Pill Planners and Propriety

The kitchen smelled like freshly brewed espresso and buttered toast—warm, inviting, even a little cozy. Kieran padded in, his heels ticking lightly on the marble floor with each step. His stride had a casual ease to it now, nothing **** or exaggerated. The low block heels didn't even feel like an effort anymore.

At the kitchen island sat Celeste and Vivienne, each with a steaming cup of coffee in hand and identical stern expressions that didn’t quite match the relaxed ambiance. Kieran immediately noticed the contrast. Both of them were dressed—well dressed. Vivienne wore a black blouse with pointy shoulders and a silky sheen that screamed expensive. Her pants were tight, high-waisted, and they made her look ten feet tall, as always. Celeste, on the other hand, was in this pale beige sweater—paired with black tights and some knee-high boots.

They looked sharp. Controlled. Professional.

He, meanwhile, was the picture of a casual morning. The effort he put into "Kiara" this morning was maybe at a 5 out of 10. He didn’t think that mattered, though.

“Morning,” he said brightly, strolling over toward the island. He reached for a slice of toast off the counter without asking, then hopped up on a stool with a satisfied sigh. “You guys are up early. Couldn’t sleep after all that tension, huh?”

Silence.

He glanced up, a bite of toast halfway to his mouth.

Both Vivienne and Celeste were staring at him.

Not angry. But not impressed either.

Kieran blinked. “...What?”

No answer.

He looked from Vivienne to Celeste and back again, scanning their faces for some clue. Nothing obvious stood out. Was it the skirt? The hair? The makeup?

He shrugged internally and brushed it off, munching on his toast like he didn’t notice the weight of their gazes.

Vivienne finally broke the silence. Her tone was calm, but there was a sharp edge just beneath it. “This is your pill planner,” she said, sliding forward a large, clear container labeled by day and color-coded like a science fair project. Each section was filled to the brim with Euphorica-branded capsules and softgels—pink, pearlescent, matte-white, even some with glittery coatings.

Kieran raised his eyebrows. “That’s… a lot.”

“You’re to take each day’s dose without missing a single one,” she said firmly. “With breakfast.”

He leaned in and examined the little compartments. Each slot looked like a potion shop. “This is all Euphorica stuff, right?”

Vivienne nodded. “Of course.”

Kieran smirked. “Figures. You really know how to turn someone into a walking ad campaign.”

Her gaze didn’t flinch. “It’s not for marketing. It’s specifically for you, your stamina, your clarity. We’ve fine-tuned this to support every part of your presentation. You’re an executive now. There’s no such thing as skipping your essentials.”

Celeste chimed in, tone flat: “You’ll thank us later when you don’t look like you’ve aged ten years in two months.”

Kieran snorted and picked up the pill case. “Okay, okay. I get it. Vitamins and CEO sparkle juice. Got it.”

He twisted open a water bottle and popped open the Monday compartment. Down the hatch. The pills clinked against his teeth on the way in. Some tasted weirdly sweet, others bitter, one left a cooling sensation in his throat.

He was halfway through chewing a second bite of toast when Celeste fixed him with a look. One of those looks. The flat, unreadable ones that meant something was off.

He slowed down. Swallowed. “What?”

She tilted her head slightly. “Are you wearing a bra?”

He blinked.

Wait—wait. Crap.

His face gave it away before his mouth could lie. “Uh…”

Celeste exhaled and looked away in silent frustration.

Vivienne sipped her coffee. “Not even a training one?”

“Oops?” Kieran offered sheepishly. His voice had dropped a little lower, back into his usual unpolished, Kieran register.

That got their attention again. Vivienne raised an eyebrow. Celeste narrowed her eyes.

He tried again, leaning on his natural charm. “I mean, c’mon, it’s just breakfast, it’s not like I’m walking into a gala or anything. I’ve got the skirt, the makeup, the—" he gestured vaguely, “—you know. It’s fine.”

Vivienne set her cup down slowly. “Your posture is already slouching.”

Celeste cut in. “And you’re talking like a frat boy again.”

Kieran blinked, sat up straighter instinctively, then hesitated.

Right.

He sighed, then cleared his throat gently, letting his voice rise just a touch—softer vowels, lighter cadence, more controlled. “Okay, okay. My bad. I just kinda got comfy, y’know?”

He softened the tone even more, adding a light lilt. “I’ll go put one on in a sec.”

That did the trick.

Celeste relaxed, barely. Vivienne turned her attention back to her phone.

“Thank you,” Celeste said, in a tone that didn’t sound much like gratitude.

Vivienne added without looking up, “You know the rule. Silicone inserts when necessary. Non-adhesive at home. Adhesive for public or photos.”

“Yeah, yeah, I know,” he replied, smoothing down his skirt absentmindedly and resting his arms on the counter. He looked down at his hands—nails still shaped and polished with a faint pink tint, cuticles looking salon-clean. He hadn’t even thought about them when he woke up. They were just his hands now.

It hadn’t even occurred to him he wasn’t wearing a bra until she said it.

That, maybe, was the real concern.

