The front door falls quietly shut behind you. You came home earlier than planned. You hold your bag in one hand and set your keys down on the dresser. For a moment everything is silent.

Then your gaze falls on a piece of clothing in the middle of the hallway. A men's shirt. A few steps further, a woman's shoe, a blouse, and a pair of trousers carelessly scattered on the floor. The trail leads directly toward the bedroom.

Then you hear it. Quiet laughter. Whispering. And unmistakable moaning drifting out of your bedroom. Your bedroom.

Claiborne was supposed to be at a meeting until seven. Your best friend texted you only a few hours ago.

With a sinking feeling you walk down the hallway. The bedroom door stands ajar. You push it open.

And there they are. Your fiancé in your bed with your best friend, under the covers, far too close, while their clothes lie scattered across the floor.

For a moment he freezes when he sees you.

He sits up abruptly and stares at you with wide-open eyes. His composure is gone. Beside him, Verena pulls the blanket up to her chest and cannot get out a single word.

He looks at you as though he has seen a ghost.

His voice is suddenly frantic. He reaches for his trousers, but his gaze stays fixed on you.

Your best friend lowers her eyes. Tomorrow is the big family celebration. His entire family will be there. The wedding is imminent.

Claiborne gets to his feet, shirt hanging open, and does not come closer.