Miranda Holden exhaled with relief as the town car pulled away from the curb. The tension in her shoulders finally began to ease now that she was free from Nolan Shelton's intimidating presence. Their business trip had been a special kind of torture—her normally demanding boss had been particularly insufferable, his mood darker than usual, his demands more exacting.
Thank God they'd wrapped up early. One more day of Nolan's brooding intensity and she might have snapped.
She glanced at her watch as she gathered her luggage. Ryan wouldn't be expecting her home until tomorrow. A small smile played on her lips as she imagined surprising him with a romantic dinner. It had been a while since they'd been together, and she missed him terribly.
Juggling her briefcase, handbag, and suitcase, Miranda fumbled for her keys. The lock turned smoothly as she pushed open the door to the townhouse she shared with Ryan and her cousin Suzanne. The house was quiet—not surprising since Suzanne was rarely home during daylight hours. The model kept hours that would exhaust most people, partying until dawn and sleeping well past noon.
Miranda set her handbag and suitcase by the stairs, then placed her briefcase on the desk in the living room. Her mind already cycling through dinner possibilities as she moved toward the kitchen.
A sound from upstairs stopped her mid-step.
Miranda froze, her heart suddenly hammering against her ribs. Had someone broken in? The neighborhood was safe, but not immune to crime. She glanced toward the front door, considering retreat, when another sound—distinctly human—filtered down the stairs.
Relief washed over her. Suzanne must be home for once. Her cousin's schedule was unpredictable at best; she often stumbled in at dawn, sometimes still in last night's clothes.
Then Miranda heard something that made her blood run cold—a man's groan, followed by her cousin's unmistakable giggle.
"Please be Suzanne with some random guy," Miranda whispered to herself, spotting her father's old baseball bat near the door. "Please don't be what I think it is."
She grabbed the bat, her palms sweaty against the worn grip. Each step up the carpeted stairs felt like an eternity, her heartbeat drumming in her ears. At the landing, she paused, listening.
The sounds were coming from the master bedroom—her and Ryan's bedroom. The door was partially open, spilling a slice of afternoon light into the hallway.
"God, you're amazing," a male voice groaned.
Miranda's stomach dropped. She knew that voice. The same voice that had whispered promises of forever. The same voice that had told her recently how much he'd miss her while she was away.
"Is my pussy better than Miranda's?" Suzanne's breathy question floated through the doorway.
Miranda's knees nearly buckled. She gripped the bat tighter, using it for support as much as protection now. This couldn't be happening. Not Ryan. Not Suzanne. Not her cousin who knew intimately the devastation infidelity caused, having watched her own mother suffer through her father's numerous affairs.
Steadying herself, Miranda nudged the door open wider.
The sight that greeted her burned into her memory: Ryan sprawled on his back on their bed—the bed she'd saved for months to buy—with Suzanne straddling him, her head thrown back in ecstasy, her perfect model's body glistening with sweat as she rode him.
Ryan's hands gripped Suzanne's hips, guiding her movements with an intimacy that suggested this was far from their first encounter.
Miranda felt nauseous. She'd given Ryan everything—her virginity, her trust, her future plans. She'd believed him when he said he couldn't stand Suzanne, when he criticized her cousin's lifestyle and clothing choices. Had that all been a cover? Or worse, had it been jealousy of other men in Suzanne's life?
The rational part of Miranda's brain told her to leave, to process this betrayal somewhere safe. But a deeper, stronger part refused to slink away in shame for a crime she hadn't committed.
Drawing herself up to her full height, Miranda stepped into the doorway. The baseball bat hung loosely at her side as she watched the two people she trusted most betray her in the most intimate way possible.
Neither of them noticed her presence, too lost in their pleasure. Something cold and hard crystallized in Miranda's chest, replacing the initial shock with icy clarity.
"While you two finish up," she said, her voice unnervingly calm, "should I cook dinner?"