He Wants An Open Marriage? Done!

"What are you doing, Roxanne?" Christian asked, his chest heaving in short bursts as he stared across the polished wood at her.

Roxanne did not reply. She simply sat beside Richard, her back straight and her eyes detached.

"I believe Roxanne makes an excellent point," Richard said, his deep voice slicing through the heavy air of the boardroom. "Why don’t you make those calls yourself? I am certain you still have the direct contacts of the media houses you used earlier. You may use the lower conference room downstairs, and you will have all the time you need in front of the press."

The remaining color drained from Christian’s face, leaving his skin a papery white. He shook his head sharply, his jaw slackening. "You cannot be serious," he choked out, his voice thin with disbelief.

"A private video will not suffice, Christian," Henry interjected from the head of the table, his tone dry. "We require official statements that will be published into tomorrow morning’s newspapers."

"You ought to consider yourself fortunate that we are allowing you to do this at all," Richard added smoothly, his posture relaxed, though his dark eyes remained fixed on Christian.

Christian shook his head again, his pulse hammering against his ribs like a trapped bird. Cold panic flooded his veins.

How could he stand before a barrage of news anchors and dismantle his own reputation? How would the public look at him after this? There had to be an exit, a loophole he could exploit to pull himself out of the fire.

None of the executives at the table paid any mind to his mounting panic. Henry cleared his throat.

"What is the consensus around the table?" Henry asked, sweeping his gaze across the room. "Are we all in agreement?"

"It is an outstanding plan," the board chairman said, resting his hands on the table.

One after another, the remaining people at the table nodded.

They were completely serious. Christian looked around the circle of stone-cold faces, his gaze finally settling on Roxanne.

"You should know that I am agreeing to this humiliation solely for you," he said.

Roxanne let out a dismissive scoff. "Save your speech for the cameras, Christian," she said quietly, her voice entirely flat as she turned her head away to meet Richard’s calm gaze.

The quiet heat that passed between Roxanne and Richard sent a bitter wave of jealousy crashing through Christian’s gut.

"We have no time to waste," Richard said, tapping a single finger against the table. "Make the phone calls so we can finish this already."

Christian’s mind spun desperately, searching for an alternative, but he gave a single, stiff nod. He reached into his breast pocket and pulled out his phone, his fingers trembling as his thumb hovered over the glass screen.

They were asking him to build the very gallows meant for his own execution.

He dialed the first contact on his list, holding the device up to his ear. After two rings, a bright, professional voice picked up the line.

"This is Christian Westbrook," he said, forcing a steady cadence into his breath. "I have a very important announcement to make and I am extending an invitation to your news channel to cover it at the Vance Enterprises headquarters."

"Our crew is already parked outside your main entrance, Mr. Westbrook," the lady replied instantly over the speaker. "If you can authorize our clearance at the security desk, we can have our cameras inside within five minutes."

Christian glanced around the room, the sound of his own heavy heart beating loud in his ears. "Someone will meet your team at the doors," he said, then ended the call.

Right there in front of the entire board, he placed three more calls in rapid succession, repeating the same tense speech each of them. When the final call ended, he lowered the phone and let out a long exhale that rattled in his throat.

"I have done as you asked," Christian said, resting his damp palms against the edge of the table. "What comes next?"

"You will sign the agreement resting in front of you," Richard said smoothly. "Once your signature is on the page, Libby will escort you down to the main conference hall."

Christian swallowed against the dry knot in his throat and gave a single nod. He picked up the silver pen, pressed the tip to the signature line, and scrawled his name across the paper without reading a single paragraph of the fine print.

Reading it was pointless. He knew they were attempting to trap him, but he held a secret countermeasure of his own.

Roughly thirty minutes later, Christian stepped through the heavy double doors of the lower conference hall.

The massive space felt vast and uncomfortably cold against his skin, the low hum of the central ventilation unit highlighting the quiet thud of his shoes against the carpet.

He glanced up toward the elevated gallery overlooking the floor. Richard sat in the center of the glass enclosure, flanked by Roxanne, Henry, Margaret, and Pamela, alongside a select group of major shareholders who had been quietly escorted into the building.

Christian swallowed hard, his hands clenching into fists at his sides. Was his plan truly solid? Should he have placed his signature on that document so quickly? What if Richard had planned something else he did not know about?

He looked away from the gallery. It didn’t matter what Richard had planned. The moment Christian controlled the microphone, he controlled the narrative.

Besides, Roxanne would never allow them to destroy him. Deep down, he believed she still held some residual loyalty to him, even if her pride prevented her from admitting it openly.

Before he could process the thought any further, the sharp sound of hurried footsteps and heavy equipment cases echoed down the outer hallway. Christian’s head snapped toward the entrance, his pulse spiking.

The double doors swung open, and a crowd of reporters, photographers, and camera operators filed into the hall. Tripods unfolded. Camera lights flickered on. Boom microphones rose above the crowd. They moved like a pack of wolves encircling an isolated target.

Suddenly, a dangerous thought flickered in Christian’s mind.

Why should he stick to Richard’s plan? What was stopping him from using this platform to turn the tables on Vance Enterprises once and for all?

He cast another quick look up at the gallery. The room felt increasingly tight, the air thick and difficult to pull into his lungs.

Save yourself, Christian, a frantic voice repeated inside his head. Save yourself right now.

The reporters took their positions behind the row of seating, adjusting their camera lenses and checking audio levels, completely oblivious to the chaos roaring inside his head.

"We are ready whenever you wish to begin, Mr. Westbrook," a senior female reporter said, pointing a foam-covered microphone in his direction.

Christian looked at her, his throat bobbing as he swallowed hard. He lifted his eyes one final time toward the observation glass, meeting Richard’s stare from the shadows of the gallery.

Christian adjusted his jacket lapels and stepped up to the podium. Every camera lens turned toward him. Flashes exploded.

For the first time since entering the building, he smiled. Sorry, Richard. I have to save myself.

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