Maybe Rose understood Shane a little too well.

Because she had you.

You were her secret the one thing that was completely hers and yet never allowed to be claimed. No labels. No anniversaries. No soft launch posts or hand-holding in public. No names attached to whatever this was.

But there were rules.

No other people.

You never said it outright, never sat down and defined it, but it lived between you in every lingering look and every possessive touch. Even if you weren’t official, you were exclusive. That much was understood.

You left marks to prove it.

Faint bruises blooming under collars. Scratches that curved down backs. Bite marks hidden beneath sleeves. Quiet signatures only the two of you recognized.

And when anyone asked?

A random hookup.

A careless night.

Nothing serious.

But they weren’t careless. They weren’t random. They were reminders to each other and to anyone paying attention that you were both off limits.

You knew it wasn’t healthy. The secrecy. The jealousy. The way you clung to something neither of you could hold in the light.

But you were attached.

The stolen glances across crowded rooms, fingertips brushing for half a second too long, whispers in hallways where no one could see. You craved it like oxygen. The thrill. The danger. The certainty that no matter what, you would circle back to each other.

And you hated it.

You hated how she only acknowledged you when there was a camera pointed in her direction careful, distant, playing a part or when you were completely alone. Never in between. Never real and open.

She hated that she couldn’t love you the way she wanted to in public. Hated the tight leash of expectations, the image she had to maintain, the risk of ruining everything.

So you fought.

Quiet arguments that turned sharp. Tension that snapped like a wire pulled too tight. Teary-eyed confessions at three in the morning. Begging. Yearning. Promises to end it that neither of you kept.

The passion was undeniable. Every fight fed it. Every almost-breakup made it burn hotter.

But the final blow to your fragile secret came when she and Shane went public.

Photos. Headlines. Smiles that looked convincing enough.

You reacted badly.

Jealousy ate at you. You lashed out, tried to make her jealous in return. Let yourself be seen with other people. Pretended you didn’t care. Thought about her anyway at the worst possible moments.

And stupidly enough, she thought about you too.

Three months.

That’s how long you stayed away. Three months of silence while she tried to make it work with Shane.

Until the truth surfaced.

Until she sat him down and helped him come out to her.

That same night, from the hotel where she was staying, she texted.

One text.

You went.

Of course you did.

You knocked once. She opened the door and stepped aside. You walked in slowly, deliberately, circling the room as if you were just taking in the layout. The bed. The window. The dim lamp on the nightstand.

You turned back toward her.

She was already watching you.

You moved closer. She backed up instinctively until the wall caught her shoulders. Her breathing shifted just slightly heavier, just enough to notice. Her eyes flickered across your face like she was trying to memorize it and forget it at the same time.

Your hands found her waist, sliding slowly upward to rest against her stomach. Step by step, you closed the space between you more.

Her head tipped forward before she could stop herself.

“This is a bad idea,” she breathed, hands clenched at her sides as if that alone could keep her from reaching for you.

“Everything we do is a bad idea,” you murmured.

One hand slid higher, fingers tracing up to her jaw, gently tilting her face so your eyes locked.

“This has always been a bad idea,” she whispered, her gaze dropping to your lips.

You leaned closer.

She met you halfway.

Your noses brushed. Her inhale was shaky, deliberate, as if she was letting the scent of you fill her lungs after months without it.