The penthouse was filled with the scent of fresh roses and lavender candles. May had spent hours making everything perfect—silky sheets, champagne chilling, the soft hum of jazz playing low in the background. She had even dusted her collarbones with shimmer, wearing nothing but a deep red silk robe and heels.
Shane was finally coming back from New York. After that whirlwind business trip, May wanted tonight to be all about her. Just the two of them. Just love, skin, and whispered forever.
She heard the elevator ding.
Grinning, May dimmed the lights even lower, her heart fluttering. She slipped behind the door to hide, ready to jump into Shane's arms the moment she walked in.
The door opened.
Footsteps. Slow, confident.
May didn't wait. She pounced forward with a laugh, wrapping her arms around the tall frame in the dark.
"I missed you so damn much," she whispered, her voice low, sultry. She kissed the neck she thought was Shane's, breathing her in, her hands roaming bold and eager.
Then she pushed the figure toward the bed, letting the robe slide open just enough. She straddled her lover, lips brushing their jaw as she whispered, "I've been waiting for this all night, Daddy…"
The voice that responded wasn't Shane's.
A low chuckle.
"Still as wild as ever, huh?"
Adam.
May froze.
Before she could move, click—the lights switched on.
Standing at the doorway, stunned, was Shane, holding a bouquet of white peonies, her tie still loose from the airport, her lips parted in confusion.
Her eyes landed on the sight before her—May, in nothing but silk and heels, straddling Adam, hair tousled, mouth inches from his. Adam's hands on her waist, his shirt halfway open. His smirk still fresh.
Shane didn't move. Didn't speak. The bouquet fell from her hand and hit the floor with a soft, cruel thud.
"Shane—" May gasped, scrambling off Adam like she'd been burned. "It's not what you think. I thought it was you—I swear—"
Shane's eyes were hollow. Her jaw clenched, but she didn't say a word.
Adam stood slowly, brushing his hands off on his jeans. He glanced at Shane, stepped forward, and—without warning—clapped a hand on her shoulder.
"Guess we're even now," he said coolly. "No hard feelings, right?"
May screamed, "Get out, Adam!"
He just winked and strolled past Shane, leaving silence in his wake.
Shane stared at the bed. The scattered rose petals. The lace lingerie folded neatly on the edge. The champagne. The candles.
The moment May had planned for her.
The moment that now felt like a blade in the ribs.
"Shane…" May whispered, tears already slipping down her cheeks. "Please, say something. I thought it was you. I didn't even look, I—I heard the door, I felt you, I didn't—"
Shane didn't speak. Didn't blink.
Her fingers tightened at her sides, and she whispered, "You wanted me."
May nodded frantically, stepping toward her.
"But you touched him."
A single tear rolled down Shane's cheek, and she turned away, walking out of the room.
May's knees buckled.
The room smelled like roses and regret.
The door slammed.
The echo rolled through the penthouse like thunder.
May stood frozen in the bedroom, the candles still flickering beside the untouched champagne. Her robe had slipped off one shoulder, but she didn't move to fix it. Her skin felt cold. Her heartbeat echoed in her ears, louder than the jazz still whispering through the speakers.
She'd planned the night to show Shane how deeply she loved her.
Now all it showed was her mistake.
Shane's steps had been silent—cold, deliberate—as she left. She hadn't yelled. She hadn't cried.
That silence was worse than any scream.
May ran barefoot into the hall, chasing after her.
"Shane! Wait!"
The elevator was already closing.
"Shane, please!"
She hit the button over and over, tears blinding her, but it was no use. She was gone.
Gone.
Three Days Later
The city was grey with rain. The world felt like it was mourning something no one could see.
Shane Kingston hadn't been home since that night.
Her phone was off. Her security team gave no answers. Her private number bounced straight to voicemail.
May had called her a hundred times. Texted a thousand.
Nothing.
In the meantime, Adam had the nerve to post a cryptic picture on his story—a wine glass, a woman's hand in silk, and the caption: "Right place. Right moment."
May saw red. She was ready to rip his throat out.
But that didn't matter. Not now. Not while Shane was out there, thinking the worst.
Meanwhile...
Shane sat in the back of her armored black SUV, parked at a private beach house two hours from the city. She hadn't slept. Her hair was messy. Her tie had been discarded. She wore only an oversized hoodie and joggers, her feet bare on the hardwood floor.
Rain hit the windows hard. Just like the memory hit her.
May's body on top of his.
Her lips.
Her voice.
"I thought it was you…"
It played over and over like a cruel loop in her head.
She threw a crystal glass at the wall, shattering it. The sound didn't help. Nothing did.
She didn't want to lose May. But how do you erase a picture that's already burned into your soul?
Back in the City
May stood in Shane's office, desperate. She'd called Leo—Shane's most loyal assistant—and begged for a clue. He finally cracked when he heard her voice break over the line.
"She's at the beach house in Cape Shore. Please… don't make her regret letting me tell you."
