He Wants An Open Marriage? Done!

All eyes swung to Christian, who stood frozen under the sudden weight of the silence.

"What do you have to say to that, Mr. Westbrook?" Officer Timmons asked, his voice flat.

Christian’s brow furrowed, his chest heaving as he stared at the officer. He opened his mouth to defend himself, but nothing came out. Slowly, his gaze drifted back to Roxanne, whose eyes were fixed on him, entirely empty of the warmth he had taken for granted for years.

"She’s lying!" Christian barked, pointing a shaking finger at her face. "She’s a liar!"

Roxanne let out a soft, sharp scoff. "We both know I’m not."

Officer Timmons turned to Roxanne, his professional demeanor holding steady. "Are you certain about this, ma’am?"

"I am," Roxanne said, her voice steady and unwavering. "This penthouse is mine. He knows it, too."

Christian’s face twisted, his cheeks flushing a deep, angry red. "Me? I don’t know what the hell you’re talking about!" he spat, his voice dripping with venom. "The house is not hers. At least, not hers alone."

Roxanne merely shook her head, a cold pity settling over her features.

The lead officer’s frown deepened. "What exactly do you mean by that, sir?"

Christian looked at the officer, desperately trying to regain his footing. "The property belongs to both of us. I’m not going to stand here and let her claim she owns it outright."

"You do realize that admitting that means you’ve just confessed to being in the wrong?" the second officer chimed in, slowly shaking his head.

Christian shrugged, his shoulders stiff. "She left me no choice."

"If the property belongs to you both, then why are you throwing her belongings into the dirt and locking her out?" the second officer pressed, crossing his arms.

Christian’s jaw clenched so hard that a muscle twitched in his cheek. He glared at the officer but offered no reply.

Before he could invent a lie, Roxanne stepped forward, the scent of the nearby crushed grass and dust rising around them.

"No. The house does not belong to both of us," she said clearly, looking Christian dead in the eye. "This penthouse is mine alone. I only allowed him to live here. It was supposed to be a temporary arrangement, just a place for us to stay after we got married. And now he’s standing on my porch trying to claim it as his own."

"Nonsense!" Christian hissed.

"You can scream all you want, Christian, but you only lived here because I let you," Roxanne said, her voice dropping to a quiet, devastating murmur. "Because I actually thought you were worth it."

Christian flinched as if struck. He quickly turned back to the officer, his breath coming in shallow, ragged gasps. "Did you hear that? She’s doing this out of spite! It’s pure malice!"

Officer Timmons ignored him, keeping his eyes on Roxanne. "Do you have any proof of your sole ownership, ma’am?"

Roxanne smiled and nodded. "Of course, I do," she said. "The deed is inside. If Christian will step aside and let me enter, I can retrieve it, and we can settle whose name is on the title once and for all."

Christian’s eyes widened, a flicker of genuine panic crossing his face before he quickly masked it. "No! You’re not going inside. Just tell me where it is, and I’ll go get it for you."

Roxanne shook her head, her lips curling into a humorless smile. "I don’t trust you. I’m going in myself."

"No!" Christian snapped, stepping into the doorway to block her.

"Sir, you cannot prevent her from entering," Officer Timmons intervened, his hand resting casually near his utility belt. "Especially not after you just claimed the property belongs to both of you. Assuming that’s even true."

Christian stared at Roxanne, his chest rising and falling in heavy, frustrated beats. The humid afternoon air felt suffocatingly hot. "Fine," he growled. "But I’m going in with her."

Roxanne opened her mouth to object, but Timmons raised a hand, cutting off the argument.

"There’s no need for that. I will accompany her inside." He turned to his partner and gave a brief nod. "Stay here with Mr. Westbrook. I’ll be right back."

The second officer nodded, stepping up to keep a watchful eye on Christian.

"You have exactly three minutes," Christian spat at their backs as they turned toward the entryway, his voice loud enough for the gathering neighbors to hear. "Or I’ll have my lawyers sue all of you for trespassing."

Roxanne didn’t bother looking back. "Three minutes is more than enough," she said quietly.

Crossing the threshold, she felt the heavy weight of Christian’s glaring eyes on her back until the door swung shut behind them.

The moment she stepped into the foyer, the familiar, elegant scent of her home was entirely gone. Instead, the sour stench of spilled alcohol and old takeout hit her senses. Empty whiskey bottles littered the console table, and discarded food containers sat rotting in the living room.

Roxanne pressed a finger to her nose, swallowing the sudden wave of disgust, and pushed forward toward the grand staircase.

At the door of the master bedroom, she paused and turned to the officer. "Please, give me just a moment. Wait here."

"Take your time, ma’am," Timmons replied, stepping back to guard the hallway.

Roxanne slipped inside, closing the door behind her. The bedroom was in disarray, but she ignored the mess and walked straight to the walk-in closet. Dropping to her knees, she reached into the very back of the bottom drawer, her fingers sweeping against the cool wood until they brushed against a hidden latch.

She pulled the drawer completely out of its tracks, reaching into the dark cavity behind it to retrieve a heavy, dust-covered lockbox. With trembling fingers, she popped the clasp and pulled out a thick, yellowing document.

The paper felt crisp and slightly fragile under her fingertips. She looked down at the elegant cursive of the title deed, her eyes instantly blurring with tears as they landed on the name printed clearly at the top: Roxanne Mary Ashwood.

A single tear slipped down her cheek, landing on the margin of the paper. It was her father’s last gift. The only thing left in her life that didn’t bear the suffocating stamp of the Westbrook name.

"Ma’am?" Officer Timmons’ voice called out gently from the hallway, accompanied by a polite rap on the door. "We need to go now."

Roxanne quickly wiped her eyes with the back of her hand and stood up. She slid the drawer back into place, clutching the deed tightly against her chest as she walked to the door and swung it open.

"I’m ready," she said, her voice clear and resolved.

The officer’s eyes fell to the document in her hand, and a small, knowing nod touched his features. "After you."

As they descended the stairs and approached the front door, Christian’s arrogant voice drifted in from the porch. "...and you’d better be ready to take her away in that van, because I am filing trespassing charges the second she steps back out here."

Roxanne pushed the door open, stepping back out into the bright afternoon sun. Christian’s eyes snapped to her, his smirk still firmly in place.

"Don’t you think you’re celebrating a little too early, Christian?" she asked, her voice carrying a quiet edge as she walked down the steps toward him.

Christian’s gaze dropped to the thick, yellowed paper held tightly in her hand. He swallowed hard, his throat dry as the smugness began to drain from his face.

"What is that?" he whispered, his voice cracking with a sudden, desperate denial.

Roxanne offered him a smile. "This is the deed to my house."

Christian staggered back, his face turning an ash-gray as the reality of his ruin finally set in. "No..."

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