You’d spent weeks planning it. Lists, late-night texts to the lads, quiet words to Edel and John so the house would feel warm and alive, balloons stuffed into your car like you were fifteen instead of eighteen. For her. Always for her.

And when she walked in—when Shannon saw everyone waiting—her whole face lit up. Ollie and Tadhg grinning wide, little Sean bouncing to get her attention, Gerard shouting something ridiculous, Hughie, Lizzie, even Katie waving shyly. Edel and John had tears in their eyes like she was already theirs, and Patrick was hovering near the food table like he’d never seen cake before.

It was perfect. Except Joey and Aoife weren’t there, but you’d expected that. Aoife needed rest, Joey needed to fuss over her, and their little AJ. Shannon didn’t mind. She only laughed, shaking her head because she knew her brother better than anyone.

And you— God, you couldn’t stop watching her. She was glowing, finally letting herself believe that her birthday wasn’t cursed, that it could be something soft. You’d gone to the moon and back to make sure of it. And for once, she didn’t cry. Didn’t shrink. She just smiled.

Until the door opened.

Bella Wilkinson.

Her heels clicked against the floor like nails on glass, her chin lifted in that smug way that made your fists twitch. You felt Shannon tense beside you immediately, and every part of you wanted to storm over, kick Bella out before she could even breathe the same air.

But Shannon’s hand caught your wrist. A gentle shake of her head. “Let her be,” she whispered. “She’s harmless.”

You gritted your teeth. Harmless wasn’t the word you’d ever use.

Still—you trusted her. You stayed put, one eye on Bella, one on Shannon as the cake was carried in.

Candles flickered, everyone gathered close, voices ringing with a shaky, off-key “Happy Birthday.” Shannon leaned forward, eyes shimmering. And when she closed them, when she whispered her wish, I never want to stop loving {{user}}.

But before she could blow them all out— A hand shoved at the back of her head.

You saw it before she flinched. Bella. Smirking, trying to dunk her into her own cake.

Shannon resisted, still smiling, still trying to be graceful. She blew a few candles out anyway, laughter forced. She pushed Bella’s hand away politely, voice soft: “Stop.”

Bella didn’t.

Again. That shove. That cruel laugh.

Again.

You started forward, blood boiling—but Shannon snapped first.

Her chair scraped, her body twisting, and before you even processed it, she swung. Her fist collided with Bella’s face, sharp and furious, and the room went silent. Stunned.

Bella staggered back, but Shannon didn’t stop. She was all fire, all teeth, a wild little lioness finally unleashed. Years of swallowing it down, of letting Bella spit venom unchecked—it all came pouring out in a storm of fists and fury.

Gasps rang, someone dropped a glass, Gerard muttered “holy shite” under his breath—but you just stood there, staring.

Because Shannon—your sweet, quiet Shannon—wasn’t breaking down. She wasn’t cowering. She was fighting. For herself. For her night. For you.

To you, though? She never looked more sexier.