Page 115 of Once Upon a Lie

What the ever-loving fuck is he doing here?

The part of me that once would’ve searched his face for reassurance is mercifully silent. What’s left is something sharper and much, much colder.

The nerve. The audacity. The sheer fucking balls on this guy.

His invitation was officially rescinded the moment he treated everything we’d had together like a passing ship on a foggy night. To show up here is an offense against me and everything I opened up to show him.

Before I know it, I’m moving—heels clicking, pulse pounding, anger rising—and I’m heading straight for him.

Rage boils in warning under the surface as I close the distance between us, vengeance for his betrayal my one and only goal. The love I once felt is gone, blurred and smeared into the other side of the line. I don’t feel badly about hating him, though. I feel justified, and as I get closer and the details of his lying eyes come into sharp repose, the urge to blacken the skin around them overwhelms me.

When I reach him, I don’t hesitate. I cock my arm back and let my fist fly before I can think, aiming squarely for his jaw.

But he stops it with ease, twisting the arm behind my back and pulling the front of my body against his. “Hell of a greeting, Valentina.”

“Fuck you, Shane,” I seethe, breaths coming out in heavy pants.

He tsks, and I growl.

The sound of his voice cracks something open inside me—something raw and stupid and still bruised from missing him.

God, I hate that I miss him.

Anger renewed, I yank free from his hold and slap him clear across the face. Hard. My palm stings like fire, but I don’t regret it for a second—even knowing he could have stopped me if he wanted and instead let me have it. It’s too late for Mr. Nice Guy to win an award. The moment he left me high and dry, the polls closed.

Shane touches his jaw; his fingers are slow and calm, and his eyes are locked tight with mine. And then, God help me, he smiles at me—like he’s proud.

“What’s wrong with you?” I snap. Anger, confusion, sadness, and heartbreak all battle for supremacy. “You string me along for weeks. You dump me in a text, vanish for days, and show up here smiling like—”

“I’m sorry,” he apologizes, cutting me off before I can even finish, and every hot iron in my chest turns orange with a renewed glow.

“You’re sorry?” I repeat on a shocked breath. “For what, Shane? Fucking disappearing? For dragging me along and playing at serious? For sleeping with me—”

Before I can finish my thought, he wraps his arm around my waist and pulls me tight against him again. His voice is low and rough as he whispers, “For everything, Valentina.”

The words land harder than any slap. Apologies mean nothing without truth—and suddenly I’m not sure I know who he is at all.

My mouth opens and closes like I’m a fish gasping for air. I want to yell at him. Slap him again. Punch him. Kick him. Kiss him. I want to—

A woman screams, high and shrill, from the other side of the room, startling us both. Another scream follows, and then a sharp, undeniable pop pop pop echoes off the walls of the ballroom.

“He has a gun!” someone cries out.

Chaos erupts, the couple in the red dress and tux from before bumping into my back hard and sending both Shane and me careening into the wall.

Pop pop pop.

Glass shatters. People scream. Bodies slam together.

Shane moves instantly. He grabs me and pulls me behind a marble column of the Nashville Parthenon, shielding me with his body, and in my panic, I try to remember something—anything—from the tour he made us go on in case it helps us escape.

More gunshots go off.

“Stay down,” Shane orders, voice sharp and sure. “Don’t move. Stay right here, okay?”

All I can do is nod. My heart is hammering inside my chest, and all four of my limbs feel frozen to the cool marble floor as the visual of Shane reaching inside his jacket and pulling out a gun from a holster balloons a pressure in my head I can’t avoid. “Don’t move,” he says again, pressing a shocking kiss to my forehead, and then he’s gone.

Running straight into the line of fire with a gun in his hand. Nothing makes sense.