Chapter 17: Three Rules
Roxanne’s heart battered violently against her ribs as she shoved through the heavy door of the penthouse.
The moment she stepped into the foyer and clicked it shut, the phone in her hand let out a sharp, demanding buzz. Exhaling a ragged breath, she lifted the screen to glance at the notification, turning to walk deeper into the darkened apartment.
Suddenly, her feet froze flat against the hardwood. Her eyes widened, the air completely evaporating from her lungs.
Staring back at her from the glowing glass display was a photo of a woman, heavily pregnant, standing flush against Christian’s side. Christian’s arm was wrapped possessively around her waist, a proud, soft smile on his face that he hadn’t given Roxanne in years.
Her eyes flicked to the text resting mockingly beneath the image: Leave Christian so he can be with me and our child. Don’t deprive him of his family. You can’t give him a family, Roxanne. Don’t deprive him of his true happiness.
Roxanne read the message once. Twice. Four times. But the cruel words began to blur together into a stinging haze. She studied the woman’s face, searching her memory, but it didn’t ring a single bell. A cold, sharp ache spread in her chest.
The pieces of the puzzle slammed into place. The sudden demand for an open marriage. The sudden cruelty. He hadn’t wanted freedom; he had wanted a shield to cover his bastard child while keeping Roxanne around as his secret corporate weapon while telling her he wasn’t ready for a child.
A dark, vicious rage boiled under her skin, and she gritted her teeth so hard her jaw ached. If he thinks he can play me like a fool in his little game, then I am going to completely rewrite the rules.
—
Hours later.
The front door creaked open, the click of the lock echoing sharply through the dark penthouse.
Christian stepped inside, letting out a heavy exhale of exhaustion as he kicked off his shoes. But the moment he turned toward the living room, he jolted backward, suffocating a gasp.
"What the hell are you doing sitting in the dark? Are you trying to give me a heart attack?" he demanded, aggressively pressing a sweaty palm against his chest.
Roxanne’s nose wrinkled in immediate disgust. The moment he stepped closer, the faint, cloying scent of a cheap, floral female perfume, one that absolutely did not belong to her, sliced through the air. She looked at him from head to toe with a detached gaze before leaning forward, resting her elbows flat on her thighs.
"Where have you been, Christian?" she asked, her voice dangerously quiet.
Christian’s features twisted defensively. "Why the hell are you interrogating me like that?"
Roxanne’s jaw hardened, her eyes flashing like steel in the dark. "Answer the damn question!" she shot back, her delivery low, fierce, and dripping with an authority that made him flinch.
"And I said you have absolutely zero right to question me!" Christian yelled back, his voice rising as he tried to claw back his dominant posture.
Roxanne offered a slow, chilling nod. She stood up smoothly. "Then I guess it is finally time to establish some rules for this open marriage of ours."
Christian’s face crumpled into a look of disbelief before he burst into a loud, mocking laugh. "No one is setting any damn rules, Roxy. You seem to be forgetting how this arrangement works. I can do whatever the heck I please."
"Not anymore," Roxanne countered, her eyes narrowing into two slits as she locked her gaze onto his.
Christian opened his mouth to unleash another tirade, but she lifted a single hand, her palm flat, instantly silencing him.
"Rule number one," she stated, looking him dead in his panicked eyes. "Nothing ties you to any of the women you are sleeping with. You don’t get to build a second family while keeping me chained to this marriage. If I find out anything otherwise, I will walk straight into Vance Enterprises and personally ensure your career is buried in the dirt."
"Excuse me?" Christian snapped, his voice cracking with insecure rage. "Who the hell do you think you are to threaten my—?"
"Rule number two," Roxanne continued flawlessly, completely stepping over his desperate protest. "You will not bring your filthiness into our home, and you will certainly never bring it into our bedroom again. You leave every single trace of your disgusting double life at that front door."
Christian’s face twisted into absolute confusion, his chest heaving as he stared at the woman he thought he had completely tamed.
"And rule number three," Roxanne whispered, taking a slow step toward him. "I am entirely free to be with whoever I choose, whenever I choose, and you no longer have the right to question me. Not about who I see, and certainly not about why I do whatever I do."
"What the hell has gotten into you tonight?" Christian stammered, a genuine, suffocating panic tinging his voice.
Without a word, Roxanne lifted her phone and flashed the glowing screen directly in front of his face. The bright light illuminated the image of his pregnant mistress.
Christian’s voice died instantly in his throat. His arrogant anger faltered, his face draining of all color as his eyes stretched impossibly wide.
"I thought so," Roxanne whispered, tilting her head with a chilling, victorious smile. "The next time one of your pathetic little sidepieces decides to message my phone, you won’t believe how quickly your entire world will turn to ash."
Before Christian could muster a single word of defense, she whirled on her heel and stormed out of the living room, leaving him standing paralyzed in the shadows, his face pale with horror.
She didn’t stop, and she certainly didn’t look back. Marching into the master bedroom, she slammed the heavy door shut, the lock clicking into place. Just as she leaned against the wood, the phone in her hand gave another sharp buzz.
Her jaw hardened instantly, a wave of disgust rolling over her. That damn woman again. But the moment her thumb swiped the screen open, her breath caught. It wasn’t the mistress. It was Richard.
Inhaling a deep, shaky breath, her heart did a violent flip as she opened the text.
Look outside. ~ Richard
Roxanne’s chest heaved. Moving purely on instinct, she crossed the dark bedroom to the floor-to-ceiling windows, her fingers trembling as she pulled back the heavy velvet curtain just a fraction of an inch.
Down in the dimly lit, rain-slicked street below, a sleek, black Mercedes sat idling in the shadows, its headlights cutting through the dark.
As she stared down at the vehicle, a cold sweat breaking out on her skin, her phone buzzed in her palm once more.
Come downstairs, Roxanne. There’s something I’m sure you’d want to see.
