He Wants An Open Marriage? Done!

Richard stared down at the glass screen, his thumb frozen over the digits. His brow furrowed so deeply it left a sharp crease between his eyes. He shook his head, a stubborn refusal to accept what his eyes were telling him.

Beside him, Roxanne could hear the rapid thumping of her own pulse. The suspense was suffocating. "Say something, please," she begged, her voice cracking in the quiet bedroom.

Richard didn’t answer. He abruptly stood up from the bed, his broad shoulders tense as he strode out into the suite’s dimly lit sitting room. Roxanne followed right on his heels, her eyes wide, watching as he snatched his own phone off the marble coffee table.

With a tight motion, Richard began punching the number into his keypad, scanning Roxanne’s screen after every few digits to ensure there wasn’t a single mistake. He didn’t even have to finish typing the final three numbers. The interface recognized the sequence instantly, and a familiar name flashed onto his screen.

Richard’s shoulders sagged as if a physical weight had dropped onto them. He let out a harsh breath, his mouth twisting into a deep frown. "There has to be a mistake," he muttered, looking up at her, his eyes clouded with confusion. "Are you absolutely certain this was the incoming number on Christian’s log?"

Roxanne nodded rapidly, her throat tight. "Of course I am. Please, Richard, just tell me who it is."

Instead of answering, Richard simply extended his arm, turning his phone so the screen faced her. Roxanne looked down, and the air left her lungs. The color drained from her cheeks so fast she felt momentarily dizzy.

Her gaze snapped up to Richard’s grim face, then back down to the glowing letters on the screen. "Pamela?" Roxanne whispered, the name tasting foreign and wrong on her tongue.

She shook her head, a sudden rush of memories flooding her mind. The warmth of Pamela’s smile, the easy, casual way she had laughed, the genuine kindness she had projected. It made absolutely no sense.

How could the most welcoming person in that entire house turn around and do something so calculated?

"It can’t be Pamela," Roxanne insisted, her voice trembling with disbelief. "There has to be a misunderstanding. A glitch, or a spoofed number."

Richard ran a heavy hand through his hair, gripping the back of his neck. "Pamela shouldn’t even have a reason to do this," he admitted, his deep voice laced with genuine frustration. "I’m completely blindsided."

"She was the only person who treated me like a human being at that dinner," Roxanne said, a bitter sting rising in her chest. "I actually thought we could be friends. I thought I finally had an ally in the Vance family."

Richard stepped forward, his large hands coming up to grip her shoulders gently. His touch was grounding her against the cold shock. "Listen to me, Roxanne. You cannot trust anyone in my family, no matter how sweet they smile," he said, his dark eyes fierce with a painful honesty. "I never thought I would have to say this, but that includes Pamela."

Roxanne managed a bleak nod, seeing the disappointment masking his features. Then a thought struck her, and her brow pulled tight. "But who did you think it was?"

Richard’s hands dropped from her shoulders, and he turned away, shaking his head. "That doesn’t matter anymore. What matters is that I need to look Pamela in the eye and ask her why she wanted to destroy my reputation. After everything I’ve done to protect her."

"I need to talk to her too," Roxanne added, a spark of defensive anger finally breaking through her shock. "I want to know why she played that whole warm sister routine if she secretly hated me. I want to know what I did to deserve this."

Richard turned back to face her, his expression turning sharp and urgent. "If someone like Pamela, the most carefree person in my family, could do something like this, then the house is completely compromised. You aren’t safe in this hotel, Roxanne. The combination of Pamela and Christian is highly volatile. Neither of them is thinking straight. Pack a bag. We’re going to my place."

Roxanne swallowed hard, looking around the quiet suite. Her body ached, and her mind felt entirely numb from the non-stop emotional whiplash. She let out a long, weary sigh.

"Can we please just stay here tonight and leave first thing in the morning?" she pleaded softly. "Moving now is just, it’s too much. The night has been exhausting enough."

