He Wants An Open Marriage? Done!

A dozen cameras erupted in rapid fire clicks, the sound cutting through the afternoon air like a volley of gunshots.

Cara’s gaze snapped toward the media pack, her pulse roaring in her ears. A sickening weight dropped into the pit of her stomach as she stared back at the security guard. She parted her lips to speak, but her mouth felt dry as sandpaper.

No words came out.

The tall guard took a firm step forward, his shadow falling over her, and gestured down the wide stone steps. "Move along, ma’am. We do not want to have to escalate this," he said, his voice flat and unyielding.

Cara’s brows pinched into a tight, angry knot. "What the hell are you doing? Do you even know who you are speaking to?" she demanded. Her voice trembled, and her heart battered against her ribs like a trapped bird.

"Do not make this any harder on yourself, ma’am," the officer insisted, stepping closer to block her view of the glass entrance. "You are not welcome on this property. Please leave immediately."

"You cannot be serious! Does Richard even know what you are doing to me right now?" Cara gasped, her chest heaving as panic tightened around her throat. She pulled her chin up, trying to command the space. "Call him right now. Tell him Cara is standing right outside."

The guard reached out and grasped her elbow gently, pulling her a few inches back from the glass doors. "If you will not walk away peacefully, then I will have to physically escort you off the plaza," he said.

He turned his head toward two other officers standing inside the bright lobby and gave a deliberate nod.

Cara’s forehead creased in confusion. What was that signal for?

The guard turned his attention back to her, his sharp features remaining completely stern. "The police have already been notified, and I am sure you do not want that kind of public embarrassment. So why do you not just turn around and walk away?"

Cara’s jaw dropped in sheer disbelief. "You called the police on me?" she asked, the words coming out in a disbelieving squeak.

She spun around on her high heels, looking over her shoulder at the gathered press, her blood running cold under her skin.

The reporters surged closer from the bottom of the steps, turning the plaza into a wall of cameras and microphones. Shutter buttons clicked in rapid succession, flashlight beams bounced off her pale face, and boom microphones stretched toward her like eager arms while journalists frantically jotted notes on paper pads.

Her stomach sank into her shoes.

They were capturing every second of her public humiliation. If news broke that she was tossed out of Vance Tower like a common intruder, her entire pregnancy story would lose its power. She needed to regain control immediately. She needed an escape route before the narrative slipped through her fingers completely.

She turned back to the guard, her eyes burning with pure venom. "I am calling Richard," she spat out, swallowing hard as she silently prayed that he would finally answer his phone.

The security guard slowly shook his head, his posture relaxed. "Mr. Vance is not the person you need to speak to."

Cara’s brows furrowed even deeper, her mind spinning out of control. "What are you talking about? Who else would I call?" she demanded, a terrible feeling blooming in her chest. Do not say her name. Don’t you dare say her name.

"If you have a problem with the order, you will have to take it up with Miss Roxanne," the officer said calmly.

Cara’s mouth hung open as raw anger surged through her veins like boiling water. "Are you suggesting—? Are you telling me that she gave the order to lock me out? And Richard just let her do it?"

"Miss Roxanne gave the explicit instruction not to let you enter," the guard replied without blinking. "We will give you five minutes to contact her, or we will remove you by force."

A chaotic storm of thoughts battered Cara’s mind as she processed the guard’s words.

Roxanne had issued the command. Roxanne had arranged for her to be publicly humiliated in front of every major news outlet in the city. And the most painful part was that Richard had stood by his window and permitted every bit of it.

Oh, Roxanne, you are going to pay dearly for this, Cara thought, her fingernails digging deep into her palms as her fists clenched around her phone.

"You have five minutes to clear the steps," the guard stated, his icy tone cutting straight through her rage.

Her gaze snapped back to him as he turned his back, stepping inside the building. The heavy glass doors slid shut with a final click, leaving her isolated on the concrete landing.

Cara froze on the spot, feeling completely exposed beneath the bright afternoon sun. In the dark reflection of the glass doors, she saw her own disheveled silhouette. Then her eyes drifted toward the crowd of journalists below, and her heart hammered wildly against her ribs.

They were waiting. The second she turned to face them, they would pounce, demanding answers she did not have. Why did you come here, Cara? Why did you walk right into her trap?

She raised her trembling hands, looked down at her phone, and dialed Richard’s private number again. She pressed the speaker to her ear, listening in desperate silence. Busy.

Her fingers shook so violently she nearly dropped the device as she pressed the redial button. Still busy.

Driven by rising desperation, her stiff legs carried her closer to the glass. She raised her hand and knocked sharply against the transparent panel, calling out to the guards chatting inside the air-conditioned lobby.

One of the officers glanced over his shoulder, caught her desperate gaze, and casually turned back to his conversation, ignoring her completely.

Cara’s pulse raced so fast she felt lightheaded, the heat of the plaza making her dizzy. She needed a miracle, and she needed it now. With her vision blurring slightly, she tapped Richard’s name on her call log one last time.

It rang once. It rang twice. And then, the line picked up with a faint pop of static.

"Richard!" Cara gasped, a wave of profound relief washing over her tight chest. "I have been trying to reach you for almost an hour. Were you in a meeting? Why did you not pick up my calls?"

She rushed the words out, trying to push away the painful memory of seeing him watching her from the top floor window. She needed him to offer a reasonable excuse.

"Why are you calling me, Cara? Make it quick, I have actual work to do," Richard replied. His tone was smooth and quiet, but the cold irritation in his voice slammed into her like a physical force.

Cara opened her mouth to fight back, but the sheer coldness of his response stole the air right out of her lungs.

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