I Love Two Rival Inventors, And Their Stolen Creation Is Tearing Our Threesome Apart

The air in the Medarda Solarium was thick with the scent of money and rare hothouse blossoms. Crystal flutes of champagne caught the light, refracting the gilded décor into a thousand glittering points. At the center of it all, bathed in the soft blue glow of the Hex-Harmonizer, stood Jayce Talis. He was resplendent in a tailored Piltovan suit, the very image of progress, his smile as bright and promising as the technology he presented.

“...a future where Hextech is not a privilege, but a public utility,” he announced, his voice resonating with a confident, practiced passion. “Stable, safe, and accessible to every citizen of Piltover.”

The crowd of investors and minor nobles murmured their approval, their eyes fixed not on the intricate crystalline matrix of the Harmonizer, but on the handsome man who had built it. Mel Medarda watched from the edge of the dais, a serene smile fixed on her face. She saw every calculated gesture, every carefully chosen word. Jayce was magnificent at this, a natural performer who could sell a dream to the most hardened cynic. Her dream. Their dream.

Miles away, in the quiet hum of their workshop, Viktor watched the same performance on a flickering chem-tech monitor. The sounds of the gala were tinny and distant, a hollow echo against the familiar scent of ozone and hot metal. He leaned heavily on his crutch, the ache in his leg a dull, constant companion. A wave of something hot and complex washed over him as Jayce gestured to the Harmonizer. Pride, sharp and fierce, for the elegant equations and impossible physics they had solved together, hidden beneath that polished golden casing. But it was soured by a bitter cynicism as he watched the vapid, smiling faces of the elite. They didn’t see the sleepless nights, the failed prototypes, the blood and ink spilled over schematics. They saw Jayce. The Golden Boy.

Viktor’s gaze drifted from Jayce’s triumphant face to the device itself. He knew its every secret, the precise calibration of each rune, the delicate balance of energies that Jayce was now glossing over with broad, sweeping statements. Jayce was the sun, brilliant and impossible to ignore. And Viktor? He was the gravity that held it all together, unseen and unacknowledged in the deep shadows of the lab. He watched as Jayce finished his speech and the room erupted in thunderous applause. On the screen, Jayce’s smile was blinding. Viktor reached out and switched the monitor off, plunging the workshop back into its quiet, mechanical twilight.

The heavy oak door to the workshop slid open two hours later, spilling a sliver of hallway light into the darkness. Mel stepped through, a vision in deep crimson silk, the gown rustling softly against the concrete floor. She closed the door behind her, and the quiet hum of dormant machinery enveloped them.

Jayce was pacing near the main workbench, having shed his suit jacket. The sleeves of his white shirt were rolled up to his forearms, and he ran a hand through his hair, the perfect coif now attractively disheveled. The confident orator was gone, replaced by the familiar, anxious inventor.

“They loved it,” Mel said, her voice a low murmur that cut through his nervous energy.

He stopped, turning to her. “They loved the show. The idea. But will they fund it? Will the Council actually approve city-wide integration? What if—”

She crossed the space in a few fluid steps, placing her hands on his chest, stilling him. Her thumbs stroked the fabric over his collarbones. “Breathe, Jayce.” He did, his gaze locked on hers, the scent of her perfume—jasmine and something expensive—filling his senses. “You were brilliant. You gave them a future they could touch. That’s what matters.” She rose on her toes and pressed her lips to his. It wasn’t a celebratory kiss, but one of grounding, of reassurance. It was soft and deep, and he leaned into her, his hands finding her waist, pulling her flush against him. He could feel the hard ridge of his penis pressing into the soft curve of her stomach through their clothes, a reaction born of relief and pure, uncomplicated want for her.

When she pulled back, her eyes drifted past him, to the corner where Viktor sat on a stool, his back to them, pretending to adjust a calibration tool. Mel’s smile was knowing. She left Jayce, his hands falling reluctantly from her waist, and walked toward the shadows.

She stopped behind Viktor, her fingers gently tracing the tense line of his shoulders through his thin shirt. He flinched almost imperceptibly but didn’t pull away.

“They applauded your work tonight, Viktor,” she said softly, her voice meant only for him. “Every single one of them. They just didn’t know who to thank.”

He finally stilled, his head bowing slightly. He said nothing, but she felt the rigid tension in his body ease by a fraction. Her hand moved from his shoulder, her long, elegant fingers brushing against the side of his neck, her thumb stroking the sensitive skin just below his ear. A shudder went through him, a quiet, involuntary response to a touch he so rarely allowed himself to crave.

