He Wants An Open Marriage? Done!

As Roxanne stood by the window with a faint smile on her lips, the quiet hum of her phone buzzing on the desk broke her focus. She turned her gaze back to the desk, her gaze settling on her phone. Then she walked over and picked up the phone.

The screen glowed with Richard’s name.

She tapped to answer and pressed the smooth glass against her ear, stepping back toward the window. "Hello?"

"Did security reach out to you?" Richard asked, his deep voice carrying a trace of tension through the speaker.

"Yes. I have given them my instructions," Roxanne said, her tone smooth and filled with quiet satisfaction.

Richard paused for a moment. "And what did you decide?"

Roxanne’s smile broadened as her eyes tracked the bright white coat moving across the sunlit entrance below. Cara had just climbed the last stone step.

"Look out your window," Roxanne murmured into the receiver.

—

Down on the plaza, the cool afternoon breeze carried the distant roar of city traffic, but Cara barely heard it. Her lips curved into a sharp, triumphant smirk as her designer heels clicked against the concrete steps.

She felt the heavy weight of dozens of camera lenses tracking her every move from the street behind her. She had already captured the full attention of the press. Now, all she needed to do was march into the executive lobby and force Richard to kneel to her demands.

Yet, as the thought settled in her mind, an icy chill crept up her spine. Richard had ignored every single one of her calls since morning, and the deliberate silence unnerved her. She knew Roxanne was behind it.

Not to worry, Cara thought, her jaw clenching tight. When I am through with you, you will be back on the street where you belong.

"Are you really carrying Richard Vance’s child, Miss Cara?" a young reporter called out, his loud voice slicing through the noise of clicking camera shutters.

"Why has your so-called fiancé not acknowledged your claim that you are carrying his child?" another reporter asked.

Cara glanced sideways at him, her eyes narrowing.

She wanted nothing more than to feed the media circus surrounding her, but she was smart enough not to reveal her whole hand too early. She needed to meet Richard face to face first. Once she established her leverage in private, she would decide how deep to push the knife into his reputation.

She kept her gaze fixed straight ahead, striding toward the massive double glass doors of the main entrance. But as she drew closer, a tight knot twisted in her stomach.

The motion-sensor doors remained shut.

She slowed her pace, expecting the glass panels to slide open smoothly. They did not move.

Maybe she was standing too far back.

She took two more firm steps forward, her high heels coming to a stop on the welcome mat. She waited. The glass panels stayed firmly locked in place.

Her pulse spiked, hammering loudly in her ears. What on earth is going on?

Behind her, the sudden drop in noise was deafening. The reporters had gone quiet, watching her back, waiting to see if the building would actually welcome her inside.

Cara swallowed down the dry lump in her throat, a light sheen of cold sweat breaking across her hairline. She forced her shoulders back and pasted a bright smile onto her face, refusing to show a shred of panic.

Looking through the glass, she spotted two tall security guards standing in a rigid line on the other side. She raised her manicured hand, tapping lightly against the glass and gesturing for them to unlock the door.

"The door is not opening," she called out, her voice trembling slightly despite her best efforts. "Can you unlock it, please?"

A cruel voice whispered in the back of her mind. What if Richard locked you out?

Cara shook her head violently, discarding the thought before it could take root. It was impossible. Richard would never embarrass her publicly like this. He knew better than to push her into a corner when she held the media in her hand.

Then she caught the sound of soft murmurs rippling through the crowd behind her. Her heart beat like a trapped bird against her ribs. She inhaled a deep breath, smoothing down her white coat as she turned around to face the flashing cameras.

"The automatic doors are malfunctioning," Cara announced, nodding toward the gathered journalists with a practiced tilt of her head.

None of them looked convinced. Notebooks were whipped out, and long zoom lenses adjusted toward her face.

"The staff will have it fixed in a moment," Cara added, trying to project total control.

She turned back to the glass, her hands shaking as she pulled her phone from her purse. Her fingers fumbled against the screen as she dialed Richard’s personal line.

She pressed the phone to her ear, but a repetitive busy tone rang in her speaker. She hung up and redialed. Busy again.

"Damn you, Richard," she hissed under her breath, her eyes burning with sudden tears of rage. "Don’t you dare do this to me."

"Look up there!" a photographer suddenly yelled, pointing a heavy camera toward the top floors of the skyscraper.

Cara’s instincts took over before her mind could process the order. She stepped back and tilted her head up toward the glass tower.

There, on the executive floor, stood Richard. His tall silhouette was framed by the window, his phone held to his ear. And right in the adjacent window stood the one person Cara hated most in the world.

Roxanne was looking straight down at her, holding her own phone to her ear, her face completely calm.

The realization hit Cara like a physical blow. They were standing together, watching her struggle, talking about her like she was nothing more than an entertaining spectacle on the street.

Cara’s jaw twitched violently. Her grip tightened around her phone so hard her knuckles turned white.

"Miss Cara, did you come here without an invitation?" a reporter pressed, stepping closer to the stairs.

"Is this Mr. Vance’s way of telling the world that you are lying?" another reporter asked.

Cara snapped around before she could stop herself, her chest heaving as she glared at the sea of eager faces waiting for her downfall.

"Of course I was invited," she spat out, her voice rising in defensive anger. "He knows he has to speak with me. He understands the consequences of—"

A loud mechanical hiss echoed behind her as the glass doors finally slid open.

Cara’s eyes lit up. She spun around, relief flooding through her. Finally. She cast a smug look back over her shoulder at the press. "I told you he would not leave me out here," she said, her tone dripping with arrogance.

She turned toward the entrance with a smug smile, already preparing to remind the reporters that she had been invited. But the smile vanished when a burly security officer stepped through the opening and stopped directly in front of her.

"Excuse me, ma’am," he said. "You need to leave the premises immediately."

The smug smile froze on Cara’s face, and every drop of color drained from her skin.

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