Raf & Shane & Wendy
She smooths the wallpaper, adhesive still tacky beneath her fingertips. Beside her, Shane holds the edge steady, their movements syncing in quiet rhythm.
“You’re good at this,” he says. “I’d have torn the whole wall down by now.”
Raf glances over, unreadable. “I believe in doing things right.”
“So,” he says, turning back to the wall. “I’m stuck with you until it’s perfect.”
Her fingers brush his as she flattens another seam. “Could be worse.”
Every touch now, every brush of hands and bump of shoulders, feels different. Not accidental. It feels like permission.
At the final panel, she steps back to check their work, but her eyes catch on Shane instead. The way he’s looking at her. Steady. Unguarded.
“Shane,” she breathes. “Is this just me?”
He drops the strip of wallpaper. “What do you mean?”
“Don’t play dumb. Or am I imagining this?”
A beat. Then: “No, Raf. You’re not.”
“Then stop making me wonder.”
He closes the distance. His hand rises to her jaw, thumb grazing her cheekbone—a question, just before the answer. The kiss is slow at first. Careful. Curious. Then deeper. Raf sinks into him, fingers knotting into his shirt. And then—
The door swings open. They turn. They freeze. Shane’s breath catches.
“Oh, shit.”
Wendy stands in the doorway, silent for half a second. Then the champagne bottle slips from her hand, hitting the floor with an ominous thud.
“Well. Isn’t this cozy.”
“Wendy—”
“Save it, Shane. Save the weak apologies for someone dumb enough to buy them.”
“You could’ve texted before just barging in—”
“I brought champagne,” she yells. “I came to celebrate. After everything, after surviving the takedown, the investigation, nearly losing everything I built. And this is what’s waiting for me?”
This story has been stolen from Royal Road. If you read it on Amazon, please report it
“Wendy,” Raf cuts in carefully, “Just calm down. This isn’t what you think—”
“Calm down?! Don’t patronize me, ginger cunt. You think I haven’t seen that look before? You think I don’t know exactly how this goes?”
But she doesn’t see them anymore. She’s somewhere else…
Montauk. She’s twelve years old, crouched in the reeds, watching beyond the dunes. Her mother, naked, hair spilling in the sand. Lying beneath a man Wendy had never seen before.
They thought no one saw. But Wendy did. She wasn’t the only one, either. Turned out, the whole town knew. Terry Deerwood’s “escapades,” they called them. The townie woman who sank her teeth into rich summer men.
Her father just shrugged. “She gets bored,” he said.
That’s when Wendy found out: her parents’ entire marriage was a façade. Trust, loyalty, vows? It all amounted to nothing.
Fucking Shane. Loyal to no one but himself.
She doesn’t realize she’s moving until she’s already storming across the room, shoving past Shane, straight at Raf, who doesn’t move. Just blinks. Frozen.
“Wait!” Shane shouts as Raf finally stumbles back, almost out of reach.
But Wendy’s already there. Her fist swings. Shane hears it before he registers what’s happening. Raf gasps. The first strip of wallpaper tears loose with a sound like a scream.
“Wendy!” Raf yells, stepping forward, helpless.
Shane lunges after her, grabs her wrist just as she reaches again.
“Please. Don’t.”
Wendy turns on him, eyes lit with rage. She jerks her arm free, her voice lowered to a growl: “Don’t touch me.”
She lunges again. Another vicious rip.
“By the way,” she says, tossing the strip over her shoulder as she turns back to him, “that wallpaper was hideous. I did you a favor.”
Then she’s gone. The door slams behind her. Raf stares at the wall—the scraps of what might’ve been. Everything shredded.
She looks up at Shane, voice cracking now. “Do you have something with her? You just stood there like she caught you red-handed.”
“Raf, I didn’t know what to do. I froze.”
“You didn’t even try to stop her. The guilt’s all over your face, Shane.”
He reaches for her, but she steps back.
“Please, Raf. Talk to me. Don’t leave.”
“Don’t you dare tell me what to do.” Her voice breaks, and yet, she hesitates. But only for a moment.
“Raf!”
She’s already halfway down the courtyard path. “Don’t, Shane!” she calls over her shoulder, swinging around to face him. “You made your choice the second you let her tear me apart.”
“There was no choice. I had no—”
“Save it for Wendy. I’m sure she’s desperate enough to take you back.”
“Raf, don’t be like that—”
“Don’t be like what? I’m not the one in this equation who needs to change. Get that through your head.”
She pauses, just long enough to make him think she might stay. But the moment slips, and she’s already turning.
“Goodbye, Shane.”
She’s gone before he can answer. Shane just stands there, watching her disappear through the gate, down the private drive, her red waves flaring once in the sunlight.
“Let her go.”
Shane spins. Sees Wendy step out of the shadows. “You proud of yourself?” he asks, glaring now.
“She was never your type,” she fires back, pinning him with a look that says it all. “Spare me the wounded Main Male Character act.”
“Raf didn’t deserve that.”
“What about me? I actually saw you, Shane. And you chose her instead, a spoiled little socialite who thinks a divorce and an Instagram feed give her substance?”
“You don’t know her.”
“No. But I know you.”
“You think you do.”
“I know enough,” she snaps. “You think you’re different. But you’re just another man using women to prop up the myth you need to believe about yourself. I bought in. That was my mistake.”
Wendy’s voice drops, calmer now. Diabolical. “Trust and believe, I won’t make it twice.”