Collins sat in his dimly lit apartment, his hands clenched into fists, knuckles white. His breath was ragged, chest rising and falling in uneven bursts as the image of Cynthia—half-naked, tangled with Mike—flashed in his mind. His best friend. His woman.

A bitter chuckle escaped his lips, but it held no humor. He had always known Mike Richard was reckless when it came to women, but this? This was a different level of betrayal. Cynthia had been his. The woman he once planned a future with. The woman who had walked away, leaving him with nothing but regret.

His whiskey glass trembled in his grip before he hurled it against...