He Wants An Open Marriage? Done!

Black, ruined mascara streaked down Cara’s cheeks, stinging her skin as she yanked open the cab door. The metal handle felt ice-cold against her trembling fingers.

She cast one last glance back at the looming mansion, her jaw locking as her grip tightened around her phone until her knuckles turned white.

"They think they have won?" she spat through clenched teeth, wiping a black tear from her cheek with the back of her hand. "This is only the beginning."

She threw herself onto the worn leather back seat of the cab. The seat cracked beneath her weight, smelling faintly of stale smoke and old air freshener.

"Drive," she told the driver, her voice sharp as she kept her eyes glued to her phone. Her thumb swiped frantically across her contacts list, leaving smudge marks on the glass, until it hovered over one specific name. Margaret.

Pressing the screen, she brought the phone to her ear. The rhythmic ringing buzzed against her temple while she tapped her fingers against her thigh. Finally, the line connected.

"Hello, Margaret," Cara sobbed out, fresh tears welling up in her eyes as she squeezed the phone tightly against her ear. "He threw me out. He tossed me into the driveway because of that woman."

—

Inside the master suite, entirely cut off from the storm brewing outside the estate gates, the tension dissolved as Richard and Roxanne settled into the space.

Richard stood by the open walk-in closet, carefully placing Roxanne’s clothes onto smooth wooden hangers. The quiet rustle of silk and cotton filled the quiet room.

Roxanne leaned back against the headboard. A small smile touched her lips as she watched him meticulously reserve the main hanging space for her wardrobe, clearing away his own suits to make room.

She let out a long breath, feeling her heart settle into a peaceful rhythm. I could build a life here with him, she thought, a soft warmth blossoming in her chest. We could make a home.

As if sensing her gaze, Richard turned toward the bed. His eyes softened as he caught her watching him. "A penny for your thoughts?"

Roxanne smiled up at him, resting her hand flat against the soft duvet. "I think I could live like this forever."

Richard’s face lit up with a brilliant smile. He walked over and sat on the edge of the mattress, making the springs shift gently. He brushed a strand of hair behind her ear. "Nothing would make me happier," he whispered.

Before Roxanne could answer, a knock echoed against the heavy bedroom door.

"Come in," Richard called out, pulling back slightly while keeping his hand resting over hers.

The door swung open, and a young maid stepped into the room holding a silver tray. Her posture was straight and rigid. The soft chime of glass cups tapping against the tray filled the doorway.

"Good evening, sir," she said smoothly, keeping her eyes fixed exclusively on Richard while completely ignoring Roxanne on the bed. "Would you prefer your lemonade served in the private sitting room, or brought up here? The kitchen staff prepared your favorite biscuits as well."

Richard turned to Roxanne, his expression tender as his thumb rubbed the back of her hand. "What sounds best to you?"

Roxanne offered a small smile, taking note of how the maid’s mouth tightened at Richard’s question. The cold indifference radiating off the girl was hard to miss, but Roxanne kept her tone perfectly calm.

"I would love to explore the house, so the private sitting room sounds lovely, especially if it overlooks the gardens."

Richard nodded warmly. "You will love the terrace view." He turned back to the maid, his tone shifting into an authoritative register. "You heard the lady. Set it up on the private terrace."

The maid gave Richard a brief nod, still refusing to glance at Roxanne. "Right away, sir," she said, stepping back onto the hallway carpet and closing the door behind her with a click.

Roxanne chuckled, tilting her head as she looked at him. Looks like Cara made friends before she left.

Twenty minutes later, the cool evening breeze swept over the stone terrace overlooking the rolling estate gardens.

The air smelled of damp earth and blooming roses, filled with the rustle of leaves and distant croaking of frogs.

"This view is stunning," Roxanne murmured, leaning forward to rest her elbows against the sun-warmed stone balustrade. She looked out over the rows of green hedges and the blue water of the central garden fountain reflecting the moonlight sky.

Richard leaned over, his thumb tracing warm circles over the back of her hand. "I am glad you feel comfortable here."

The glass double doors clicked open, and the maid stepped onto the patio carrying a heavy tray. The scent of green tea and sweet butter drifted from the teapot of freshly made tea and the plate of warm biscuits.

She set the tray onto the table with a light clatter and carefully poured two cups. Picking up the first cup, she set it down before Richard with a polite smile.

"Your tea, sir."

Richard gave a slight nod, his gaze remaining on Roxanne.

The maid picked up the second cup, her expression hardening as she turned toward Roxanne. She set the glass onto the iron table with a sharp, reluctant tap that nearly spilled the liquid over the rim.

"Your tea," she said curtly, her voice flat.

Richard’s brows pulled into a dark scowl, his shoulders tensing instantly. "What is the meaning of—"

Roxanne gently rested her palm over Richard’s arm, cutting him off. She looked up at the maid with a calm expression. "What is your name?"

The maid hesitated, shifting her weight on the hard stone tiles. "Emily."

"Emily, I know adapting to sudden change is rarely easy," Roxanne said gently, holding the girl’s cold gaze until the maid looked down at her own shoes. "But if we are going to share this home, I would like us to start off on the right foot. Don’t you think that’s best?"

Emily swallowed hard, the sharp edge in her shoulders softening as she looked back at Roxanne. She gave a quick nod. "Please excuse me, ma’am."

"And if you wish to remain employed in this household, you will treat Roxanne with the exact same respect you show me," Richard added, his voice low and uncompromising, ringing out against the open patio.

Emily bowed her head quickly and stepped off the terrace, her shoes squeaking against the polished floor as she hurried down the hallway.

Richard turned to Roxanne, his dark eyes searching hers. "You didn’t need to be so soft on her."

"I did," Roxanne replied simply, taking a small sip of her tea. The tart flavor burst across her tongue, cold and refreshing. She set the glass back down as she looked out over the gardens. "I prefer to win people over."

Another set of hurried footsteps approached, the heavy tread echoing down the hall before John stepped onto the terrace. His face was pale, his hands clasped nervously in front of his dark suit.

"Pardon the interruption, sir, but your mother has just arrived downstairs."

Roxanne and Richard exchanged a glance, a sudden wave of tension tightening the air between them. The pleasant scent of the garden suddenly felt lost behind the heavy silence.

Richard turned back to his butler. "Send her up."

John lingered near the doorway, his throat bobbing as he held his breath for a second. "She is not alone, sir."

Roxanne felt her heart drop, a cold prickle running down her spine. Looking at the sharp set of Richard’s jaw, she knew he felt the shift too.

"Then tell her—" Richard began.

"Tell her what?" a sharp voice cut through the air as a pair of heels clicked against the marble corridor.

Richard’s expression hardened.

Margaret Vance stepped onto the terrace, her icy blue eyes swept over the patio with deep disdain. And she really didn’t come alone.

Behind her stood the last person either of them wanted to see. Cara.

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