Chapter 9
Chapter Nine
Natalie
Oh God, what did I just do?
I slapped Richard.
This had to be the first time in Richard's thirty-five years someone dared raise a hand to him.
Natalie! You've really outdone yourself this time!
My hand hung suspended in midair, stinging like hell. Richard's head was turned to the side, a clear red handprint blooming across his left cheek. His jawline looked carved from stone, and I could see the muscle near his jaw twitching as he ground his teeth.
Then Richard turned back. Slowly. Deliberately. Those gray-blue eyes locked onto me like a frozen lake before a blizzard—smooth as glass on the surface, churning with violence underneath.
I knew that look.
The last time I'd seen it was a year ago.
Back when I was still drunk on love, constantly showing up at Winston Group with homemade lunches.
That day, outside a conference room, I watched a business partner's face turn crimson.
The deal had collapsed, and in a rage, the man had dumped a cup of scalding coffee all over Richard's custom suit.
The liquid ran down the expensive wool fabric.
The entire conference room went dead silent.
Richard didn't even wipe it off. He just said, very calmly, "Jamie, I don't think we can continue this conversation today."
By the next morning, Jamie's company had exploded with financial scandals and regulatory violations. Stock price crashed. Banks pulled their loans. Overnight bankruptcy. Richard destroyed Jamie's company and his family.
Now, Richard's tongue pressed against the inside of his cheek where I'd hit him, and he gave me that same cold stare.
Fear crawled up my spine. I opened my mouth, trying to find words. Something like "We're getting divorced anyway, you had no right to force that kiss." But under that gaze, I couldn't speak.
Just as I was about to suffocate under his stare, Richard finally spoke. His voice was flat. "Ten o'clock tomorrow. The divorce papers will be delivered to your apartment." Then he turned and walked in the opposite direction from where I'd come.
Only after he vanished completely did I collapse to the floor, like someone had yanked out my skeleton.
Richard was signing the divorce papers. Wasn't this exactly what I wanted? I should be happy. But there wasn't an ounce of relief in my chest.
I forced myself up and stumbled to the small bathroom sink. I turned on the faucet and splashed ice-cold water on my face. When I looked up, the woman in the mirror had red-rimmed eyes and swollen lips—Richard's handiwork.
I left Mustang. Los Angeles's cool night air hit my face. I flagged a taxi and gave the driver the address for Winslow Apartments. Outside the window, the city lights streaked past in a blur of color. Usually I'd appreciate the view, but now I couldn't see anything.
Back at the apartment, I tossed and turned all night. Every time I closed my eyes, there was Richard's final look.
I'd slapped Richard, and he was just... giving me the divorce I wanted? Richard never made a bad deal. God, I was certain he'd collect what I owed him, with interest.
Dawn was breaking when I finally dozed off.
The doorbell rang at exactly ten o'clock. I jolted awake. It was David, holding a thick manila envelope.
"Miss Green." That's what he called me now.
"Mr. Winston asked me to deliver this. It contains all the divorce documents. He's already signed."
I took the envelope, and David left.
I'd barely closed the door and hadn't even opened the envelope when my phone rang. My father.
The phone rang for a while before I took a deep breath and answered.
"Natalie!" My father's agitated voice came through. "Why did Winston Group suddenly pull all the funding Green Technology needed? What the hell is going on? Did something happen between you and Richard?"
Too many things had happened between Richard and me.
"Natalie? Answer me!" My father's tone sharpened.
"Did you throw another tantrum? I've told you a thousand times—a man like Richard being busy with his career is normal!
You need to be understanding and considerate!
Did you do something wrong? Did you upset him?
Go apologize right now and smooth things over!
Green Technology is counting entirely on the Winston partnership.
We can't afford any problems with the funding!
Do you have any idea how many people's livelihoods are at stake? !"
Apologize to Richard? Smooth things over? If this was before that slap, maybe I would've wavered. But now, I wasn't going to give Richard the satisfaction of punishing me.
I tried to speak calmly. "Dad, Richard and I are over."
"What do you mean over?!" My father's voice shot up, stabbing through the receiver.
"Natalie! Stop being so difficult! So rebellious!
Do you have any idea what I sacrificed to secure this marriage for you?
The Winston family! That's a threshold most people would kill to even approach!
And now you're saying it's over? Are you still hung up on that ridiculous singing dream?
Let me tell you something—that's all fantasy!
Marrying Richard, being Mrs. Winston—that's the path you should take! That's what helps this family!"
There it was again. My dreams were ridiculous. My feelings were childish. My life's value was measured by how much I helped the family.
A cold fury, mixed with years of suppressed hurt, surged up.
"Is that right?" I cut him off, my voice surprisingly steady. "If marrying Richard and being Mrs. Winston is what's best for the family, then why didn't you have Michael do it?"
Michael. My spoiled half-brother from a different mother. My father's precious boy. Green Technology's future heir.
"You... what did you just say?" My father's voice trembled. I couldn't tell if it was from shock or rage.
"I said," I enunciated each word clearly, "if the family needs Winston's help so badly, if this marriage is so important, then let Michael—the capable, responsible one who actually contributes to the family—go negotiate with Richard and secure funding.
