He Wants An Open Marriage? Done!

Seven Days Later

Roxanne hadn’t heard Christian’s voice once. Not when she filed the restraining order, and not even when the court servers marked the divorce petition as opened.

That total silence scared her far more than his loudest screams ever had.

She sat at her sleek mahogany desk inside Vance Enterprises, staring out the floor-to-ceiling windows.

Down on the asphalt, the media still swarmed like hungry ants, lenses pointed at the lobby doors, waiting for a single slip-up. No one in the company had given them a word.

Holding the phone tight against her ear, Roxanne felt the tight knot in her chest loosen slightly at the smooth sound of Richard’s voice on the line.

"How far along are you with the evidence against him?" she asked, keeping her voice low.

"Almost done," Richard replied, his steady tone instantly wrapping around her like a warm coat. He paused, his voice softening. "Are you holding up okay? You sound worried."

"I am," she admitted, tracing a nervous finger along the edge of her desk. "He’s been too quiet, Richard. That isn’t Christian. It feels like he’s sitting in the dark somewhere, waiting to strike."

"I know. But you don’t need to worry so much," Richard murmured, his words thick with warmth. "We’re going to corner him so tightly he won’t have a choice but to leave us in peace."

Roxanne let out a slow, trembling breath. "I just hope it’s that easy."

"Listen to me," Richard said, his tone shifting into something deeply intimate. "The media is still outside, but the worst of the storm is passing. The company’s stocks are already stabilizing after those videos he leaked. That’s our first real victory."

He paused, his breath catching slightly on the line. "Honestly, I don’t want to talk about him anymore. I want to focus on us. I miss you, Roxanne."

A genuine smile tugged at her lips, a sudden flush heating her cheeks. "I know. I miss you too." She let out a bitter laugh, looking toward her office door. "It’s crazy being in the exact same building, only floors apart, and not being able to walk down the hall to see you," she said, shaking her head. "I just want to hug you."

"Oh, Roxanne." Richard’s voice vibrated with longing. "The very second this is over, I’m taking you away for the entire weekend. Just the two of us. No phones, no media."

Roxanne opened her mouth to answer, but a persistent beep cut into the line. She pulled the phone back slightly to check the glowing screen.

"Harry is calling on the other line," she said, the romantic bubble instantly bursting. "I have to take this."

"Go," Richard said softly, reluctant but understanding. "I’ll see you soon."

The line clicked, and Roxanne swallowed the lump in her throat before sliding over to the waiting call. "Hello, Harry?"

"Roxanne," Harry’s crisp voice boomed through the receiver. "I’m at the courthouse. The hearing starts in exactly one hour. Are you ready?"

Roxanne closed her eyes, the cool air of her office suddenly feeling restrictive. "I’m ready," she whispered. But inside, her stomach twisted at the thought of facing him again.

—

Across Town.

Christian jerked awake to the piercing buzz of his phone.

Instinctively, his arm shot out to the left, his palm slapping down to search for the smooth sheets of his old bed, and found only wrinkled polyester. The sharp stench of cheap bleach and stale cigarette smoke rushed up his nose, dragging him violently back to reality.

His eyes snapped open, blinking against the harsh sunlight cutting through a cracked plastic blind.

The room was a suffocating box.

A sagging bed, a scratched dresser, and a television bolted crookedly to the wall. In the window, the ancient air conditioner rattled so violently it sounded like a dying engine.

Christian sat up fast, his chest heaving as a cold sweat broke out across his neck. He had fled here because it was the one place no one would ever look for a Westbrook.

Then the memories hit him in a brutal wave, the flashing cameras, the cops, the neighbors snickering on the sidewalk, and Roxanne standing on that porch, watching him get carted away like trash.

"No," he groaned, burying his face in his rough palms. "This isn’t happening. It’s a bad dream."

The phone buzzed against the nightstand again. He snatched it up, his eyes widening at the screen. Twenty-three missed calls, all from blocked numbers.

