As she stood and stretched, Reesa checked the clock and realized she’d lost track of time. She had gotten so involved in the new design of an office space for a very affluent client she hadn’t even stopped for lunch, simply munching on some chips at her desk. Now, it was after six, and Marc was due home from a week at training late tonight. She wanted to have a nice dinner waiting, and she intended to shower and put on some nice lingerie for his arrival.

Saving her work, she shut down the computer, gathered her things, and turned off the light in her office, locking it behind her. She took the elevator down and stepped outside, the air a bit frigid, and she shivered, wishing she’d brought a coat rather than a thin cardigan. She pulled it tight around her had ducked her head against the wind, heading for the train station.

She’d taken maybe three steps when a figure stepped in front of her and stopped. She looked up to find the figure shoving a microphone in her face. “Miss Brighton, do you have a statement regarding the allegations?” the woman asked, a cameraman standing behind her shoulder, the lens trained on Reesa.

“My past is my past, and I’ve made enough statements about it and the truth of the matter,” she said, holding back her anger. She wasn’t in the mood to dredge all this up right now.

“Not against you, Miss Brighton. I'm referring to the charges that are being filed against your fiancé, Marcus Winters," the reporter told her, eyes glowing at the discovery Reesa had no clue what she meant.

"Excuse me?" Reesa had a sinking feeling, her stomach twisting up in knots instantly.

"Miss Brighton, your fiancé is being accused of physical and sexual assault on a woman named Monique Carson over the weekend. When did you last speak with Winters?"

"I talked to him this morning. And we're not engaged," Reesa corrected irritably. The reporter had to be mistaken. "And I think you have your facts wrong."

"Really? Did Winters tell you what happened? Or did he conveniently forget to mention it? Did he sound distressed at all? Do you know where he was last night?" The rapid-fire questions made Reesa's head spin, and she just stared at this horrible woman for a moment. "Any comment at all?" she prompted impatiently.

Last night, Marc had called to tell her the team planned to go out to a local pub and have a few drinks and blow off some steam. She hadn't minded. She trusted him to be a responsible adult. Had she been fooled the whole time? "No comment," she finally managed, her voice strained as she tried to swallow back the bile rising in her throat. She shouldered past the woman, but like a true reporter, she followed doggedly at Reesa's heels.

"Miss Brighton, Monique Carson claims she's seen your...boyfriend several times, but last night, he got drunk and forced her to have sex. When she fought, he beat her. These are serious allegations, and with your history, you have to have an opinion."

That didn't sound like Marc at all. Then again, she didn't know how he acted when he got drunk. They'd never drank that much together. And she knew the policy a lot of the guys had – what happens on the road, stays on the road. If Marc bought into the same philosophy, he likely wouldn't have told her. It wasn't the sort of information you shared with a significant other. And how well did she really know him?

Suddenly, Reesa felt like she would lose what little contents she had in her stomach. Despite the cold air around her, she felt buried in burning coals, her body singed with heat. "No comment!" She yelled over her shoulder, picking up her pace. If the reporter kept up much longer, she would have to jump in a cab and get out of here.

She needed to get home, try to figure out what was going on. She couldn't call Marc; he'd be boarded on the plane by now. But if she didn't talk to him now, what would she say to him face to face? She needed to think rationally, consider the possibilities, but she couldn't even know if the reporter had told the truth or not. For all she knew, the story was a ploy to start rumors.

"You can't run from this, Miss Brighton!" the reporter called out, winded and farther away now. "It's going to be big news. It might help if you had something to say now."

"You want me to say something? Fuck off!" Reesa cried as she hailed a taxi. The driver pulled over and she slammed into the car before the woman could catch up. "Hell's Kitchen," she told him. It wasn't the right direction for home, but it would take her to Kylie's. She doubted the harassing lady would move fast enough to follow, and she could bet no one had Kylie's address. Let the bitch come for her at Marc's or her own apartment. They could bang on the door till the neighbor's complained. She wouldn't be there to answer.

Unfortunately, the woman had a point. If all of this was real, Reesa couldn't run from it. She would have to face it sooner or later. First, though, she had to decide what she believed. Her heart told her Marc wasn't capable of something so heinous, especially since he'd vowed never to hurt her. Cheating would tear her apart, and this was worse than cheating.

