Page 79 of Stud

But no. No, no, no. The images were crystal clear:

Owen with his hands on a woman’s face.

Owen leaning down, his back to the camera, but unquestionably kissing the woman.

The couple hugging.

The couple holding hands.

My head spun, pressure building at the base of my skull. A drop fell on the top image, my tear hitting the man I love on his chest. What were these? How? When?

A time stamp on the bottom sent relief crashing through me. These weren’t recent. These were old, but Owen had left Tessa in March of last year, almost a year ago. These photos were dated February, while he was still married and living with his wife. Like Caroline’s text had claimed.

My attention shot to my still-open door. Was she here? Caroline? Or Tessa? Had one of them followed me home and left these?

The violation of it slicked my palms, as did the reality of this evidence. Owen had promised he’d never cheated. I’d asked him point-blank, and he’d sworn the accusations were lies.

There had to be some mistake. A man who looked like Owen maybe. The images doctored so his ex could destroy him and what we had. Or maybe he’d played loose with the definition of cheating when we’d talked about his marriage. Cheating means different things to people, and he’d lied by omission before, hiding behind words.

Were these more secrets? His deceits come to life?

I wanted to dump the photos in the sink with a vat of acid and pretend this nightmare wasn’t happening, like Sloane had closed her ears to the truth. Choosing ignorance over fact.

More tears pooled, but I blinked them away before they spilled over this damning evidence. I would not full-on ugly cry. Not over a man. Not again. Full of trepidation, I picked up the envelope. Two photos were still tucked inside. I didn’t want to look. I wanted to close my eyes and rewind time, but I was drawn to this car wreck, lured by the gory details.

Gut twisting, I pulled the last images out. Owen again, but with another woman, and they were dancing. He was holding her close, his face dreamy, like he was exactly where he wanted to be. In the next, he was dipping her like he’d dipped me in the club, bathing her in one of his glorious smiles. Those were my smiles. They were meant for me, and that was my dance. The time stamp on the bottom was the final blow. It wrenched a sob from deep in my bones.

Three weeks ago. While he’d told me secrets and promised me love and affection, while we’d had sex without a condom, he’d been with another woman.

My anguish hardened into a ball of fury.

He’d lied to me. Had used me. For what? It didn’t make sense, but I’d seen men do this and much worse, always thinking with their dicks. I loved Owen, deeply, painfully. I couldn’t hide from that sad truth. But I wouldn’t be like Sloane, blind to reality. Believing my man’s lies. I would surgically remove Owen from my life and never again trust a man.

The drive to his house was a blur of vengeance. I was Poison Ivy. I was Cersei Lannister. I was Maleficent and every raging villainess ready to set fire to the world. I would be nobody’s fool. Except Owen’s truck was in his driveway.

I slammed my foot on the brake, almost giving myself whiplash. Oh God. He’d said he’d be out. He’d asked me not to come by in the afternoon.

More lies. More deception.

This was Brandon all over again, forcing me to see my lover in the throes of his affair. I should leave. I should hit the gas and drive, drive, drive. But I was stuck.

It was perverse, this need of mine to pull my car up next to his. To grab the envelope of treachery, put one foot in front of the other and walk through his door and up his stairs. But I couldn’t stop my legs from moving or my heart from screaming or my throat from constricting.

It wasn’t my intention to confront him. So raw and wounded, I’d never have dared face him yet. The plan was to leave the evidence on his counter, then drive to Napa Valley. Get away from this town and these lies. This devastating agony. Cry to Rachel until I was dehydrated, then find a way to reclaim my armor and resume my life.

Now that I was here, I couldn’t turn away.

Nausea churned my stomach. I had to pause, hand on the stairwell wall until it passed. It took several deep breaths to find my resolve. Footsteps thudded above me, moving in one direction, then another, a low baritone following, as though Owen were talking to someone, but I couldn’t make out the words. When I entered his place, he was leaving his room, head down, fully dressed. A small mercy. At least I wouldn’t have to see his naked body loving on someone else.

I tried to look past him, into his room, but the door was nearly shut. He glanced up and jumped at the sight of me. Surprise, asshole.

He grinned, the brightness of his smile shattering what was left of my heart. His full wattage was aimed at me like we were the last beings on this planet, no mistress in his life. No betrayal about to rip us to shreds. It was also the same smile he’d lavished on the other woman he’d been dancing with.

His eyes roved over my face, his grin slipping into a frown.

I couldn’t imagine how I looked. Rabid? Furious? Destroyed? He tried to close the gap between us with long strides, but the second he was close enough, I shoved him back. “Don’t.”

He flinched. “Ainsley, baby, what’s wrong?”