Richard studied her pale face for a moment, his expression softening with understanding. He let out a long breath, nodding slowly. "Alright. We’ll stay. I’ll handle this when the sun comes up."

The next morning, the bright sun offered little comfort as Roxanne stepped out of her car in the corporate parking garage. She adjusted the strap of her bag and pressed her phone to her ear, walking briskly toward the elevator bank.

"I just arrived," she said into the line, her voice tight with anticipation. "I’m about to step into the lift."

"I’m only a few minutes away myself," Richard’s steady voice responded, the faint hum of traffic in the background. "I’ll come straight up to your office the moment I park."

"Sounds good. See you in a minute," Roxanne said, ending the call.

She pressed the metallic call button, and the elevator doors swooshed open with a low, mechanical hum. The ride up was short, but when the doors slid apart on her floor, the atmosphere in the hallway immediately felt heavy.

The moment Roxanne stepped onto the carpeted floor, she felt the weight of dozens of eyes shifting toward her. Staff members were huddled near the reception desk, their voices dropping into sharp, hurried whispers the second she walked past.

They’ve seen the footage from last night, she realized, her stomach turning. Ignore them, Roxanne. Just keep walking.

She had barely taken five paces toward her office door when the double doors of the opposite elevator bank chimed. The doors slid back, and Christian stepped out into the corridor.

Roxanne’s jaw instantly hardened, a wave of pure irritation washing over her. "What the hell is he doing here?" she muttered under her breath. It is too early for this.

Christian’s face was a carefully crafted mask of regret mixed with a lingering touch of arrogance. He walked down the corridor toward her, his posture straight, keeping both hands hidden behind his back.

"Good morning, my love," he said, his voice smooth and projecting clearly down the hallway.

"What are you doing here, Christian?" Roxanne demanded, stopping in her tracks. Her brows pulled together in a harsh scowl.

Christian stopped a few feet away, a dramatic flourish accompanying his movement as he brought his hands forward. He held out a bouquet of fresh flowers, extending them directly toward her.

"I came to apologize for the scene at the penthouse last night," he said, his tone perfectly calm, with a performative note. "Please, Roxanne. Forgive me. I was hurt, and I wasn’t thinking straight."

Roxanne’s face contorted with disgust. "You got that right. You never think," she shot back, keeping her voice low but packing it with venom. She reached out and coldly pushed the wrapping of the bouquet away from her space. "I don’t want your flowers, and I don’t want your apologies. Just turn around, leave, and don’t make another spectacle here."

Christian didn’t back down. Instead, he glanced around the hallway, making sure the lingering staff members were watching his performance. He turned back to her, raising his voice just enough to carry.

"Please, everyone, help me plead with my wife. I know I’ve made mistakes. I know I don’t deserve another chance. But I still love my wife. I just want to save my marriage," he said, his tone grim.

A low murmur rippled through the onlookers.

"Oh, look at that, he’s truly remorseful," a woman near reception whispered loudly. "A man who admits his faults like that is rare these days."

"Poor guy. She should just forgive him," another voice chimed in from an open doorway. "He’s her husband, after all. Marriage takes patience."

Roxanne heard every word, the unfairness of their judgment burning in her chest, but she refused to give them a reaction. If these people had any inkling of the terror and manipulation that had happened behind those closed doors last night, they would be calling security, not playing matchmaker.

Christian stepped closer, taking advantage of the crowd’s sympathy. His eyes mimicked a perfect look of sorrow. "You hear them, darling. Please, let’s just put last night behind us."

Before Roxanne could unleash the fury building in her throat, the elevator bell behind her cut through the tension with a ding.

The doors slid open, and Richard’s tall, commanding silhouette stepped out into the hallway. The moment his gaze locked onto Christian standing in front of Roxanne, Richard’s jaw clenched so hard the muscles in his cheek ticked.

Christian slowly lowered the bouquet. Then the corner of his mouth lifted into the faintest smile.

Roxanne saw it and suddenly understood. The flowers, the apology, the audience. None of it had ever been for her. It had all been for Richard.

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