But her heart had been wrong before. Ethan had her just as fooled, and she hadn't given anyone a chance to do the same since. Until Marc. How could she let herself risk something like this? Maybe he'd been playing her all along, having affairs on the road every chance he got. Maybe, when they talked on the phone, he had a woman sleeping beside him.

She started imagining wild frat style parties, with Marc screwing random women against the wall in the hallway, music thumping so loud no one could hear the girls' cries as they came with him. It suited the image the media painted of him much better than the persona he'd presented to her. Reesa knew they could twist things terribly; they'd obviously done it with her story. But Reesa also knew there was usually an element of truth to the stories, something that prompted the sensationally embellished tales. And more often than not, people didn't deserve the benefit of the doubt.

By the time she reached Kylie's apartment, Reesa had worked herself into a frenzy. She pulled out her phone to call and make sure her friend was home, noting that she'd missed several calls from Kylie. Her heart sank, the repeated calls confirming the truth of the allegations. Her best friend must have seen the story on the news and called, concerned.

Tossing some cash at the driver, Reesa abandoned the phone call and bounded up three flights of stairs, slamming her fist against Kylie's door over and over until her friend opened it. She practically fell into her best friend's arms, the tears bursting forth immediately as she let the weight of the situation really settle in.

"I don't believe a word of it," Kylie whispered soothingly, rubbing a hand over her back. "And I'm sure Jordan will confirm it."

Reesa shook her head, sniffling. "Jordan would say anything to keep Marc out of trouble. And honestly, I don't even know the whole story. I just heard basic accusations from a damn reporter who wanted a statement. But people don't point that sort of finger lightly. What am I going to do, Kylie?"

Kylie took hold of her shoulders and held her away, giving her the most solemn expression Reesa had ever seen on her face. "Do you love him?"

"More than anything." Her heart ached, and she felt the world around her shattering like a mirror that had reflected a dream rather than reality.

"Then, you listen to what he has to say and make up your mind. You know him, Reesa. You can't make snap judgments based on a stupid woman who probably wants to get revenge on all men for some wrong she suffered at someone else's hand. I'm sure there's a reasonable explanation, and Marc was in the wrong place at the wrong time."

"But why? Why would he be in a position where someone could even make such a claim?" She didn't want to think about the circumstances.

"We'll have to wait and see." With an arm around her waist, Kylie guided her into the living room and sat her down on the sofa. "I can't get Jordan on the phone, so they're probably in the air right now. All we can do is wait. I'm going to get some ice cream, and we're going to have a pity party for a little while, eating our woes that you're in this predicament for whatever reason. I'll tell you what I know. Then, we're going to watch something funny to get our minds off it till we can get some answers."

Dejectedly, Reesa nodded. Chocolate ice cream did make her feel better, and Kylie had a whole pint, just for her. She listened while Kylie ran through what details there were. According to the news, Monique Carson had been at a local bar where the team was hanging out last night. She'd been drinking with Marc, and things had gotten heated. They'd been making out, and when he tried to take it further, she'd turned him down. He'd gotten violent, beating her and sexually assaulting her. Supposedly, she'd gone straight to the police station to file charges, and the only reason the police hadn't arrested Marc was because they didn't have DNA evidence yet.

It didn't sound like the Marc she knew, but Reesa couldn't let it slide. She had to keep her guard up now, not letting her emotions control her. "I'll listen to what he has to say," she said cautiously, feeling her world crumbling around her. "But I have a terrible feeling about this."

Kylie placed a comforting hand on her knee. "As much as you don't want your judgment clouded by your feelings for Marc, you can't let the fear Ethan beat into you make your decisions, either. You need to wipe the slate clean so you can draw reasonable conclusions."

"What would you think?" She asked, tears rolling down her cheeks again.

"Honestly? I'd trust my heart. I would look into his eyes when he talked to me and trust what I saw there." She offered an encouraging smile.

But Reesa felt far from reassured. Her heart had gotten her into trouble before. It was the last part of her body she wanted to trust.