The morning after should have been quiet.
But nothing about Shane Kingston's life was ever quiet for long.
She stood at the kitchen island in a loose black T-shirt, coffee mug in hand, while her phone buzzed again and again across the marble countertop. May sat at one of the high bar stools, her legs bare, wearing nothing but one of Shane's white button-downs. Her gaze flicked to the phone, then back to Shane's tense profile.
"Everything alright?" she asked gently
"No." Shane picked up the phone, read something, and cursed under her breath.
May raised a brow. "That didn't sound like a business email."
Shane didn't answer. Instead, she set the mug down and walked to the floor-to-ceiling windows, running a hand through her hair. Her jaw was tight, her shoulders like stone.
May slid off the stool and walked over, barefoot on polished floors, her fingers brushing lightly across Shane's back. "Talk to me."
Shane hesitated. She didn't want May in this part of her world. The part that wasn't champagne, silk sheets, and pleasure drawn out until dawn. This was the side built of pressure, power, and people who would rip her apart the moment they smelled weakness.
"There's a leak," she finally said. "Photos. Of us."
May blinked. "What kind of photos?"
Shane turned to her, voice clipped. "The kind that shouldn't exist. Paparazzi shot of us going into the penthouse last night. Then more this morning. You in the shirt. Me shirtless on the balcony."
May didn't flinch. "So what?"
"So what?" Shane snapped. "I don't do public. I don't let anyone in. And now the world thinks you're—"
"What?" May interrupted. "A fling? A weakness?"
Shane looked away.
May took a step back, a cold breeze moving between them now.
"Jesus, Shane," she said softly. "We had something real last night. You think I'd run to the press? You think I'm using you?"
"No," Shane said quickly. "I think the world is watching, and I wasn't ready for it."
May folded her arms, the silk shirt slipping slightly down her shoulder. "That's the problem. You weren't ready. You never are. Not for love, not for feeling, not for anything that makes you vulnerable."
Shane flinched like she'd been struck. "Don't call it love."
"Why not?" May said, stepping close again. "You touch me like it is. You look at me like it is. You hold me like you're afraid to lose me."
Shane clenched her fists. "I don't believe in love, May."
May nodded slowly, eyes hard now. "Then maybe it's time you ask yourself why."
Shane looked at her then—really looked. And beneath the fire in May's eyes was something tender. Something raw. Something real.
It terrified her.
"I can't do this," Shane whispered.
May's expression didn't crack. She just picked up her purse from the stool, calmly slipping it over her shoulder.
"I believe you," she said. "But one day, when the silence stops being enough, when the money doesn't hold you the way I did—you'll remember this."
And with that, May walked out.
The door shut behind her with a soft click, but to Shane, it sounded like a door slamming on something she hadn't even let herself hope for.
She stared at the spot where May had stood, heart racing, jaw tight.
And for the first time in years… she felt alone.