Chapter 13: Ninth Floor
Roxanne forced herself to look at her reflection in the gilded mirror one last time, taking a deep breath to steady herself.
Flashes of the last ten minutes echoed ruthlessly behind her eyelids, the heavy friction of Richard’s weight, the rough, demanding press of his mouth, the shameless way she had anchored herself against the marble vanity.
As much as she hated the vulnerability of it, her body still throbbed with a residual, aching hunger for him. But more than the lust, a desperate need consumed her: she had to know why he had chosen her.
Smoothing her dress, she snatched her clutch from the counter and faced the door. She drew one final breath, turned the heavy brass lock, and stepped back out into the bustling hallway.
She had barely cleared the threshold when a hand violently clamped around her forearm. Roxanne jolted, a sharp gasp catching in her throat. She snapped her head around to find Christian looking at her, his features twisted into a dark, suffocating scowl.
"Christian—"
"Where the hell have you been?" he demanded in a harsh whisper as he yanked her into the shadows near the restrooms.
Roxanne swallowed hard, her mind scrambling for a lie. But as she opened her mouth, her gaze drifted past her husband’s rigid shoulder to Richard, who was standing just a few yards away, a half-empty glass of scotch resting loosely in his palm.
His tuxedo was entirely back in order, but his expression was pure ice. His dark eyes locked with terrifying intensity straight onto Christian’s fingers digging into her arm.
"I want to go home, Christian," Roxanne said, a sudden panic spiking through her veins as she tried to pull away. Her heart battered fiercely against her ribs.
"Not until you tell me where you were," Christian shot back, stepping closer, entirely blind to the predator tracking his every move. "What the hell is wrong with you tonight, Roxy? Why are you intent on embarrassing me at a high-stakes event?" He muttered the words through clenched teeth, his grip tightening until his fingers bit into her skin.
"You’re hurting me, Chris," Roxanne breathed, her hand coming up to fruitlessly push at his wrist. Her eyes darted back to Richard, silently, desperately pleading with him through the space to stay out of it.
From across the corridor, she saw Richard’s sharp jawline harden into iron. She focused entirely on her husband, her voice rising with desperate urgency. "I need to leave. Right now. I don’t feel well."
Christian looked down at her, his brow furrowing as he finally released his grip. The pale skin of her arm already bore the flush of angry, red finger marks.
Richard saw it too. His gaze dropped to the red marks blooming across her skin, and something in his expression hardened.
Instinctively, Christian reached out to grab her wrist again to drag her toward the ballroom, but Roxanne stood her ground, her defiance flaring.
Christian’s gaze snapped back to her, furious, but before he could react, she violently yanked her arm completely out of his hold. The sharp movement drew the immediate, curious glances of a few nearby guests.
"Take your hands off me," she snapped, her voice carrying a razor-sharp edge that cut through the ambient ballroom music. "Look around you, Christian. You are actively destroying the precious image you’re so desperate to protect."
Christian swallowed hard, his face flushed as he cast a panicked look at the whispering elites nearby. The realization that he was making a scene hit him like a bucket of cold water.
He turned back to Roxanne, his voice dropping into a malicious whisper. "This is entirely your fault. This is exactly what you wanted," he muttered under his breath, his eyes darting around frantically. "Now, let’s leave." He reached out, attempting to snatch her wrist one more time to force her compliance.
"Westbrook." Richard’s voice didn’t just carry; it sliced through the heavy air like a physical blade as he stepped forward.
Christian froze mid-motion, his entire body going rigid. He dropped his hand instantly, spinning around as his arrogant posture melted into pathetic submission. "Mr. Vance! I was just—we were just leaving—"
"My office. First thing tomorrow morning," Richard commanded, his voice deadly quiet, completely overriding Christian’s stammering.
Christian froze. For the first time that night, genuine fear flashed across his face. Everyone in the company knew what it meant when Richard Vance personally requested a meeting.
"Mr. Vance, please, I didn’t mean to—"
"We will discuss your conduct tonight in the morning." Richard cut him off with finality that brooked absolutely no argument.
Terrified of what this meant for her husband’s career, and the fallout that would land on her, Roxanne instinctively stepped forward, her hand half-raised. "Ri—Mr. Vance, please, pardon him. He’s just stressed about the evening, he didn’t mean to—"
Richard’s piercing gaze drifted past her, deliberately ignoring her defense of the man who had just bruised her skin, and leveled a cold stare at Christian. "Go home with your wife."
Roxanne let out a deflated sigh. Christian looked at her, his chest heaving with restrained rage, before he offered a stiff nod to his CEO.
"Of course. Please, excuse us, Mr. Vance," Christian managed to choke out before pivoting and walking past Richard toward the exit.
Roxanne paused for a fraction of a second, her eyes locking onto Richard’s one last time. The silent chemistry between them was suffocating.
Slowly, Richard lifted his arm and glanced down at his platinum luxury watch, a blatant reminder of his ultimatum. Roxanne’s heart did a dangerous flip. She exhaled a shaky breath, turned away, and followed her husband out into the cool night air.
By the time she reached the valet circle, Christian was already brooding in the passenger seat of their town car, the interior smelling sharply of his heavy cologne and sour sweat. The moment she slipped into the leather seat and pulled the door shut, the silence cracked.
"Don’t you ever do that to me again!" he snapped, his hands gripping the steering wheel so hard his knuckles turned white. "You just made me look like a wimp in front of my boss!"
"I did nothing of the sort," Roxanne said, her voice calm compared to the storm in her chest. "You were the one putting your hands on me—"
"Do you even have a single clue how hard I prepared for tonight?" he cut her off, his voice cracking with a harsh, unhinged desperation. "How long I have waited just to finally get Richard Vance’s attention?"
"If you truly cared about his attention, Christian, you shouldn’t have put your hands on me in public," Roxanne shot back, the raw exhaustion finally bleeding into her tone.
"You are my wife, and I can do whatever I damn well please with you," Christian hissed, his jaw clenching as he tore the car out into the street. "And you still owe me an explanation for where you were."
Roxanne let out a soft, mocking laugh that sounded entirely foreign to her own ears. "No, I don’t, Christian. This is an open marriage, remember? Your words, not mine."
Christian slammed his foot on the brakes, the tires screeching aggressively against the asphalt as the car jerked to a violent halt at a red light. He whirled in his seat, his eyes wild and dangerous.
"I don’t care what I said. Stay away from Vance Enterprises. Stay away from anyone connected to this company. Do you understand me?" he said. "You do that, and I’m done with you."
She stared out the window and said nothing. There was nothing left to explain to a man determined not to understand.
As the car sped through the dark streets, Richard’s gravelly warning echoed suddenly in her mind. Ninth floor. Nine a.m. tomorrow.
