Chapter 6
Chapter Six
Richard
Nick called while I was staring at the fourth-quarter financials, my head full of that European market mess.
My phone buzzed on the desk.
I glanced at the screen. Nick Harris.
I didn't bother answering.
He kept calling.
On the third ring, I picked up.
"This better be urgent."
"Richard." Nick's voice came through the speaker, laced with excitement. "Guess who I ran into at the hospital?"
"I don't have time for guessing games, Nick." I was about to hang up.
"I saw Natalie!"
My finger froze on the screen.
Right, Natalie went to the hospital today.
I had to admit, hearing Natalie's name these days gave me a headache.
After Natalie's little stunt with Olivia last night, I'd sent David with jewelry to apologize first thing this morning.
In my mind, the jewelry was more than enough.
Olivia didn't see it that way.
"Richard, your wife threw champagne on me yesterday and humiliated me.
Not only that, people are already speculating whether our families are cutting ties.
There'll probably be news stories soon. The only way to fix this is if we're seen together.
That's the only way to show those reporters and photographers that our families are still close. " That's what she said.
It made sense.
I couldn't let the Winston family suffer because of Natalie's impulse, and I didn't want Natalie on some trashy gossip rag. So I went, suffered through thirty minutes of shopping hell with Olivia. Honestly, listening to those old board members drone on was more interesting.
When Natalie called, I clearly saw a paparazzo's camera angle.
I knew I couldn't leave, or those thirty minutes would've been wasted.
I never make bad deals. So I had David handle it, texted asking which hospital, she didn't reply.
I assumed she could handle it—Natalie was more independent than people thought.
But something in Nick's tone made me uneasy.
"Christ, Richard, I'm not her biggest fan, but congratulations. Though I can't imagine what your kid with Natalie would look like. Honestly, if the kid inherits most of Natalie's genes, the Winston family business might be screwed. Bottom-tier genetics and all..."
What was Nick talking about?
My kid with Natalie?
Natalie was pregnant? When did this happen?
Whatever Nick said next, I didn't hear a word.
A surge of almost savage joy shot through me.
I was going to be a father.
God, I was going to be a father.
But the next second, that joy froze solid.
News this huge, and Natalie hadn't told me.
She knew I wanted a child.
Nick's voice droned on. "But Richard, you should probably worry—kids who needed progesterone shots sometimes have genetic defects..."
Progesterone shots.
Something slammed into my brain.
Natalie went to the hospital for progesterone shots? Why? Was something wrong with her?
A sharp, unfamiliar emotion crawled up my spine and wrapped around my throat.
Christ, what had I done? I'd abandoned my wife who needed those shots to play a PR charade with some irrelevant woman?
Was this guilt?
Hell, guilt wasn't in Richard Winston's vocabulary.
I hung up on Nick, grabbed my car keys, and bolted. David shouted something about "meetings" behind me. Screw the meetings. I needed to see Natalie. She owed me an explanation.
On the drive back to Blackwood Manor, I ran two red lights, sped the whole way, my head full of Natalie.
I thought about the last few times we'd had sex—how she'd refused, which wasn't like her. Had she known about the pregnancy? And last night when she said she had something important to tell me—was that it?
And I'd told her to wait.
The car slid through the estate gates as darkness fell. The grounds were quiet, only the porch lights on.
I slammed the car door and strode into the foyer.
What should I say to Natalie first? Damn it, I had no idea. Irritated, I threw my suit jacket on the sofa, yanked off my tie, and headed upstairs.
The master bedroom door was ajar, light spilling out. I pushed it open.
Natalie had her back to me, standing at the open closet door, folding clothes and placing them into an open suitcase at her feet.
"What are you doing?" I leaned against the doorframe, keeping my voice casual. "I don't recall us planning a honeymoon anytime soon."
Natalie seemed to just notice me. She placed that red lace nightgown—the one I'd made her change out of—into the suitcase before looking at me.
Her face looked terrible.
"We'll never have a honeymoon, Richard." Her voice was soft. I almost worried she'd collapse any second. "And if we did... it should be with you and Olivia. Or some other woman."
I couldn't believe she'd say that. The words just came out.
"You hid your pregnancy from me because of Olivia?"
The instant those words left my mouth, I regretted them. Wrong thing to say right now. Too much of a bastard move.
Then Natalie looked at me quietly, a mocking smile on her face, blue eyes fixed on mine.
"Richard, if you'd let me finish talking yesterday when you were screwing me in the dressing room, if you hadn't gone to your damn meetings when you got home last night, if you'd come to the hospital with me today... God, I didn't hide it from you. You never gave me a chance to tell you."
My throat moved. I wanted to argue but found I had nothing to say, because Natalie was right. Every word.
The guilt surged again, stronger this time, almost drowning me.
I looked away, down at her flat stomach beneath the blanket—where my child was growing. My heir.
Between Natalie and me, beyond the contract marriage and family interests, we finally had something truly inseparable.
"This..." I started again, my voice softer. "We can talk about this later. Right now, you need rest. I'll have Dr. Howard come, you need—"
"Not necessary."
Natalie cut me off.
She turned around, holding a manila envelope. The last of the evening light streamed through the window behind her, outlining her in hazy gold but leaving her face in shadow.
But those blue eyes were startlingly bright. No emotion in them, though, just a cold calm that made my chest tighten.
