"Are you actually serious right now?" Roxanne’s eyes widened in total disbelief, the chill of the evening air suddenly biting through her skin.

Christian’s smug grin only grew wider, the faint glow of the bedroom light behind him casting his shadow down onto the pavement. "Dead serious, Roxy. I changed the locks, and I think it’s time you leave."

The sheer absurdity of it made her head spin. "I am not leaving, Christian. This is my house too. Open the damn door!" She stepped back onto the porch, slamming the side of her fist against the wood again. "Open it right now!"

Christian leaned further out the window, looking down at her with a sick sense of amusement. He was clearly soaking in her frustration, feeding on it. "I’ll open it on one condition," he said, his voice dripping with malice.

Roxanne’s jaw dropped. It was really happening. After everything, he was actually trying to bar her from her own home. She pressed a trembling hand against her forehead, taking a slow, shaky breath to keep from losing her mind.

"This is not the time for your petty drama, Christian. I need to get inside, get changed, and leave. Stop this childish prank."

Christian let out a harsh, barking laugh that echoed down the quiet street. "You still think this is a prank? Have you forgotten so quickly how you had me dragged out of your precious new office by security? Well, you might have the upper hand at Vance Enterprises, but I hold the power here. Consider this your official eviction."

"What? Are you out of your mind?" A cold wave of shock washed over her. "You’ve actually lost your mind," she murmured under her breath, her chest tightening. She forced her voice to drop, trying to appeal to whatever tiny shred of sanity he had left. "Christian, please. Just open the door."

"I will only let you in if you agree to my condition," he repeated, his eyes gleaming.

"I am not agreeing to a single thing! Open the damn door!" Roxanne snapped, her control finally snapping. She glared up at the second story. "Open this door immediately, Christian Westbrook!"

Christian stared down at her for a cold, silent second. Then, without a word, he grabbed the window frame and slammed it shut, pulling the heavy curtains closed behind it.

Roxanne froze, the sudden silence of the street pressing in on her ears. Her jaw remained dropped as a heavy wave of shock coursed through her veins. He had actually shut the window on her. For five long seconds, she couldn’t move, her eyes glued to the dark glass, pinned to the concrete step by sheer disbelief.

Finally, she forced herself to look away, blinking rapidly as she checked her watch. 5:30 p.m.

The digital numbers seemed to mock her. She had barely ninety minutes to get to a hotel, get dressed, do her hair, and make it to the executive dinner.

She turned sharply away from the locked door. He wasn’t going to let her in, and she refused to let him ruin the biggest night of her life.

"I’ll just go to a hotel," she murmured to herself, her voice trembling but determined. She bent down, lifting her work bag and the designer shopping bag from the step.

She had barely taken three steps down the driveway when the screech of the window opening echoed through the air again. She stopped and turned around, a desperate hope flaring in her chest that he had finally come to his senses.

"If you drive away from this house tonight, Roxanne," Christian yelled down, his face twisted with rage, "you can come back for your clothes in the morning. It means you no longer live under my roof."

Roxanne pressed her hand to her temple, letting out a sharp, exhausted breath. "You are being completely ridiculous, Christian," she called back, turning her back on him anyway and marching straight toward her car.

"I’m dead serious!" Christian threatened, his voice cracking with desperation as he saw her walking away. "I will throw every single piece of your shit right onto the street!"

Roxanne stopped at the passenger’s side door, turning her head to look back up at him. A strange, liberating calmness suddenly washed over her. "Does that mean you’ll finally give me a divorce? Because honestly, that sounds absolutely perfect to me. But hear me clearly, I am not agreeing to any of your conditions. Not now, not ever again, Christian. That ship has sailed."

Christian’s dry, mocking laughter sliced through the evening quiet. "Not in your wildest dreams will I make this easy for you!" he shot back.

"I don’t have time for this," Roxanne said out loud, ignoring the sting of his words. She popped the trunk, tossed her bags inside, and slammed it shut with a heavy thud. "If you won’t let me inside to prepare for my board dinner, then I will gladly go and prepare somewhere else."

She reached for the driver’s side handle, but before she could open the door, Christian’s voice tore through the air again, louder and cruder than before.

"Where exactly are you going to get ready, Roxy? Are you planning to prepare for your meeting with Richard Vance between your legs?"

Roxanne’s hand froze solid on the cold metal handle. A suffocating weight settled over the driveway. She looked up at him, staring into his bitter, ugly face for one long, frozen second. Then, she slowly shook her head, a cold smirk touching her lips.

"This open marriage was entirely your idea, Christian. Remember?" she said, her voice dropping into a deadly, razor-sharp whisper that carried perfectly through the air. "Try not to have nightmares about the image you just painted."

Without giving him another second to speak, she yanked the car door open and slid inside.

Through the thick glass of the windshield, she could see his mouth moving, his muffled shouts fading into background noise as she slid the key into the ignition. She took one deep, grounding breath, letting the steady hum of the engine drown out the chaos.

"You just locked yourself out of my life, Christian," she whispered fiercely to herself.

She shifted the car into reverse. But just as she began to back out of the driveway, the front door of the penthouse flew open, and Christian came sprinting out onto the porch, his tie flying over his shoulder.

"Come back here, Roxanne!" he barked, his face red as he ran down the driveway after her car. "We can still fix this! You only have to agree to one thing!" he roared, waving his arms frantically.

Change all the locks you want. Tomorrow I’ll come back with a locksmith or the police if I have to.

Roxanne watched his desperate, shrinking figure in the rearview mirror. She didn’t hesitate. She slammed her foot down on the gas pedal, the tires letting out a sharp squeal against the asphalt as the car surged forward.

"I’m done cutting deals with you, Christian," she said into the empty space of the car, her voice steady and unbroken as the penthouse disappeared behind her. "You will never control my life again."