking and straining across her throat. Disbelief and shock tangle together. "What— what did you say?"

Suddenly, the perfectly polished man before her resembles messy shambles, his shoulders slumping and a sigh escaping him. Yet, at the same time, he looks freed, freed from a secret that kept him perfectly wound for twenty years.

"I said," he licks his lips, his eyes softening sadly as he traces her features. "Why would I want to marry you, Yelena?"

"My own daughter."

━━━━

»»————-　♡　————-««

thanks for reading and hope you enjoyed! feel free to comment, i love hearing from you!

BOOOM DADDY B*MB!!!

whewwww i've been waiting to drop that one. so yes, caspian is yelena's birth father! wowowow i promise to explain it all in next chapter, but please do remember yelena is adopted, her parents adopting her from the district eight orphanage as a baby!

also, more finnick! i actually wasn't planning for them to have so much time together in this chapter, the dialogue just sort of rolled? please let me know what you think, i'm always worried i'm writing characters out of character or things aren't flowing well.

thank you so much again! please check out my other hunger games works when you get the chance! super excited :)

word count: 5956