The night had ended.
But the ache was just beginning.
Shane stood alone in her penthouse, the silence louder than any party music. The suit jacket was off, the buttons of her shirt halfway undone, and her fists clenched tight at her sides.
May was gone.
She hadn't said a word when she left. Just that look—the one that made Shane feel like everything she'd been building was about to crumble.
The echo of Alexa's voice still clung to her skin like smoke.
"I was the first woman Shane ever loved. And the one who taught her how to lie."
She poured a glass of whiskey. Sat down. And for the first time in years… remembered.
Three years ago.
Shane had been 21, cocky, untouchable. Running through boardrooms and bedrooms like a storm, always in control—until she met Alexa Moreau.
Alexa had been older. Elegant. Mysterious. She moved through people like a predator, and Shane had fallen hard. Not just for her beauty or her charm—but for how Alexa made her feel vulnerable in ways Shane didn't understand.
They were fire. Explosive. Addictive.
And then Alexa broke her.
She cheated. Lied. Manipulated her like a puppet. Told people Shane was unstable. Made her question every instinct. And the worst part?
Shane stayed—longer than she should have. Because it was the first time she thought love could be real.
It nearly destroyed her.
After Alexa, Shane built walls. Became cold. Distant. Stopped believing in love altogether.
Until May.
She downed the whiskey in one shot.
God, May.
Sweet, sensual, fire-eyed May who challenged her, teased her, saw her. Who made her want again. Made her hope again.
And now? That hope had cracks.
The door opened.
Shane turned so fast it hurt.
May stepped inside slowly. No lipstick. No heels. Her hair was messy, her dress changed for jeans and a hoodie. She looked exhausted.
She didn't say anything for a long moment.
Shane's voice broke the silence. "You left."
"I needed to breathe," May said quietly. "I still do."
Shane nodded, standing. "Alexa was a mistake. The biggest one I've ever made."
May looked at her, guarded. "You loved her."
"I thought I did," Shane said. "Until she turned it into a game. She made me believe I was the broken one. That I deserved the lies."
"And you never told me," May whispered.
"Because you made me feel whole," Shane said, stepping closer. "And I was terrified that if I told you who I used to be, you'd see all the cracks and leave."
"I saw them tonight anyway."
Silence again.
Then, May's voice cracked, low and trembling. "Do you still love her?"
Shane stepped forward, gently reaching for her hand.
"No. I only love you."
May looked at her for a long, long time. Searching. Wounded.
Then her voice came, barely a whisper. "I want to believe that."
Shane's throat closed.
"Then let me show you," she said. "Even if it takes forever."
May didn't answer.
But she didn't walk away this time.
She just leaned her head against Shane's chest, listening to her heartbeat—fast, pained, real.
And Shane stood there, holding her like she might vanish, like the past was still a threat.
Because it was.
And now, they had to fight through it—together, or not at all.
The silence between them wasn't peaceful. It was sharp.
May's head rested against Shane's chest, but her body was tense, like she was halfway between staying and walking out again. And Shane?
She stood still, afraid even her breath might break whatever fragile thread May was holding onto.
"I hated watching her talk to you," May murmured into the space between them. "I hated that she knew parts of you I don't."
Shane closed her eyes. "You know the real parts. The parts I didn't even know I still had."
May looked up slowly, eyes glossy. "Then tell me everything. Tell me what she did to you."
Shane hesitated.
Then—slowly, deliberately—she stepped back and walked to the floor-to-ceiling window. Her silhouette was carved by moonlight, the skyline reflecting off her sharp suit and the pain etched across her face.
"She was the first woman I ever said 'I love you' to," Shane began, voice flat at first, then cracking. "I was twenty-one. Arrogant. Unbreakable. I thought I had control over everything and everyone."
She turned, leaning against the glass. Her eyes locked on May.
"But I didn't have control over her."
Shane's fingers curled at her side.
"She studied me. Learned my weaknesses. I thought it was love. I thought being obsessed meant being wanted. I didn't see that she was—" her voice caught, "—playing me. Twisting me."
May stepped closer, wordlessly.
Shane laughed bitterly. "She knew I was guarded. She made me feel like it was safe to fall. And when I did? She crushed me. She kissed other people. Slept with them. Told me I was too cold, too emotionless, that it was my fault."
A breath. Heavy. Hollow.
"She turned me into a version of myself I hated."
May reached out, gently brushing Shane's arm. "And after her?"
"I stopped believing in love," Shane whispered. "I fucked. I worked. I buried it. And when I met you…"
Shane's eyes softened with something raw.
"You scared the hell out of me, May."
May blinked. "Why?"
"Because you make me feel things I told myself I didn't want anymore."
Shane stepped forward now, closer, until she was inches away.
"You make me nervous," she said, voice low. "You make me want to come home. To cook. To slow down. To trust. Do you know how dangerous that is for someone who's only ever used love as a shield?"
May's lips trembled. "I didn't know you were still bleeding."
"I didn't either," Shane admitted. "Not until tonight. Not until I saw the look on your face and realized I could lose you."
A long silence.
Then May said something so soft, it nearly undid Shane.
"I don't want to leave you. But I don't know how to trust you when your past still has a grip on your present."
Shane reached out, taking May's face gently in her hands.
"She doesn't have a grip. You do. The only reason Alexa got to me tonight is because I was scared of losing you. Not because I care about her. I don't. I hate what she turned me into. But you..."
Her thumbs brushed under May's eyes, catching the wetness.
"You make me want to be better."
They stood there for a long time.
May finally whispered, "I want all of you. The hurt. The scars. The softness you hide under that damn suit. But I need honesty, Shane. No more hiding."
Shane leaned down, forehead against hers. "Then I'll give you all of it. No more shields."
May hesitated, then pressed her lips to Shane's—slow, warm, not rushed.
And in that kiss, Shane knew.
This wasn't lust. This wasn't a game.
It was love.
Scary. Painful. Real.
When they broke apart, Shane led her gently to the couch, pulling May into her lap like she was the most precious thing she'd ever held.
And they just sat there.
No sex. No heat.
Just warmth. And truth.
And the weight of two souls learning to trust again—one broken, one bruised—but both willing.
Together.