See if Richard wants him! Or maybe Michael could find himself a rich girl from that social class and marry into her family.
If you need contact information, I'd be happy to provide it! "
"Natalie! You're being selfish! Arrogant! I found you Richard, such a perfect match, and instead of thanking me, you break my heart like this! I'm so disappointed in you!"
"Then be disappointed." I hung up.
The phone stayed silent for maybe ten seconds before it started vibrating like crazy.
Messages flooded in. All from my father.
"Natalie, you've broken my heart! I've sacrificed so much for you!"
"Apologize to Richard immediately! Save this relationship!"
"How can you be so selfish? This affects the entire company!"
"Your brother is a man, he can't... what kind of insane talk is that?"
"I'm ordering you to fix this right now!"
I stared coldly at the screen as the accusatory messages kept coming.
This was my father. To him, I'd always been just an object—something to take orders and generate value for him.
I grabbed my phone and typed forcefully.
"Got it."
After I hit send, the world finally went quiet.
Dad probably thought this was my usual signal before giving in, that I'd go back to playing the obedient, useful daughter.
But not this time, Dad.
In the apartment's silence, there was only my breathing and the faint white noise of the city outside.
I need to leave. The thought had never been clearer.
Leave Los Angeles. Leave my father's control.
More importantly, I absolutely could not let my father or Richard know about the pregnancy. Otherwise, this child's future might be just like mine—a tool for the family's profit. I would never allow that to happen.
Then I remembered an email from a few days ago.
It was from an agent named Emma at Harbor Records. Her tone had been earnest, almost overly enthusiastic. She said my voice had the gritty texture of a lost golden era, and if I was willing to sign, any terms were negotiable. At the end, she'd included her personal number.
At the time, I thought it was a joke. Any terms? It sounded too good to be true, so I'd ignored it.
But now it was my best chance to leave Los Angeles without being found.
I opened my laptop, found the email, and dialed.
The phone rang once before a bright, laughing voice answered. "Hello! This is Emma!"
"Hey, Emma, this is Natalie Green." I greeted her politely.
"Natalie!" Her voice exploded with excitement. Background music faded as she apparently turned it down. "Oh my God, you're calling back! This is fantastic! I saw your performance at Mustang—your voice, honey, it's like an undiscovered gem! Can we talk? Is now a good time?"
Her enthusiasm hit like a whirlwind. I steadied myself and didn't waste time. "Now works. Let's talk terms, Emma."
"Absolutely! I love someone who gets straight to business!
" Emma laughed, her words tumbling out rapidly.
"We're not the biggest label in Las Vegas, but our resources are sharp, and I can say with confidence—we know how to appreciate uniqueness!
For revenue splits, the industry standard for new artists is 70-30, but we believe in you, so we can do 60-40; you get forty, the company gets sixty.
All recording, rehearsal, promotion, and distribution costs are covered by us!
That's a genuinely generous starting package! "
60-40, compared to three hundred dollars a night at Mustang—if I could get steady performance opportunities and promotion, this was a massive step up.
But money wasn't my biggest concern right now.
"The split works for me, but I have one non-negotiable condition."
"Tell me! I said any terms are on the table!" Her tone stayed eager.
"I won't show my face. No performances, no promotion, no social media—nothing with my full face visible. You can use silhouettes, masks, backlighting, whatever doesn't reveal my actual appearance. I work with my voice only."
Silence on the other end. I could imagine her processing this, rapidly calculating. A faceless singer? In Las Vegas, a city built on visual spectacle and personal charisma? This practically challenged industry rules.
"No face..." Emma repeated. "Natalie, I get that artists might have privacy concerns, but your stage presence and voice work together. The magnetism I saw at that show was incredible—hiding it would be a shame. This would make promotion much harder and cost you opportunities. Are you sure?"
"I'm sure." My answer was firm. "This is my only condition for signing."
Another silence, longer this time.
I understood. She was evaluating whether a masked singer had market value, weighing whether my voice was special enough to overcome the massive disadvantage of anonymity.
After what felt like forever, Emma spoke again.
"Okay. I'll agree. The mystery of not showing your face could actually be a selling point.
But Natalie," her tone turned serious, "your performance has to carry everything.
The contract will specify that you must fully cooperate with vocal training, recording, and scheduled performances and promotional activities. "
"I promise." I didn't hesitate. "When can I see the contract?"
"I can email you the electronic version in ten minutes!
" Emma's efficiency was startling. "Once you review it and it looks good, we need to sign in person.
When can you get to Las Vegas? The sooner the better!
We can get you familiar with the environment, meet the band, and if things go smoothly, I can lock down your first warm-up show within two weeks!
At the New Moon Theater's small venue—it's a great starting point! "
I gripped the phone, looking around this cramped, sparse apartment I'd briefly inhabited, at the manila envelope containing divorce papers, and took a deep breath.
"I'll buy a ticket right now," I told Emma.
After hanging up, my gaze drifted to the window. Rain was falling over Los Angeles. The sky was overcast.
And I was about to break through those clouds.