He Wants An Open Marriage? Done!

Roxanne’s heart stopped. She stared at the closed doors, her breath catching in her throat as a cold dread flooded her chest. What was Libby trying to say?

The mechanical hum of the descending elevator vibrated through the soles of Roxanne’s shoes, but it did nothing to drown out the frantic drumming of her pulse. She turned to Richard. His profile was drawn in sharp, rigid lines, his focus locked entirely on the digital floor indicator ticking downward.

"Libby was trying to tell us something," she whispered, her throat tight.

Richard’s dark brows knitted. "She can call my mobile if it’s an emergency. Right now, we don’t have a single second to waste."

Roxanne forced a breath into her lungs, but the heavy, pressurized air of the cabin offered no relief. Her skin prickled with a deep, instinctive unease. When the elevator finally chimed and the silver doors glided open, the quiet of the executive parking garage felt less like a sanctuary and more like a trap.

They stepped out onto the polished concrete. Richard instantly moved closer, the heat of his palm grounding her as he placed it against the small of her back.

"This way," he guided, steering her toward his black Mercedes-Benz G-Class parked in the VIP bay.

Then, the silence shattered.

The echoing slap of rapid, chaotic footsteps scrambled across the concrete from the main entrance ramp. At that exact moment, the phone gripped tight in Richard’s hand erupted into a piercing ring. He glanced down. Libby.

Richard froze, his eyes scanning the shadows of the garage as he swiped the screen and pressed the phone to his ear. Before he could speak, a flood of figures burst through the stairwell doors.

"Sir! Don’t go down there! Come back to the floor!" Libby’s voice came through the speaker, breathless and warped by panic. "The press. They bypassed the lobby gates. They’re downstairs!"

Richard let out a slow breath, his chest expanding as he watched the wave of people advance. "They’re already here, Libby." He ended the call, his arm dropping to his side.

Roxanne swallowed hard, her heart leaping into her throat as the first blinding flash of a camera lens sliced through the dim garage. "Reporters, Richard," she murmured, her fingers curling tightly into the fabric of his sleeve.

"Keep moving," Richard muttered, his voice dropping into a protective register. "The car is just ahead."

They hadn’t taken three steps before a second faction of journalists rounded the concrete pillars from the left, cutting off their path.

Trapped in the crossfire, Richard and Roxanne stopped dead in their tracks. The gap between them evaporated as they instinctively pressed their shoulders together, a united front against the encroaching chaos.

For a terrifying second, Roxanne’s vision blurred beneath the assault of flashing cameras. Nothing in her corporate career had prepared her for the invasive violence of a media ambush.

The reporters didn’t even lead with questions. They simply swarmed, the rapid-fire clack-clack-clack of camera shutters echoing like gunfire off the low concrete ceiling, capturing the two of them cornered together.

Richard immediately stepped into her space, his broad frame completely shielding her from the worst of the flashing lights. "Look at me, Roxanne. Stay calm," he commanded quietly, his voice a steady anchor in the storm.

She looked up, meeting his fierce gaze, and managed a tight nod.

"Mr. Vance! Is it true that the two of you are sleeping together?" a reporter from the front barked, shoving a microphone forward.

Roxanne’s stomach twisted into a painful knot. "Richard, we have to control this. We have to say something," she whispered frantically as a barrage of overlapping voices filled the air.

Richard shook his head, his hand sliding down to grip hers, his fingers warm and fiercely possessive. "No, we don’t. Let’s go." He tried to steer her around the edge of the crowd, but the wall of bodies was growing thicker, pressing in on them.

"No comment," Richard growled, shielding her with his arm as they forced their way toward the driver’s side door.

"Miss Westbrook!" Another voice sliced through the din, sharp and dripping with malice. "Did you use your relationship with the CEO to secure your executive appointment?"

The words hit Roxanne like a physical blow, draining the remaining warmth from her face. This couldn’t be happening. She had prepared herself for corporate warfare, for boardroom backstabbing, but she had never anticipated the raw, humiliating agony of having her character publicly assassinated in a parking lot.

"Your husband explicitly claims you slept your way to the top and don’t deserve your seat," the reporter pressed, relentless. "Do you care to comment on his statement?"

Richard stopped dead in his tracks. Roxanne felt the sudden, terrifying shift in his posture as his jaw set into granite. He began to turn back toward the reporter, pure fury rolling off him in waves, but Roxanne instantly placed her palm against his forearm.

She shook her head, her eyes pleading. "They want a reaction, Richard. Don’t give it to them," she said, her voice remarkably steady despite the violent hammering in her chest. "We owe our first formal explanation to the board, not the tabloids."

Before Richard could answer, the loud screech of burning rubber echoed through the garage. A white SUV whipped around the corner, braking so violently its tires smoked as it blocked the exit lane.

The SUV door flew open, and Christian stumbled out, tie hanging loose, eyes bloodshot, phone already raised as if he were filming his own disaster.

"Don’t let them walk away without answers!" his voice tore through the space, raw and erratic. "They owe every single one of you an explanation!" He slammed his car door shut, shoving his way through the pack of journalists until he stood at the very front of the circle.

"That’s the husband," a photographer muttered, and within seconds, a dozen lenses swung away from Richard and aimed directly at Christian’s hyperventilating form.

Roxanne felt a cold numbness wash over her. She stood wedged between Richard and the car, staring at the man she had spent all those years with, completely unrecognizable in his malice.

Christian had brought an entire army to destroy her.

"Richard Vance needs to explain to the world why he thinks he can buy my wife!" Christian spat, his chest heaving under his wrinkled shirt. "Why her? Why couldn’t you pick someone else from your playground? Why my goddamn wife?" he roared, his face flushed a dangerous crimson.

The silence that followed was suffocating.

Roxanne and Richard exchanged a single look, communicating a lifetime of unspoken strategy in a split second, before turning their blank gazes back to Christian. They offered him absolutely nothing.

Suddenly, the heavy metal security doors groaned open, and a squad of burly men in black uniforms rushed into the garage.

"Step back! Clear the area immediately!" the lead guard barked, extending a heavy black baton to form a barrier.

Richard’s expression remained dark, his fury barely contained, but Roxanne let out the first real breath she had held in for minutes. Relief flooded her veins. The guards moved with practiced precision, their heavy frames creating a physical human wall that pushed the shouting reporters back, carving out a narrow path to the sedan’s doors.

Richard opened the passenger side, ensuring Roxanne was safely inside before circling the hood and throwing himself into the driver’s seat. The heavy doors slammed shut, instantly muffling the chaos outside into a dull, distant roar.

Through the tinted glass, Roxanne watched Christian attempt to throw his weight against the line of security guards. He was thrashing wildly, completely unhinged, but the wall held firm.

Richard threw the car into reverse, backed out of the bay, and slammed his foot onto the accelerator. As the jeep sped toward the alternate exit ramp, Christian broke free of the perimeter, chasing the moving car into the shadows.

"Don’t run away!" Christian’s muffled screams echoed down the concrete tunnel. "This isn’t over, Roxanne! It’s only the beginning! I will ruin both of you!"

Roxanne slowly turned her head away, her eyes fixing on the dashboard as the bright afternoon light flooded the windshield. She let out a long, trembling breath, her fingers trembling slightly as she smoothed down her skirt.

The scandal was no longer a threat hanging over them. It was a war already in motion.

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