"This is the divorce agreement I had drawn up. Sign it, Richard." She held out the envelope. "I'm strictly following the prenup. I won't take a penny of Winston family assets."
I stared at that envelope like it might turn into a snake and strike.
"Natalie, this joke's gone too far. How can you talk about divorce?" I stepped closer, trying to regain control, but the tightness in my voice betrayed me. "Because of this afternoon? Because I didn't go to the hospital with you?"
I took a deep breath, forcing my tone to soften. The guilt from the drive home surfaced. "Look, Natalie, I'm sorry about today, but I swear it'll never happen again. Let me make it up to you and the baby, okay? I'll—"
"You're out of chances."
Natalie interrupted again. This time, she pulled a paper from the envelope and held it in front of me.
A medical document from Ethelred Hospital. Official seal and all.
Patient name: Natalie Winston.
Diagnosis: Eight weeks pregnant, insufficient progesterone, early miscarriage.
I stared at that paper, feeling all the blood in my body rush to my head, then freeze solid the next second.
"You..." I looked up at her eyes, searching for any sign she was lying, any hesitation, anything to prove this paper was fake. I found nothing.
"Richard," Natalie's voice stayed soft. "Let's stop torturing each other."
"Torturing?" That word finally ignited the anger I'd been suppressing, mixed with shock and a stabbing pain.
I grabbed her wrist. "When have we been torturing each other?
Natalie, we're married! If you think there's a problem with our marriage, we can fix it, but not with some goddamn divorce papers! "
Natalie tried to pull away, but I gripped harder. I wanted her to take it back—take back those words, that damn divorce agreement. But she lifted her face, looked me straight in the eye. No fear there, just a resolve that made my heart race.
"You never treated me like your wife." Natalie stopped struggling physically, but her words kept fighting.
"What am I to you? An asset that needs regular maintenance?
A pretty vase sitting in the Mrs. Winston spot?
You give me jewelry because Mrs. Winston should have it; you take me to galas because appearances matter; your occasional concern is because you think that's what husbands do! "
Natalie's breathing quickened, an excited flush rising on her pale face.
She'd never know how damn attractive she looked like this.
If she wasn't accusing me right now, if I hadn't just learned about losing the baby, I would've kissed her.
Natalie didn't know my thoughts. Her accusations continued.
"You won't even acknowledge our marriage publicly.
Everyone thinks Olivia should be Mrs. Winston, and you, you've never really denied it.
You enjoy the ambiguity, the choice, keeping me in a position where I can be compared, judged, and then telling me 'be good'! "
"It's not like that." God, was this how she saw me? Some heartless, arrogant bastard?
"Isn't it?" Natalie laughed coldly. "Then tell me, if Olivia had called you today, would you have left her alone at the hospital? Would you have abandoned her at a party, made her wear someone else's rejected dress, let everyone treat her like a joke?"
I opened my mouth. No sound came out.
Because I realized I couldn't answer that.
I'd apparently never considered these questions...
Natalie looked at me. The last light in those blue eyes went out.
"We'll have another child," I said. "If the baby was the trigger—"
"This has nothing to do with the baby." She stopped looking at me, bent down to zip the suitcase, her voice utterly exhausted. "Sign the papers, Richard. I'm tired of playing house. I'm done."
"Natalie!"
I stepped forward and grabbed her wrist.
"Natalie, listen." I lowered my voice, each word forced through clenched teeth. "I admit, I didn't... do well enough before. But divorce? You think this is a game? Our families are tied together. Your father's company gets half its orders from Winston—"
"So what?" Natalie looked up at me. "So you're threatening me? 'Come back and be Mrs. Winston, or I'll bankrupt your father'?"
This time, she yanked her hand free, the force surprising me.
"Let him go bankrupt then." She said it without hesitation. "He got a good price for me when I married you. Now I don't owe him anything. And I sure as hell don't owe you."
God, she'd throw everything away just to divorce me?
"Where will you go?" My voice was strained.
"That's not your concern anymore." Natalie opened the door. Walking past me, she didn't even glance my way. "Sign quickly. It's better for both of us."
Light from the hallway illuminated her profile, outlining her in soft white. In that moment, she was breathtakingly beautiful, but suddenly she felt impossibly far away.
After Natalie left, the bedroom held only my ragged breathing and the rising wind outside.
I don't know how long I stood there before slowly walking to the window.
Below, Natalie's small figure loaded the suitcase into a taxi's trunk. Maybe because she was weak from the miscarriage, she stumbled slightly. My heart clenched. I was about to turn and go after her.
But she got in the car decisively, without a backward glance.
Door closed. The yellow taxi drove through the estate gates and vanished into the dusk.
Joseph appeared in the doorway. "Sir, should we have someone follow Mrs. Winston?"
"No need." I stared at where the taxi disappeared, my mind clearing, my voice calm again.
I said with certainty, "She's just being impulsive. Without me, she won't last three days."
Three days.
I'd give her three days.
When she missed the manor's soft beds, missed the dizzying haute couture in her closet, missed all the convenience and prestige the Mrs. Winston title brought—
She'd come back.
And then we'd talk properly. We'd have another child.
With that thought, I turned around, tore the divorce agreement in half, and threw it in the corner trash can.
Everything would get back on track.
I told myself.
This was just my wife having a little tantrum. Running away for a bit.
No big deal.
So why did my chest feel so empty, like someone had carved out a piece?
Damn it.
Must be because I skipped dinner.