Without hesitation, May grabbed her keys.
She followed the GPS down to the lower level of the hotel Shane had gone to for a quick "drink with investors." It was well past midnight now. The place was nearly empty, quiet—except for the soft echo of voices in the hallway near the private lounges.
Then May turned the corner.
And froze.
There—Shane, slumped against a hallway wall, was being held upright by a woman May had never seen before. The woman had her arms around Shane's waist, one hand supporting her neck, and her lips were dangerously close to Shane's ear.
May's chest tightened, her fingers curling into fists.
Shane mumbled something and let out a lazy laugh. The other woman smirked and said something back, her voice too low for May to hear. But it didn't matter.
The rage came like a storm.
"Get your hands off her!" May snapped, striding forward like a force of nature.
The woman looked up, startled. "Excuse me—"
But May was already pulling Shane away, gripping her tightly, checking her face. "Shane… baby, are you okay?"
Shane blinked, glassy-eyed, her words slow. "Maaaay... you're here…"
May turned, her tone dark. "Who the hell are you?"
"I'm helping her," the woman snapped, her voice defensive now. "I found her practically unconscious outside the lounge. She was barely standing."
May didn't budge. "And your hands had to be around her like that?"
Shane giggled, still drunk, her cheek resting on May's shoulder. "She kept me from kissing the carpet."
The woman rolled her eyes. "I was trying to help. I'm a nurse, for god's sake."
May narrowed her eyes, but Shane tugged weakly at her sleeve. "May... I drank the world. I thought that waitress was a chandelier."
The woman laughed under her breath. "She asked a bar stool to dance. She needed help."
May's shoulders dropped slightly, shame creeping in. "I'm… sorry. I thought—"
"Yeah. I get it." The woman gave May one last look and walked away. "You're lucky I found her first."
As she disappeared down the hall, May let out a long breath and turned back to Shane. "You're a mess, Kingston."
Shane slurred a grin. "A hot mess, though?"
May sighed. "Let's get you home."
Shane lay half-sprawled across the bed, her boots still on, shirt halfway unbuttoned, lips red from the whiskey and the storm of emotions she couldn't outrun.
May sat beside her, wiping her forehead gently with a warm cloth. Shane blinked up at her like a lost girl in a nightmare.
"You came…" Shane murmured, voice thick and slurred.
"Of course I did," May said softly, brushing the damp hair from Shane's forehead.
Shane laughed bitterly. "You always show up when I break… you and her. Always when I break."
May froze.
Her heart pounded. "Who's her, Shane?"
Shane's drunken smile turned sad, lips trembling. "Alexa…"
May stiffened.
Shane turned on her side, eyes half-lidded. "She used to say I was cold… like kissing stone. But she knew what she was doing. She made me that way."
She reached for May's hand, gripping it clumsily.
"I let her in. All the way in. My bones knew her name. My body was hers, my money, my world…" Shane's voice cracked. "She took it. Took me. And when she was done, she threw me out like I was just a trophy with too much dust."
May's eyes watered, but she didn't stop her fingers from caressing Shane's wrist.
"I was in love, May. Real, terrifying love. She knew. And that's why she broke me."
May whispered, "I'm not her."
But Shane wasn't done.
"You kissed him," she slurred.
"What?"
"In my dream. Tonight. You kissed Adam. You called him baby. Said you missed him. Then I walked in, and the lights were off… and you didn't even know it wasn't me. You sat on him." Shane's voice cracked. "I saw it. I swear I saw it."
May went silent. She thought she'd hidden that
mistake… the one that wasn't her fault but still scarred them both.
"Shane… that wasn't—"
"I know it wasn't real. But it felt real. And that's enough," Shane mumbled, pulling the blanket up over her face. "You and her. You and him. All of you… you make me soft just to leave me bleeding."
May slid under the blanket and cradled Shane's head against her chest.
"You're not bleeding," she whispered. "Not anymore."
Shane peeked up, eyes glassy. "Then why does it still hurt so damn much?"
May kissed her temple, slow and sweet. "Because you still care."
Shane sniffed, quiet for a moment… and then blurted:
Shane mumbled, "I punched a tree. Thought it was Adam."
May blinked in disbelief. "You what?" She reached for Shane's hand—then froze. Her eyes widened at the sight of Shane's bruised knuckles, the skin torn and bleeding, tiny cuts crusted with dried blood. "Shane…" she whispered, her voice cracking.
Tears welled up in May's eyes as her fingers traced the damage gently. "Why didn't you tell me? Why would you hurt yourself like this?" Her voice trembled as she lifted Shane's hand to her lips, kissing the broken skin like it could undo the pain. "You're hurting so much…"
She leaned in to kiss her lips, but Shane turned her face away, her voice flat, distant. "Don't… you're not mine."
May's tears fell silently as Shane slipped her hand from hers and rolled away, curling into herself. Moments later, Shane's breathing slowed into sleep—but May just sat there, her hand still reaching for someone who kept slipping through her fingers.