He Wants An Open Marriage? Done!

Chapter 1: Anniversary Surprise

The heavy scent of the expensive lilies and red roses she had spent all afternoon picking out filled the tight cabin of her car, but it did nothing to calm the frantic, excited flutter in Roxanne’s chest.

Five years. Today marked half a decade since she had walked down the aisle with Christian Westbrook.

She rolled the car to a stop in front of their luxurious penthouse, her heart pounding against her ribs as she gathered the grocery bags from the back seat.

Christian had been so distant lately, buried under the crushing weight of his executive workload at Vance Enterprises, but tonight was going to change that because she had planned the perfect evening to remind him of what they used to be.

Balancing the heavy bags against her hip, Roxanne reached out to slot her key into the lock, but the door gave way under her touch, creaking open an inch.

She paused, a soft frown creasing her brow. Was Christian back already?

A sudden, dizzying wave of hope washed over her. Her mind instantly drifted back to their very first anniversary, the way he had secretly come home early, lining the floor with a path of velvet rose petals that led straight to their bedroom.

A giddy smile touched her lips. Had he planned a surprise for her, too?

Eagerly, Roxanne pushed the door open and stepped into the foyer. The smile died on her lips. The air left her lungs in a sharp, brutal gasp.

There were no rose petals. The first thing her eyes locked onto was Christian’s expensive designer jacket, discarded carelessly on the floor. And right next to it, tangled in the fabric, was a lace strapless bra.

Her chest began to heave, a cold, suffocating panic clawing at her throat. No. No, this couldn’t be happening. frёeweɓηovel.coɱ

Her fingers lost all their strength. The grocery bags slipped from her hands, hitting the hardwood floor with a dull, devastating thud. A carton of cream burst, pooling white against the dark wood, but she couldn’t move. She couldn’t breathe.

Her eyes darted back to the lace on the floor. She tried to tell herself it was a prank, a joke, or some twisted, playful invitation to their bed. But the denial withered and died in her chest. The bra on the floor was a C-cup and Roxanne was a D.

The silence of the penthouse was suddenly broken by a muffled, breathless moan echoing from the top of the stairs. It was a sound she recognized, but a voice she didn’t.

Moving like a ghost in her own home, her limbs numb with shock, Roxanne began to climb the staircase. Step by single step, she followed a trail that wasn’t made of roses, but of another woman’s clothes.

As she reached the landing, the sound hit her. The sickening sound of skin slapping against skin, wet, rhythmic, unmistakable. Roxanne’s heart battered painfully against her ribs like a wild bird trapped in a cage.

She shook her head slowly, a silent, desperate plea refusing to accept what her mind was already screaming. Her eyes burned, the sting of unshed tears blurring her vision.

"Oh, Sharon! God, you are the best I’ve ever had," Christian’s voice cut through the heavy air, sharp as a switchblade, slicing straight through whatever was left of Roxanne’s chest.

She pressed a trembling palm flat against her sternum, trying to forcibly steady the frantic, erratic beating of her heart. Please, no. Please.

"Better than your wife?" the woman asked with a lazy laugh.

Christian barely hesitated. "So much better."

"Mm. I see," the woman laughed. "I want you to show me how much better."

"Gladly." Christian’s fingers dug deeper, the slapping sounds grew louder, more frantic.

Roxanne stood frozen at the threshold, the world tilting on its axis. Right there, on the Egyptian cotton sheets of her matrimonial bed, the bed she had meticulously chosen for their home, her husband knelt behind a strange woman, completely naked.

His hands gripped her hips hard enough to leave marks as he thrust into her with effortless rhythm. Sweat gleamed across his skin beneath the warm bedroom lights,

Somehow, through the paralyzing numbness, Roxanne forced her legs to move. She stepped forward, her shoulder pushing the heavy bedroom door fully open.

"Chris." The word was barely a whisper, a ghost of a sound, but it sliced through the room’s sordid heat like ice.

Suddenly, Christian froze. He snapped his head toward the doorway, his eyes narrowing as he locked onto her. There was no panic in his expression, no fear, only irritation.

"Roxanne? What the hell are you doing here?" he snapped.

She swallowed hard, her brows creasing tightly as she stared at him, struggling to process the sheer absurdity of his question. What was she doing here? In her home? In their bedroom?

"It’s," she managed to choke out, her voice trembling, "our wedding anniversary."

Christian scoffed in irritation. "I was about to cum and you completely ruined the moment," he snapped as he pulled out of the woman, his face twisting into a mask of pure disgust.

He climbed off the bed without urgency, reaching for his clothes like this was nothing more than an inconvenience.

The woman on the bed didn’t even bother to pull the sheets up, offering Roxanne a mocking, triumphant smirk.

"Who is she?" Roxanne’s voice finally found its edge, her gaze flickering briefly to the woman lounging comfortably against the pillows before snapping back to her husband. "What is she doing in our bed, Christian?"

Christian exhaled heavily as he dragged a shirt over his head. For a fraction of a second, Roxanne thought she caught a flicker of guilt buried deep in his dark eyes, but it vanished so quickly she wondered if she had imagined it. It was replaced instantly by a cold indifference.

"Listen, Roxanne," he said flatly, "I’m bored."

The words landed like a slap.

"And that needs to be fixed."

The heat in Roxanne’s eyes intensified, the tears gathering thick and heavy, but she fiercely locked her jaw, refusing to let a single drop fall in front of them. "What are you trying to say?" her voice cracked.

Christian exhaled sharply, running a hand through his slightly disheveled hair as he looked down at her. "You should have seen this coming, but you’re as blind as always," he said, his tone dripping with patronizing arrogance.

"What—"

He lifted his hand, cutting her off. "I want an open marriage, Roxanne. I can’t deal with being stuck in this monogamous cage with you any longer."