He Wants An Open Marriage? Done!

The basement doors swung open, and the guards shoved Christian out onto the hard concrete of the parking lot. He stumbled, hitting the ground palms-first.

"Get in your car and get out!" one of the men barked, his voice echoing off the low concrete ceiling.

Christian dragged himself up, his palms stinging from the grit on the floor. He aggressively dusted off his trousers, pulling at the cuffs of his designer jacket to force a composure he didn’t possess.

"Tell Richard I’m not done!" he yelled, his voice cracking slightly under the strain. "He’s going to hear from me!"

"Move it!"

Christian looked back at them, a twisted, ugly smirk stretching across his face. "Tell him the worst is about to begin!" he screamed, the words bouncing sharply off the parked vehicles.

The guards turned their backs on him, walking away with a heavy, rhythmic stomp. "What a disgrace," one muttered under his breath.

The words sliced straight through Christian’s fractured ego. "You’ll see who the real disgrace is when I’m through," he hissed to the empty air.

He climbed into his car, slammed the door, and threw the gear into reverse. The tires shrieked against the smooth concrete as he tore out of the garage. The moment he cleared the building’s perimeter, he jerked the steering wheel, slamming the brakes to park unevenly against the curb.

His fingers were shaking so violently he almost dropped his phone twice as he scrolled through his recent calls. He pressed the line to his ear, listening to the ring until a sharp beep signaled the connection.

"City Media, good morning."

Christian rubbed his nose, his chest heaving as he tried to steady his breath. "My name is Christian Westbrook. I am the husband of Roxanne Westbrook, the new executive appointee at Vance Enterprises."

A brief pause stretched over the line. "What can we do for you, sir?" the receptionist asked, her tone shifting into something more attentive.

"I have information," Christian said. "Proof that Richard Vance only gave her that seat because she’s sleeping with him. She didn’t earn a thing."

"Are you certain about these allegations, sir?"

"Absolutely certain," Christian snapped, his thumb hovering over the screen. "I will email the footage once this call is over. I want this blasted everywhere. Make the headline as messy as possible. I want the world to turn against them."

The line went quiet for a beat. "Sir, City Media handles verified reports. We don’t intentionally sensationalize standard corporate disputes—"

"Then I’m speaking to the wrong network," Christian interrupted, his voice dropping into a bitter growl. "I’ll find a platform that actually wants a breaking story, or I’ll publish the damn thing myself."

"Wait, sir. Please send the material through. Our editorial team will review it immediately."

A cold satisfaction settled deep in Christian’s gut. "Fine. It’s entering your inbox now," he said, ending the call.

His thumb hovered over the video. This wasn’t his fault. Roxanne had left him no choice. Richard had stolen everything from him. They had forced his hand.

They wanted war? Fine.

He tapped Send. The moment the status bar filled and marked the message as Sent, a sharp, triumphant grin broke across his face. Let’s see how your golden boyfriend protects you from this, he thought.

He lowered the phone, his hand resting on the leather steering wheel, but the manic energy buzzing in his veins wouldn’t let him stop. He lifted the device again, his eyes gleaming. Need to make sure it hits close to home first.

He opened the group chat containing the senior executives of Vance Enterprises. With two swift taps, he uploaded the video file directly into the thread.

"Now the worst begins," he whispered. He tossed the phone onto the passenger seat, jammed the car into drive, and sped off into the traffic.

—

Two hours later, the atmosphere inside the executive office was deceptively still.

Roxanne sat behind her desk, the soft hum of the air conditioner the only sound breaking the silence.

Her eyes were fixed on the glowing spreadsheet on her monitor, her mind completely consumed by quarterly review numbers. On the corner of her desk, her phone screen lit up repeatedly, vibrating silently against the polished wood.

She ignored it, completely lost in her work.

Finally, a persistent chime echoed directly in her Bluetooth earbud. Without looking up, she tapped the side of her ear to accept the call.

"Roxanne." Richard’s voice came through the speaker, but the usual warmth was completely gone. It was clipped, heavy, and tight with an underlying dread.

Roxanne’s fingers froze over her keyboard. She pulled her gaze away from the monitor, her brow furrowing. "Richard? Is everything okay?"

"Come to my office right now," he said, his tone laced with urgency.

"What’s wrong?" she asked, a sudden cold prickle of anxiety touching the back of her neck. "I’m right in the middle of these compliance reviews—"

"The reviews can wait," Richard cut in, his voice leaving no room for argument. "Get up here now."

The line went dead with a sharp click.

Roxanne slowly lowered her hand, her heart giving a strange thud against her ribs. What has he done now? The question didn’t even need a name attached to it; she already knew the source of any chaos in her life.

She pushed her chair back, snatched her phone off the desk, and stepped out into the main corridor.

The moment the glass door clicked shut behind her, the shift in the room was palpable.

The busy, ambient noise of the floor vanished instantly. Staff members stood in small clusters near the water dispenser, their heads bent together over a glowing smartphone screen.

As Roxanne walked past, a secretary quickly nudged her colleague, and the group scattered like birds. People looked at her, then looked down at their screens, some shaking their heads with pity, others whispering behind cupped hands.

Roxanne kept her chin up, forcing her stride to remain steady and even, though the skin on the back of her neck felt like it was on fire.

She took the private elevator up to the ninth floor. When the doors slid open, Libby was already waiting in the lobby, her face pale and her breathing shallow.

Roxanne stopped, her pulse spiking into her throat. "Libby? What is going on?"

Libby looked at her, her eyes wide with a raw fear that made Roxanne’s stomach drop completely. "Roxanne," Libby whispered, her voice trembling. "We have a big problem."

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