The ballroom pulsed with low music and golden light, the city skyline stretching wide behind the glass windows like a painting.
Shane Kingston stood at the center of it all, a storm in a black suit.
The tailoring was immaculate. The dark fabric hugged her strong frame, crisp lines brushing her shoulders and hugging her waist. No tie—just the top two buttons undone, hinting at the ink along her collarbone. Her watch gleamed subtly, her presence dangerous and magnetic.
She didn't need to say anything.
Women noticed her the second she walked in.
And tonight, she had May Anderson on her arm—a vision in a silk crimson gown that slipped down her back like a second skin. Her hair was pinned up to reveal her neck, her lips matching the dress, her gaze fierce and untouchable.
They were fire and ice walking together—striking, unreachable.
Until the eyes started lingering too long.
"God, Shane," a tall blonde purred as they passed by. "You clean up so well. You never called me back."
"I don't call," Shane said smoothly without pausing, eyes only on May.
They moved deeper into the room, but the parade of attention didn't stop.
Two women from a fashion brand whispered and giggled, one of them brushing her fingers across Shane's arm as they passed. Another woman—petite, bold, with raven-black hair—sidled up close at the bar.
"I remember you," she said, lips nearly brushing Shane's ear. "You left me breathless three years ago."
May turned her head sharply.
Shane barely blinked. "Then I did my job."
The woman smirked. "You want to do it again?"
May's hand slid possessively onto Shane's chest, red nails splayed across her suit. "She's already doing that with someone else."
Shane didn't even look at the woman. She turned to May instead, cupping her jaw and brushing her thumb along her cheek.
"I only breathe for you now."
The raven-haired woman scoffed and disappeared into the crowd.
But the tension didn't.
Everywhere they turned, someone tried to flirt, tried to catch Shane's attention with a wink, a comment, a lingering look.
May's spine stayed straight, her smile tight.
She knew Shane had a history. She'd even found it hot once—the knowledge that this powerful, magnetic woman could have anyone, but chose her. But tonight, it was too much.
Shane was hers.
And watching woman after woman throw themselves at her made something hot and dark coil in May's chest.
Jealousy.
Possession.
Need.
"I'm fine," Shane murmured to her as they sipped champagne on the balcony, sensing the shift in her.
May arched a brow. "Are you?"
Shane turned to face her fully, one hand curling at May's waist, the other grazing her shoulder.
"You think I haven't noticed? Every eye in there's been on you since you walked in. I've been trying not to punch half the men who looked below your neck."
May smirked. "You like it when I get jealous."
"I love it," Shane said lowly, brushing her lips against the shell of May's ear. "Because it means you care enough to want to burn the world down over me. Just like I would for you."
May's breath caught.
"I don't like sharing," she whispered.
"Good," Shane growled. "Because I don't belong to anyone else."
She kissed her then, deeply, possessively—right there on the balcony where the city lights danced like stars and the party faded into noise.
"I'm going to make it impossible for you to doubt," Shane murmured against her lips. "You're mine, May. And tonight, I'm going to remind you how deeply that runs."
May's knees weakened. Her heart pounded. The kiss was hot and slow and made her forget every single flirtatious stare they'd endured inside.
Because Shane wasn't chasing anyone else.
She was claiming her.
And tonight wasn't about who wanted Shane Kingston.
It was about the one woman she wanted back.
May leaned into Shane's chest, head resting just under her chin.
The city lights behind them sparkled, but Shane only looked at May. At the faint smudge of lipstick on her cheek, at the way her dress clung to her back, at the softness that only she got to see.
"I hate how they look at you," May whispered.
Shane tilted her head, voice low and slow. "And yet you're the only one I'll take home tonight. The only one I'll strip slowly, inch by inch…"
May shivered, her breath hitching.
Shane's fingers curled at her waist, firm. "You're mine."
But just as the warmth returned to May's eyes, the balcony door opened behind them.
A woman stepped out.
One Shane hadn't seen in years.
And her blood went cold.
Tall. Dark hair. Ice-blue eyes. Confident. Dangerous.
Alexa Moreau.
May noticed the shift in Shane before anything else—the way her muscles tensed, her fingers stopped moving, her eyes hardened like stone.
"Shane," Alexa purred, like she'd just run into an old friend instead of a storm from the past. "Still choosing beautiful disasters, I see."
May turned, brows lifting.
Shane stepped slightly in front of her.
"Leave," she said coldly.
But Alexa just smiled. "You think I came here for you? Please. I came to remind you that some debts don't stay buried."
"Shane," May asked softly, "who is she?"
Alexa's smile curved crueler. "Oh. She didn't tell you?"
And then, louder—just enough for May to hear:
"I was the first woman Shane ever loved. And the one who taught her how to lie."
May's breath caught. "What?"
Shane turned sharply. "Don't listen to her."
But May had already pulled her hand back.
The warmth was gone.
The doubt was there.
And Alexa? She just walked away, leaving a trail of silence behind her.
Shane stood frozen. May's stare on her was different now.
Colder.
Uncertain.
Just like that… the party ended with one name too many.
One secret too deep.
And a storm between them that neither of them had seen coming.