The apartment was dark, the only light coming from the muted television flickering across the living room. Empty whiskey bottles littered the coffee table, the floor, even the kitchen counter. A haze of stale alcohol and regret hung heavy in the air.
Mark Marshalls slumped on the edge of the worn-out couch, a half-empty bottle of whiskey dangling from his hand. His bloodshot blue eyes stared blankly at the photographs spread out across the coffee table.
Photos that had ripped his world apart.
Each one showed him wrapped around different women. Smiling. Kissing. Touching. Evidence, damning and brutal.
Mark's stomach turned.
Maybe he was that man.
Maybe everything Ronnie believed — everything she loved — was a lie.
But he's never blackouts before.
He'd done things overseas he could b
