Stiletto Sisterhood

Original Edition: Shay| All you do is cause pain

"Let's hear it for the champion." Priya angled the bottle and popped the cork, launching a spray of champagne bubbles into a room of heavy faces and guarded expressions.

"Told you this isn't necessary," Shayne said, lifting her head. She sat on a set of steps separating the massive hotel suites living room from the dining space, flute dangling from disinterested fingers.

Beyond the wall of windows, Vegas spread out from the top of the penthouse suite like a carpet of lights against the liquid black of night. A glorious, throbbing rush of endless energy. She'd had come once or twice in the past, but this was her first time in the city of sin with her Sisters.

Between the final prep with Asher and her coaching team, the press conferences, weigh ins and meeting with UFC organizers, this was the first moment she had with all of them together and alone. They'd have the rest of the night in Vegas to celebrate and first thing tomorrow morning they'd fly out with her family on the private jet to Spain and stand shoulder to shoulder while her brother ascended the throne as the country's new King.

An important and monumental occasion in Spanish history to follow on the heels of her victory in the ring. So why wasn't anyone the least bit happy about it?

Eshe was cryptic and not her usual bright, effervescent self. Isobel had barely said more than a few meagre words all afternoon and occasionally lanced Shayne with a seething glare. According to Priya, Cait had spent more time at the bar kicking back shots with tourists then she had with any of them. And Shayne couldn't pull herself out of her funk. Anyone looking at her right now would swear she'd been the one who'd hit the mat in the first round instead of her opponent.

But you did lose, she thought darkly.

Her fingers itched for her phone, which she'd turned off and abandoned in her room, to swipe through her messages in search of something she already knew wouldn't be there. Rita had ignored her for two solid days—calls and texts—until today when she'd deigned to send out final email barely an hour before Shayne was due to hit the ring.

I thought you should know that I've accepted a new position with the Chairman of the Belgian senate, and have therefore terminated employment with the Melo Diez Carabantes Fitz-James Stuart household effective immediately.

Brief, blunt and brutal.

Single sentence and nothing more but she'd spent the rest of that hour rereading every single word as her heart cracked wide open, but Shayne was used to this kind of pain. She could take the hits. That's what she trained for. To transform the punishing agony of bruises and broken bones into strength. Rita was running away, and Shayne was going to let her. That didn't mean she was happy about it.

In fact, she was pissed. Furious.

And had poured all of that seething emotion into her fight against Pacheco, knocked her out clean and cold in the second minute of the first round. A win that should've made her feel better. But it didn't.

"You won," Priya emphasized, yet again, as she had when she'd placed the call to room service to send up a chilled bottle. "That's cause for celebration."

Shayne snorted. "It was a paltry two minutes."

"Two glorious minutes. On screen. Worldwide. And now you have a major coup under your belt to—why am I selling you on this?" Snatching Shayne's flute, Priya poured to the rim and shoved it back into her hand, sloshing champagne. "Here, drink and for the love of god can someone cheer the f*ck up? Who are you girls and where are my Sisters? Why are we not laughing, smiling—?"