Free Web NovelChapter 21: The Naive Girl
Downstairs, Christian’s world was fracturing in real-time.
He paced a frantic, erratic path across the Persian rug, the air in the dark living room suddenly feeling suffocatingly thin. He pressed his phone to his ear, his knuckles white as the line rang continuously. No answer.
Swearing under his breath, he ripped the phone away from his ear, his thumb stabbing at the glass screen to dial a different number. The line rang once. Twice. When it finally clicked and connected, Christian’s heart did a violent leap against his ribs.
"Hey! Deacon, thank God," Christian blurted out, his voice laced with urgency. "What’s the word on the street? Am I still securing the promotion by the end of the week?"
A heavy, agonizing silence stretched across the line before a cold voice finally responded. "Hello, Christian. That decision rests entirely with the board of directors now. Not me."
Christian’s brows knit into a tight frown, a sudden knot of dread tightening in his stomach. "What? Why the sudden shift, Deacon? You explicitly told me last week that you’d put in the defining word with the committee. The board hangs on your every recommendation."
"Well, Christian, the committee had actually finalized the paperwork," Deacon replied, his tone dripping with a newly found, professional disgust. "Until, that is, we witnessed the appalling way you publicly handled your wife at the gala tonight."
"At the gala?" Christian argued, a cold sweat breaking out across his forehead as he gestured wildly to the empty room. "I didn’t do anything wrong! It was entirely her fault. You have no idea the kind of unstable behavior I have to tolerate from her—"
"If you honestly consider that public display of aggression to be ’nothing,’ Christian, then I don’t want to think about how you treat her behind closed doors," Deacon cut in, his words sharp.
"The board requires the future CEO of Vance Enterprises to be a stable, responsible man of character. You need to project a flawless family image to our investors. I strongly advise you to focus on repairing your marriage, and then, who knows, perhaps you might be considered in the future."
"No, Deacon, I can’t wait again! How can you possibly—?"
The line went dead with a sharp beep.
"Deacon? Hello? Damn it!" Christian roared, violently throwing his phone onto the plush sofa cushions. He clenched his jaw so hard that a sharp pain shot up to his temples. "Damn you all! I will secure that promotion with or without your help!"
His furious gaze automatically drifted toward the grand staircase, his chest heaving with a volatile mix of panic and rage. This was all her fault. Roxanne must have said something to Richard Vance when she saw him earlier. ƒreewebηoveℓ.com
She had intentionally sabotaged his reputation and made him look like a monster in front of his colleagues.
Spurred by a sudden, blinding rush of adrenaline, Christian turned and charged toward the staircase, intent on tearing the bedroom door off its hinges to drag the truth out of her. But as his foot slammed onto the first step, then the second, he abruptly froze.
The red haze in his mind fractured, exposing his cold, calculating ambition. No. Think, Christian. You have to play this smart. He gripped the wooden banister, his mind spinning a dizzying web of strategy.
If his public treatment of Roxanne was the only obstacle standing between him and the corner office, then losing his temper right now would ruin him completely. He couldn’t afford to break his submissive housewife. He needed to manipulate her. He would use her perfect, dutiful image to buy his way back into the board’s good graces.
Steeling his expression, he drew a deep, stabilizing breath, forcing his posture to relax as he ascended the remaining steps calmly. He reached the landing and extended a hand toward the master bedroom door, but before his fingers could even graze the brass handle, the door swung wide open.
A sudden, intoxicating wave of high-end jasmine, vanilla, and amber perfume immediately hit his senses, catching him entirely off guard.
Christian’s brows furrowed in pure shock. Roxanne wasn’t in her pajamas. She had touched up her makeup, her hair fell in soft, perfect waves over her shoulders, and she had worn a small dress that fit her curves. She didn’t just look nice, she looked breathtaking.
A sharp, possessive jealousy flared in his chest, a tight muscle ticking in his jaw as the thought of her dressing up to meet another man crossed his mind. But he quickly shut it down. Why do you even care, Christian? You’re bored with her anyway. She’s just a means to an end.
Smoothing his features into a warm, gentle smile, he stepped into her path. "Where are you going at this hour, darling?" he asked, his tone perfectly pitched with faux spousal concern.
"None of your business," Roxanne shot back, her voice an icy blade as she attempted to step right past him.
Before she could clear the landing, Christian’s hand shot out, his fingers clamping firmly around her forearm. "I am speaking to you, Roxanne," he muttered through clenched teeth, every fiber of his being straining to maintain the gentle facade.
"Let me go, Christian. Right now," she demanded, her wide eyes locking onto his with a dangerous, unflinching glare.
Recognizing the trap, Christian immediately let go, raising his hands in a peaceful surrender. He watched a flicker of genuine surprise wash over her features at his sudden compliance. Perfect. She’s off balance.
"I’m running late," Roxanne stated, her tone tight as she adjusted her clutch and tried to move toward the stairs again.
"Please, Roxanne. Just grant me a minute of your time," Christian pleaded, his voice dropping into a soft, vulnerable register.
He stepped directly in front of her, using his height to gently corral her against the banister, his mind working at lightning speed to nail the performance of a lifetime. "Things have been spiraling out of control between us for so long, and I know I am entirely to blame for the distance."
Roxanne went perfectly still, studying his face with an unreadable expression.
Yes! It’s working. She’s falling for it. Emboldened by his own success, Christian took a slow step closer, his voice melting into a low, intimate purr. "I mean it, darling. I want things to be completely different between us from this moment on. I am a changed man."
He let his gaze drift appreciatively down the length of her dress. "You look absolutely lovely tonight, Roxy. Why don’t we call a truce? Let me take you out for a private dinner, and I can prove to you just how much I intend to change."
Roxanne stood entirely motionless, staring deep into his eyes.
For one second, Christian believed he had won, that the naive girl he married had returned to his heel. A smug, victorious smile began to twitch at the corner of his lips.
Then, like ice, Roxanne’s features hardened into contempt. "Even now, you look at me and see a complete fool," she whispered, her words cutting through his arrogance like a guillotine. "No one changes overnight, Christian. Especially not a pathetic narcissist like you. So do us both a favor and drop the disgusting act already."
Christian’s mouth fell open, his carefully constructed mask shattering into a thousand pieces as she forcefully shoved past his shoulder. He whirled around, watching in a state of paralyzed shock as she descended the stairs, her hips swaying with a fierce confidence he had never seen in her before.
The soft, adoring husband vanished instantly. "I am absolutely not losing that promotion because of you," he muttered under his breath, his eyes wild as his mind violently spun together his next plan of attack.
"No matter how expensive that dress is," he muttered darkly, staring after her retreating figure. "You’re still the same naive girl I married years ago."