But he pushed that thought aside. They were overreacting. He had this under control. The board meeting had gone perfectly. He hadn’t stumbled. No one had seen through him. That had to mean something.

This whole performance?

Piece of cake.

He could handle a few vitamins and a bra.

He’d gotten through the board meeting. He was Kiara now, at least to the world that mattered. So, yeah, maybe Vivienne and Celeste could finally relax.

He was still a little hungry. The pills had left a weird aftertaste, and the toast he’d scarfed earlier didn’t cut it. His eyes drifted to the remaining slice on the plate near Vivienne, golden and glistening with a swipe of melted butter.

He reached casually for it.

Before his fingers could close around the slice, Vivienne snatched the plate away with the poise of a seasoned chess master capturing a pawn.

“Ah-ah,” she said, cool as ice. “You’re on a very strict diet starting today.”

Kieran blinked. “What?”

Vivienne set the plate behind her, as if to place it on a distant pedestal.

“To maintain a pristine figure,” she added, sipping her espresso without looking at him.

“Okay, but—what? I can’t have toast now?”

“You want to bloat on white carbs before a full day of contracts and a gala?” Celeste asked, feigning genuine curiosity. “Really?”

Kieran scoffed, rolling his eyes. “You guys are way too much right now. I nailed the board meeting. I should be the one telling you to chill.”

Vivienne didn’t blink. “You’re not here to relax, Kieran. You’re here to maintain the illusion that you are Kiara Laurent. That illusion only works if you look and behave the part.”

“Oh my God,” he groaned, flopping back in his chair a little too casually. “This is ridiculous. I had a perfect voice, I didn’t mess up once, and you’re trying to tell me I’m gonna be exposed because I ate toast?”

“You’re sitting like Kieran again,” Celeste muttered, tilting her head toward his legs.

He glanced down.

Yup—wide-legged, slouchy, leaning back. Oops.

He huffed and folded his legs back into a more “ladylike” position, shifting upright, back straight. The motion was too fast, though, jerky and obvious.

Celeste gave him a look. “That’s not how Kiara would fix her posture.”

Vivienne set her espresso down. “You’re slipping, darling. It’s already happening.”

“I’m not slipping,” Kieran shot back, arms folded. “I’m just not obsessing over every tiny little move. Because, again, I got the job. Board believes I’m Kiara. They voted. It’s done.”

“You still haven’t signed your contracts,” Vivienne replied evenly. “And you still have a gala tonight. And you’re being watched by everyone—from the press to the company’s top investors. You can’t afford to get lazy, Kiara.”

Kieran’s jaw clenched. “I’m not being lazy.”

“Then talk like her,” Vivienne snapped, her voice dropping lower.

Kieran opened his mouth, but nothing came out at first.

He felt it—the sting. He hated being cornered like this. Hated how his mom and Celeste tag-teamed him like he was the dumb kid who just didn’t get it.

Vivienne’s eyes narrowed. “Go on.”

Kieran sat up straighter, swallowed his pride—and adjusted his tone. Lighter, smoother, slightly breathy. Kiara. “I mean, like… I totally get what you’re saying, it’s just… I didn’t think toast would be such a huge deal.”

The words felt silly coming out of his mouth. A **** sort of cute, like a social media influencer trying to explain away a scandal. He added a shrug with rounded shoulders, eyes wide with practiced innocence.

Vivienne didn’t even flinch. “Better.”

Celeste, arms crossed, was already smirking.

Vivienne took one last sip of coffee, then stood up gracefully, heels clicking softly on the floor. “You’ll need to be dressed and fully presentable before noon. The lawyers are bringing the contracts around eleven. And we will check your outfit for tonight’s gala at three. I expect nothing less than perfection, Kiara.”

Kieran—no, Kiara—nodded quickly, the cutesy tone still in place. “Of course, Mom. I’ll totally be ready.”

Vivienne gave a single approving glance, picked up her tablet from the counter, and swept out of the room like a high priestess leaving behind her loyal disciples.

The moment the sound of her heels faded down the hall, Kieran slumped in his seat with an exhale.

Celeste was still sitting there. Still watching. And now, grinning like a devil with a secret.

“...What?” Kieran asked, half-defensive, half-resigned.

She sipped her coffee slowly. “You said ‘I totally get it’ with a giggle.”

He groaned and buried his face in his hands. “Kill me.”

Celeste laughed and set her mug down. “You’re not dead yet. You’re just Kiara. Like… full time now.”

He narrowed his eyes at her, but couldn’t help a smirk tugging at the edge of his lips. “Whatever.”

“Better keep that attitude in check,” she added with a wink. “You’re under house rules, and house rules say: bra, posture, inserts, voice, and no toast. And don’t even think about skipping anything you're supposed to.”

Kieran let out a dramatic sigh, glancing back at the toast plate longingly. “This is hell.”

“Better get used to it,” she sang. “You’re the queen now.”

And with that, she turned on her heels—click clack—and sauntered off, leaving Kieran alone at the island. He reached for his water bottle, sipping slowly, legs still crossed neatly under the counter.

Not because he felt that he had to.

Just because… well, it felt easier now.