Shane didn't believe in the concept of "home."
Her penthouse was sleek, minimal, cold—a display case of a life, curated to keep people out. Even her most intimate spaces had been designed with distance in mind. Neutral colors, sharp edges, silence. Nothing personal. Nothing vulnerable.
But this morning, her arms were full of warmth.
May lay against her chest, tangled in the sheets, bare skin pressed against Shane's with a kind of comfort that scared the hell out of her. The light filtered in soft and golden, touching May's cheek like a kiss.
Shane couldn't stop looking at her.
Her fingers moved slowly along May's spine, drawing invisible lines she'd never let herself trace before. Her breath was steady, her body calm—but her mind was spinning.
Because this wasn't just sex anymore.
It hadn't been for a while.
And she didn't know what to do with that.
May stirred, a lazy smile curving her lips as she opened her eyes. "You're staring."
Shane smirked, voice low. "I paid for the view."
May's laugh was soft and sleepy. She tucked her face into Shane's neck. "You know you don't have to pretend with me, right?"
Shane's body went still for half a second.
But May didn't press. She never did. She just gave Shane space—and somehow that made Shane want to give her everything.
"I'm not pretending," Shane said quietly, her fingers curling in May's hair. "I just don't know how to do this."
May looked up at her. "Do what?"
"This," Shane gestured to the bed. To the morning. To the soft, intimate realness of it all. "Let someone stay."
May's expression softened. "Then don't think of it as staying. Think of it as... not running."
Shane stared at her.
Then leaned down and kissed her—slow and deep, a silent confession in the press of lips and breath.
When they finally broke apart, May whispered, "You're not as guarded as you think, Kingston."
"Don't tell anyone," Shane said, smirking again. "I've got a reputation."
May laughed and rolled on top of her, straddling her hips, bare skin against Shane's tank top and boxers. Her fingers dragged along Shane's stomach, slow and teasing.
"You have a reputation," May murmured, leaning down to kiss along her jaw, "but under this tough tomboy exterior…"
"Careful," Shane warned, voice thick.
"…there's a woman who kisses like sin, touches like worship, and sleeps like she hasn't rested in years when I'm in her arms."
Shane's hands found May's thighs. Tightened.
"You're gonna be the death of me," Shane said, eyes dark with want.
"Then die slow," May whispered against her lips. "I'm not done with you yet."
Hours later, Shane stood in her office.
Alone.
Her suit jacket hung over the back of her chair, sleeves rolled on her black shirt, collar slightly askew. She'd come straight from May's place—couldn't bring herself to go home first.
Not when her penthouse felt so damn hollow without her.
The large windows behind her overlooked the city, but her attention was on the tablet in her hand—emails, contracts, proposals. All the things that used to ground her. But nothing held her focus anymore.
Her assistant knocked once and stepped in.
"Miss Kingston, he's here."
Shane didn't look up. "Send him in."
A tall man entered—mid-forties, clean-cut, expensive suit. Gordon Vale. Business consultant. PR handler. Old family contact.
And snake.
He stood across from Shane's desk with a tight smile.
"You've been… off the radar," he said. "We've had to reschedule two interviews and a gala."
Shane didn't respond.
He glanced at her, reading her mood. "Are we losing focus, Shane?"
Her eyes snapped up, cold and sharp. "Do I look like I've lost control?"
"No," he said, smiling thin. "But you do look... distracted."
She stood slowly, the power in her frame unmistakable. "You don't get to question how I handle my time."
"I'm not questioning," he said. "Just observing. You've built an empire out of ice and steel. People fear you. They respect you. But now you're…" He hesitated. "Warmer."
Shane's eyes narrowed.
He leaned forward, voice lower. "Word is, you're seeing someone."
She didn't flinch.
Didn't blink.
But she didn't deny it.
He smiled like a man who'd just seen a crack in the fortress. "Be careful, Shane. That kind of softness can be... expensive."
Shane stepped around the desk, closing the space between them in two strides. Her voice dropped to a growl. "You think you can warn me about my own choices?"
"I'm protecting your brand," he said smoothly.
"I am the brand," Shane snapped. "And if anyone lays a hand on what's mine—business or otherwise—they answer to me."
He held her gaze for a moment.
Then smiled again.
"Just doing my job."
"Do it better," she said, walking back to her desk. "And stay out of my personal life."
He left without another word.
But Shane felt it—something had shifted. The moment May got under her skin, the vultures started circling. And this world she'd built, this empire of power and silence—it didn't play well with weakness.
And loving May?
That felt dangerously close to it.