He Wants An Open Marriage? Done!

The next morning, the soft, rhythmic chirping of birds pulled Roxanne slowly from her sleep. She stirred under the duvet, her hand instinctively reaching across the cool sheets to find the familiar warmth of Richard’s body.

Her palm met only an empty space.

Her brows pulled together in a faint frown. She blinked her eyes open, squinting against the morning light spilling through the tall windows. The spot beside her was untouched, the pillow smooth.

"Richard?" she called out, her voice raspy from sleep.

Silence answered her.

She pushed the blankets off her legs and swung her feet over the edge of the mattress. Standing up, she smoothed down her silk nightgown and checked the closet, the bathroom, and the quiet balcony.

He was nowhere to be found.

Roxanne let out a slow breath, trying to soothe the subtle prickle of anxiety in her chest. She remembered a morning at the estate when he had snuck out early just to surprise her with breakfast on the terrace. A faint smile touched her lips at the memory.

She grabbed her robe, knotting the satin sash around her waist, and opened the bedroom door. But as she stepped into the hallway, a strange knot tightened in her stomach.

She rested one hand over her belly, her thumb moving in a small, self-soothing circle as she walked toward the staircase. She inhaled deeply, expecting the rich scent of coffee or freshly cut flowers, but the air was oddly stale.

At the top of the landing, she paused.

Two maids hurried across the floor below, their heads pressed together in hushed whispers. When they glanced up and spotted her leaning against the banister, they stopped talking instantly, averted their eyes, and scurried off into the West Wing.

A sudden chill swept over Roxanne’s skin. "John!" she called down.

"Yes, ma’am," John answered promptly, emerging from the dining room. He walked to the base of the stairs and looked up at her. His posture was rigid, his usual calm expression clouded by a subtle shadow. "Do you need something, ma’am?"

"Where is Richard?" she asked, her pulse beginning to thud harder against her ribs.

"He had to leave early this morning, ma’am," John replied smoothly.

Roxanne’s frown deepened. "He left early?" she repeated softly, the words tasting bitter on her tongue. She took a step down the stairs. "Why? Did something happen?"

John adjusted the cuffs of his uniform jacket, avoiding her gaze for a brief second. "It would be best if you spoke with Mr. Vance directly about that, ma’am."

Roxanne stared at him. The guarded tone in his voice confirmed every lingering fear rising in her chest. Something was wrong. Still, she kept her posture straight and forced a small smile.

"Thank you, John," she said, her voice steady. "Please have someone bring a tray of tea to the room."

"Right away, ma’am," John bowed slightly and turned back toward the kitchen.

Roxanne turned on her heel and hurried back down the long corridor to the master suite. She needed answers immediately, and Richard was the only one who could give them to her.

Inside the room, she walked straight to the nightstand and picked up her phone. Just as she unlocked the screen, the device vibrated in her palm. She ignored the incoming text alert, her thumb hovering over Richard’s contact name.

The phone buzzed again. Then again. A rapid cascade of notifications flooded the top of her display.

A heavy news banner popped up in bold text, and the breath hitched in her throat.

PRESIDENT OF VANCE ENTERPRISES, RICHARD VANCE TO BECOME A FATHER? FIANCÉE CARA REVEALS ALL.

Roxanne felt the blood drain from her face, leaving her skin cold. Fiancée Cara? What is this?

Before her brain could process the headline, a second notification flashed across the screen. CARA VANCE? RICHARD VANCE’S FIANCÉE ANNOUNCES PREGNANCY.

"Cara is pregnant? With Richard’s child?" she whispered to the empty room, her chest tightening so fast it hurt to breathe. She shook her head. "No. No, this is a mistake."

A third notification dropped with a sharp chime. RICHARD VANCE EXPECTING FIRST CHILD... BUT WHO IS THE REAL MOTHER? CARA OR ROXANNE?

Roxanne’s hands began to tremble so much she nearly dropped the phone. Her palm flew instinctively back to her stomach, her heart hammering against her ribs like a trapped bird.

She was the one carrying Richard’s child. But Cara had leaked the story to the press before they could even tell his family. She swallowed hard, her throat dry as she tapped the article to open it.

The page loaded with a photo of Cara holding an ultrasound image, her face lit up in a radiant smile. Scrolling down, another photograph appeared, a picture of Cara standing beside Richard at a gala, proudly showing off a sparkling diamond engagement ring on her finger.

Roxanne dropped the phone onto the duvet as if it had burned her skin. She began to pace the floor, her slippers silent against the rug, her mind racing as she pieced the timeline together.

Cara’s parting words from the night before echoed clearly in her mind. This is not over. It is only the beginning.

Roxanne stopped dead in her tracks, her eyes narrowing as anger replaced the initial shock. Cara had planned this the moment she left the house. She knew the truth, and she twisted it into a public spectacle to force Richard’s hand. It was all a massive, desperate lie.

She snatched the phone back up and dialed Richard’s personal cell. She pressed the receiver to her ear, listening to the long, agonized ring. It went straight to voicemail. She hit redial immediately.

Ring. Ring. Ring. Voicemail.

She pulled the phone away and stared at the dark screen. "He knows," she murmured, her jaw setting into a tight line. "He knows, and he thinks he can handle this alone while hiding me away in this house."

She shook her head. "Not this time."

Turning toward the dressing room, Roxanne stripped off her robe and nightshirt. She showered quickly, the hot water washing away the last lingering traces of sleep. She pulled her hair back into a low bun and put on a tailored burgundy trouser suit. She slipped into a pair of matching leather heels, grabbed her handbag, and took one long look at herself in the mirror.

Her reflection looked calm, dangerous, and resolute. Perfect.

Her heels clicked sharply against the marble steps as she descended the staircase. Just as she reached the bottom landing, John stepped directly into her path, his arms clasped behind his back.

"I am afraid you cannot leave, ma’am," John said gently, his voice laced with caution. "Mr. Vance specifically requested that you rest and stay inside the house today."

Roxanne stopped, letting out a soft scoff as she looked him in the eye. "Get out of my way, John. I am leaving."

"I am sorry, ma’am, but I cannot step aside," John insisted, his expression pained. "I am under strict orders from Mr. Vance."

Roxanne took a slow breath, squaring her shoulders. "John, I respect that you are doing your job. But I am not asking for your permission." She stepped closer, her eyes locking onto his with unwavering intensity. "If Richard has a problem with my decision, he can discuss it with me when he gets back."

John swallowed hard, searching her face for any sign of hesitation. Finding none, he bowed his head slightly and stepped to the side.

Roxanne did not waste another second. She walked past him, pushed open the front doors, and stepped out into the morning sun.

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