THREADS OF AMBITION: CORIOLANUS SNOW

I MEAN

The first fashion show, a culmination of tireless effort, unfolded before my eyes, leaving a resounding echo of success. Tigris and I navigated the intricacies of the runway, basking in the applause that reverberated through the venue. The feeling of accomplishment tingled in the air, a tangible result of our collaboration.

As the show concluded, Coriolanus joined me outside the building. The buzz of the evening still lingered, and I felt a mix of elation and exhaustion. We prepared to head to Tigris's flat when a familiar couple approached— the Plinths, Sejanus's parents.

"Miss Cordelia Hawkridge, isn't it?" Mrs. Plinth greeted, her tone warm with genuine admiration. "Your work in the fashion world is truly commendable."

"Thank you," I replied, a hint of modesty in my tone. Coriolanus stood beside me, a quiet observer.

Mr. Plinth extended a hand toward Coriolanus, his demeanor more formal. "Mr. Snow, good to see you. Our ladies seem to enjoy these functions."

Coriolanus reciprocated the gesture, but before the pleasantries could continue, a cloud seemed to cast a shadow over Mr. Plinth's face.

"I must express my condolences," he said with a solemn nod. "Sejanus was a good man."

A chill settled in the air as Coriolanus's expression shifted, his eyes conveying a depth of sorrow. It was then, in that moment of revelation, that I discovered the truth about Sejanus.

"Sejanus is... gone?" I asked, my voice barely above a whisper. The weight of the words hung heavily in the air.

Mr. Plinth's response was anything but mourning; instead, he seemed livid, an undercurrent of anger beneath his words. "Yes, he's gone. Caught red-handed aiding the rebels."

The revelation hit me like a sudden storm. Sejanus, my friend, was not only dead. Coriolanus stood there, his sincerity now painted with the hues of grief and disbelief. In that moment, the true gravity of Sejanus's fate became an undeniable reality, and the world around us shifted from the triumphant celebration of a successful fashion show to the somber acknowledgment of loss and betrayal.

Mr. Plinth's emotions were a whirlwind of conflicting sentiments as he spoke about Sejanus. "It's for the better, really," he asserted, his tone both regretful and resolute. "I apologize, Mr. Snow, for my son's actions."

Coriolanus, absorbing the weight of the situation, nodded solemnly. The unspoken grief lingered in the air, and I found myself unable to form words, still grappling with the shock of Sejanus's demise.

Unexpectedly, Mr. Plinth's disposition shifted. "You take care of this young lady here, Mr. Snow," he remarked, his eyes softening. "I can see you're a good man, just like I was."

Coriolanus, caught off guard by the assumption, managed a tight-lipped smile. The Plinths, now firmly convinced of our supposed romantic entanglement, expressed their support.

"You remind me of the early days with my wife," Mr. Plinth continued, his words carrying the weight of years of matrimony. "Taking care of your woman is what makes a good man."

I stood there, still silent, my mind a whirlwind of thoughts. Coriolanus, perhaps sensing my unease, put a reassuring hand on my shoulder. The Plinths took our shared silence as affirmation, and with a final nod, they departed, leaving us standing in the aftermath of Sejanus's revelation.

As the night air settled around us, the weight of the truth and the assumption placed upon us lingered. Coriolanus, with a glance in my direction, conveyed a sense of shared understanding, and we found ourselves tethered by circumstances beyond our control.

The Plinths' departure left a lingering tension in the air, an unspoken acknowledgment of the complexities that had woven themselves into our lives. I turned to Coriolanus, my eyes conveying a mixture of confusion and the need for clarity.

"We need to talk," I asserted, my voice carrying a gravity that matched the weight of our situation.

Coriolanus nodded in agreement, acknowledging the inevitability of the conversation. Without uttering a word, we redirected our steps, opting for my flat rather than the previously planned visit to Tigris's.

Once inside, the ambiance of my apartment seemed to magnify the unanswered questions and unspoken truths between us. Coriolanus and I settled into a tense quiet, each contemplating the path our lives had taken.

Finally, breaking the silence, I said, "I need to understand, Coriolanus."

He met my gaze with sincerity, "I know."

"Coriolanus, everything is so muddled right now," I began, my frustration finding its voice. "You talk about fleeing with Lucy, you practically threatened me to leave District 12, and then Sejanus... he's gone. Now today, the kiss—"

"I left her," Coriolanus interjected, a trace of regret in his eyes.

"Clearly." I remarked, my mind trying to process the whirlwind of emotions.

"I would tell you why, but it's complicated," he responded, and I couldn't help but feel a mix of confusion and annoyance.

"That's the thing, I don't have the luxury of time for complications, Coriolanus," I said with an assertive tone. "I run a business, and I need to know where I stand. What are your intentions?"

He met my gaze, and for a moment, the weight of our shared history lingered in the air. "Cordelia, I've changed, and I can't expect you to understand everything. But I'm here now, back in the Capitol, willing to figure things out."

I sighed, feeling the weight of the unknown pressing down on me. "Coriolanus, I've changed too. My priorities are different. I have shit to handle and I can't afford to be pulled into uncertainty."

His expression shifted, a mixture of understanding and a bit of coldness. "I never wanted to complicate your life, Cordelia."

"But you have," I asserted. "So, be clear with me. What do you want from me now?"

His response held a hint of vulnerability, "I want you in my life, even if I don't have a clear path forward."

I took a moment, absorbing his words, and then spoke with unwavering determination, "I can't navigate this ambiguity, Coriolanus. I need certainty. If you can't provide that, then I have to prioritize what I've built with Vendetta."

As the weight of our conversation settled in the room, I awaited his response, hoping for a clarity that could guide us through the storm of uncertainties.

"Let's cut through the complications then," Coriolanus declared, his tone direct and unyielding. "I'd like to take you on a date, Cordelia."

I regarded him stoically, contemplating his words. After a moment, I simply responded, "Okay."

There was an air of tension between us, a palpable acknowledgment of the uncertainties that lay ahead. Despite the straightforward exchange, the shadows of our complex past and the evolving dynamics lingered in the room