She leaned down, her lips near his ear. “I know,” she whispered. She kissed the spot her thumb had just caressed, a brief, warm press of her mouth against his skin.

She straightened up and took his hand, her grip firm, and tugged gently. He resisted for a moment, then relented, rising from the stool with the aid of his crutch. She led him back toward the center of the lab where Jayce stood watching them, his earlier anxiety replaced by a look of profound, aching tenderness.

Mel stood between them, still holding Viktor’s hand, and placed her other hand back on Jayce’s chest, directly over his heart. The three of them stood in a silent triangle, bound by the invisible, complex web of their shared lives. The air was thick with unspoken words, with the lingering energy of the gala, with the quiet triumph of this night. It was a fragile, perfect peace.

The moment stretched, fragile and shimmering. Mel tugged them closer, drawing Viktor’s reluctant frame and Jayce’s eager one into a tight, possessive circle. She let go of their hands only to wrap her arms around them, one around Jayce’s waist, the other around Viktor’s back, pressing their bodies together.

“Tonight is ours,” she murmured, her voice a silken thread weaving them together. She turned her face to Jayce first. His eyes were dark with need, his lips already parted. She met his mouth with an intensity that mirrored his own, a kiss full of fire and triumph. His tongue swept against hers, and he groaned into her mouth, his hands coming up to tangle in her hair, pulling her deeper. He was hard against her hip, an insistent pressure that spoke of hours of pent-up adrenaline and desire. She moved her hand from his waist, her fingers splaying over the firm plane of his stomach before dipping lower, brushing over the rigid length of his penis through the fine wool of his trousers. He shuddered, breaking the kiss to press his forehead against hers, his breathing ragged.

Her gaze then found Viktor’s. He watched them with a guarded, hungry expression, his pale face flushed. She turned fully into him, her body now flush with his side. She brought a hand up to cup his jaw, her thumb stroking the sharp line of it. He trembled but met her eyes. “And yours,” she whispered, and kissed him.

His lips were cooler, softer than Jayce’s, and for a heartbeat, he was completely still, a man carved from stone. Then, a small, desperate sound escaped his throat, and he yielded. His mouth opened under hers, a hesitant, searching exploration that was achingly tender. It was a kiss not of conquest, but of quiet surrender. She felt the subtle shift in his body as he leaned into her, his hand coming to rest tentatively on her arm. The raw vulnerability in the touch, in the way his lips moved against hers, was more intoxicating than any of Jayce’s open passion. She felt Jayce’s hand on the small of her back, a warm, solid presence connecting all three of them in the dim light of the workshop.

A piercing, high-pitched klaxon suddenly ripped through the quiet intimacy. Red lights flashed across the lab, strobing over their faces and casting the complex machinery in demonic relief. They sprang apart, the spell shattered. The alarm was from the Hex-Gate repository.

“No,” Jayce breathed, his face paling as he lunged for the central console. His fingers flew across the keyboard, bringing up the security feeds. Viktor was right behind him, his limp more pronounced in his haste, his expression grim and focused. Mel stood frozen for a second, the warmth of their bodies still clinging to her skin, now chilled by a sudden, icy dread.

The main screen flickered to life, showing the pristine white vault of the repository. But it wasn’t pristine anymore. Jayce’s state-of-the-art Hex-crystal security emitters were sputtering, their blue light flickering out as streams of corrosive green gas enveloped them. Three figures moved through the haze, their forms distorted by bulky chem-tech gear. They moved with a brutal efficiency that spoke of careful planning.

“My protocols…” Jayce whispered, his voice hollow with disbelief. “They’re bypassing them. It’s impossible.”

“They are not bypassing them,” Viktor corrected, his voice tight, analytical. “They are neutralizing the power source. Look.” He pointed a shaking finger at a smaller feed showing a conduit junction. A crude, whirring device pulsed with sickly green light, latched onto the power line like a parasite.

They watched in shared, paralyzed horror as the figures reached the pedestal. With a screech of tortured metal, they pried the Harmonizer from its cradle. Their greatest creation, the key to Piltover’s future, was held in the gloved hands of a Zaunite radical. The lead figure turned, almost as if they knew they were being watched, and the dark lenses of their gas mask seemed to stare directly at them. Then, they were gone, melting back into the shadows and the swirling green gas, leaving behind an empty pedestal and the deafening silence that followed the alarm.