He Wants An Open Marriage? Done!

Roxanne’s head snapped toward the stairs, her chest heaving as her heart slammed against her ribs like a trapped bird. She opened her mouth to speak, but her throat was completely dry. No sound came out.

Christian began descending the steps, his bare feet hitting the wood with heavy, deliberate thuds.

Think, Roxanne. Think.

She had to eliminate his leverage right now. Keeping her eyes locked on his approaching figure, her thumb came down hard on the Yes option.

The screen flashed, and the file vanished into digital nothingness. She quickly closed the gallery application, and just as he stepped into the living room, she shoved the device flat against his chest.

"I just wanted to see if there was even a shred of hope that you could change, but I guess not," she said, her voice steady as she played the only bluff left in her hand. She prayed he wouldn’t check his folders.

Christian swallowed hard, a sudden look of pure panic washing over his face as his fingers clamped around the phone. "I am not sleeping with her. I swear to you!" he stammered, misinterpreting her words entirely. "She’s the one hunting me down."

He stepped closer, his fingers desperate as they gripped her forearm. "I don’t care about any other woman. I only want you. Believe me."

Roxanne looked down at his hand on her skin, then slowly shook her head. A silent wave of relief washed through her chest. He hadn’t noticed.

Christian lifted his other hand, extending a heavy silver picture frame toward her face. "Look at what I went upstairs to get. A reminder of us. The photograph we took on the exact day we first started dating."

Roxanne didn’t even glance at the glass frame. She firmly pushed his hand aside and took a step toward the entryway. "Unlock the door, Christian," she said, her tone freezing. "I am leaving."

Christian’s shoulders slumped in deep frustration, his jaw tightening. "Why do you always insist on doing things the hard way?"

"Take my advice for once in your life and don’t do something incredibly stupid," she warned, her pulse spiking as she caught the volatile glint in his eyes.

Christian stared down at the photograph in his hands, his eyes shimmering with unshed tears. He ran a frantic hand through his hair, his voice trembling as he looked back up at her.

"Why didn’t you just listen to me tonight? Why didn’t you just come upstairs with me? You didn’t even look at this beautiful memory," he choked out, his head shaking violently. "Why do you have to force my hand like this?"

Roxanne swallowed the lump of anxiety in her throat, keeping her spine rigid. "Think about the consequences of your actions for once, Chris," she said, her voice dropping into a practical register. "Just open the door and let me walk out."

Christian stared at her, a single tear spilling over his lower lid and tracing a path down his cheek. "I can’t," he whispered, his throat tight.

Looking at him standing there in his robe, clutching a dusty photograph, all Roxanne felt was a profound sense of pity.

"I can’t let you walk out of my life, Roxanne," he said, his voice cracking under the weight of his obsession. "You are my wife. I love you, and I am not letting another man touch what belongs to me. Not in this lifetime or the next."

"What exactly are you trying to say?" Roxanne asked. Her pulse was roaring in her ears now, though she kept her facial muscles completely still. "What are you thinking?"

Christian wiped the moisture from his face with the sleeve of his robe, his expression turning unnervingly calm. "I am saying you aren’t leaving this house. If you won’t stay willingly, then you leave me with absolutely no choice but to keep you here by force."

Roxanne’s eyes widened. "No, you wouldn’t dare."

Christian didn’t answer with words. He lunged forward, his fingers clamping like iron cuffs around her wrist. "This penthouse is where you belong. With me," he muttered, physically dragging her backward into the center of the living room, away from the exit.

"Let me go, Christian!" Roxanne barked, using every ounce of her upper-body strength to yank her arm violently out of his grip. She stumbled back a few feet, her chest heaving as she glared at him. "I would rather die right now than spend another single night under the same roof as you! Open this door!" she barked, the veins in her neck bulging against her skin.

Christian froze, his jaw dropping in absolute shock. "How can you say something so horrific to me?" he asked, his tone laced with a twisted sense of indignation. "It’s me, Roxy. Your husband. Your first love. It’s me!"

"Open the damn door, Christian!" Roxanne screamed at the top of her lungs, the sound tearing through the quiet penthouse.

Christian stood perfectly still, his eyes suddenly going dull and vacant. For the first time that night, fear crept straight up Roxanne’s spine. She swallowed hard, her hand instinctively sliding into her open purse.

She took three careful steps backward, pressing her spine flat against the wooden panels of the front door. "Don’t do something you will spend the rest of your life regretting," she warned, pulling her smartphone out into the light.

His gaze went entirely dead as he looked at the device. "If you walk out that door, I am hitting send on that video file. The press will have it within sixty seconds."

Roxanne let out a sharp, mocking scoff. "Go right ahead. Do it."

Christian shook his head, taking a slow step toward her. "You don’t mean that. Just come upstairs with me, Roxy. Come look at the flowers I put on the mattress for you," he coaxed, reaching for her hand once more.

Roxanne violently slapped his fingers away. With a steady hand, she quickly punched three digits into her keypad and pressed the phone to her ear, the dialing tone echoing in the space between them.

"Who the hell are you calling?" Christian asked, fresh tears streaming down his face as he blinked at her.

"Is this the police emergency line?" Roxanne spoke clearly into the receiver, her eyes fixed on his tear-stained face. "I need to report an ongoing kidnapping at the West End penthouse structures. My husband has locked me inside against my will and refuses to let me leave. Please send an emergency unit before he physically hurts me."

Christian stared at her, the sudden injection of reality draining the volatile fight right out of his posture. His shoulders slumped. Realizing she was serious, he reached into his robe pocket, pulled out the key, and jammed it into the deadbolt.

He turned it until the lock clicked open, throwing the heavy door wide before she could even finish her sentence to the operator.

Roxanne didn’t waste a single heartbeat. She spun around and stormed out onto the concrete porch, the cool night wind rushing over her face. Once she hit the gravel driveway, she turned back one last time to look at the broken man standing in the doorway.

"We are completely through, Christian Westbrook!" she shouted into the dark. "I will be waiting at my attorney’s office for your signature on those papers. Do not make me ask you again!"

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