His thumb frantically tapped open a social media app, and the very first video on his feed made his blood run cold.

CHEATING HUSBAND THROWN OUT OF WIFE’S MANSION BY POLICE

The view count stood at a staggering five million. His own furious face filled the screen. Trembling, he scrolled down to the comments, the words blurring into a toxic smear.

"Finally, karma hits."

"He got exactly what he deserved."

"Team Roxanne. She should’ve dumped him years ago."

Christian’s breathing turned ragged, his vision tunneling, but he couldn’t stop scrolling.

Another video showed him from a different angle, bent on the asphalt, forced to pick up Roxanne’s dresses in front of the whole neighborhood. Another showed him dragging his own suitcases down the driveway like a defeated dog.

The internet was mocking him. The board members, his colleagues, Richard Vance, and Roxanne. They were all watching him burn.

"No!" Christian roared.

With a violent snap of his wrist, he hurled the phone across the room. It slammed hard against the wall, cracking the plaster before thudding onto the stained carpet. He lunged out of bed, pacing the narrow strip of floorboards like a caged animal.

"They’re laughing at me," he hissed, his fingernails digging into his palms. "They think they can laugh at me."

He stopped dead in front of the cracked bathroom mirror. The man looking back at him was unrecognizable. Heavy dark circles bruised the skin beneath his bloodshot eyes, and a light, ragged stubble covered his jaw. The polished executive was entirely gone.

Knock. Knock.

"Housekeeping," a sharp voice called through the door.

Christian ignored it, his jaw clenching.

The knock came again. "Sir? Are you in there?"

The last thread of his patience snapped completely. "I said go away!" he screamed, his voice cracking with anger.

Silence followed, followed by the hurried scuff of footsteps retreating down the outdoor walkway.

Christian pressed his palms flat against the cold porcelain of the sink, his erratic breathing slowly leveling out. As he stared at his reflection, a grin twisted his lips.

It wasn’t a smile of joy. It was the grin of a man who had nothing left to lose.

"They think they won," he whispered, a low, breathy laugh escaping his throat.

He walked back into the bedroom and scooped his phone off the floor. The screen was a spiderweb of shattered glass, but the display still flickered to life. He opened his email inbox. There it was, sitting at the top. The digital divorce petition.

He skimmed the legal jargon, his laughter growing louder, echoing off the bare walls. "You’re making a massive mistake, Roxanne." His thumb hovered over the acknowledgment button. Then, with a deliberate swipe, he hit Delete.

His smile widened. "You wanted a war?" he whispered to the empty motel room. "Now you’re going to get one."

Right then, the phone rang again, a local law firm ID flashing through the cracked screen. This time, he answered it, pressing the jagged glass to his ear.

"Mr. Westbrook?" his attorney’s voice sounded stressed. "I’ve been trying to reach you for days."

Christian sat down slowly on the edge of the mattress, his posture instantly straightening into its old command. "Is this about the court hearing?"

"Yes. It starts in less than an hour, and I strongly advise you to show up. Fleeing the jurisdiction will completely ruin your standing."

Christian’s smile vanished, his expression hardening into solid stone as he stared out the grime-streaked window. Across the parking lot, a group of kids were laughing by a vending machine.

"Don’t worry. I’ll be there," Christian said, his voice dropping into a terrifying, icy calm. "But I’m not going there to grant her a divorce."

A confused pause came over the line. "Then what exactly is your goal here, Christian? What do you expect to gain?"

Christian’s grip tightened around the plastic casing until his knuckles turned white. "I’m going to ensure Richard Vance loses absolutely everything he owns."

"This is a divorce hearing, Christian. Don’t do anything reckless," his attorney warned.

"Too late for that advice." Christian leaned forward, his eyes fixed on his own dark reflection in the glass. "Because when Richard falls to the ground," he whispered, "Roxanne will come crawling right back to me."

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