Chapter 10
Chapter Ten
Richard
The red mark on my left cheek had vanished without a trace, like nothing ever happened.
Five days since I'd sent Natalie the divorce papers, and now I was counting days like some kind of idiot.
I woke up staring at the ceiling for a full minute before admitting it—I wasn't used to her absence. That realization pissed me off more than her slap ever could.
I rubbed my temples and got up, walked into the closet.
Natalie's clothes were gone. Just my suits, shirts, ties.
Usually around this time, she'd stumble in, rubbing her eyes, mumbling, "Board meeting today, the navy pinstripe with the gray tie," or "Dinner?
Try the new velvet jacket—it'll make you look less like a walking balance sheet.
" Then she'd stand on her toes, fumbling to knot my tie.
God, her Windsor knots were always crooked.
Now Joseph did it. Perfect technique, but the collar always felt too tight.
At the table, coffee brewed exactly how I liked it, perfect temperature. But no one sat across from me taking tiny bites of toast, eyes still foggy from sleep.
Every corner of the estate reminded me she was gone. I opened our chat. Last message was mine, asking which hospital she was at. No reply from Natalie. Scrolling up, nothing but her eager texts.
Natalie: "Honey, I learned a new dish today. When are you coming home? I can make it for you."
Natalie: "You looked pale yesterday—is your stomach acting up again? I put your medicine in your suit pocket. Please remember to take it!"
Natalie: "The dress you sent fits perfectly, but next time could I wear something brighter to the gala... would that be okay?"
I used to think she talked too much. Now that she'd gone quiet, I felt like crawling out of my skin.
I typed something.
"If you're done throwing your tantrum..." Deleted.
Tried again. "About your father's company..." Deleted that too.
I shut off my phone. The dark screen reflected my clenched jaw.
I told myself: Richard, what's the rush?
You put enough pressure on her father. Green Group's finances were stretched thin as piano wire, ready to snap.
Old Green, that bastard who valued profit over everything, had probably screamed at Natalie a hundred times by now.
She wouldn't last much longer. She'd grown up pampered, accustomed to servants and unlimited credit cards.
What could one night of singing at Mustang earn her?
Enough for a single scarf from her old closet?
She'd learn soon enough. Outside my protection, outside the Winston name, the world was brutal.
This divorce stunt would end with her crying on my doorstep. Just a matter of time.
I kept telling myself that, trying to suppress the growing unease.
That evening, I attended some godforsaken charity gala at city hall, surrounded by fake smiles and flattery.
I went through the motions, calculating how soon I could escape.
Then I spotted old Green—Robert Green, my father-in-law.
He looked rough, even standing straight, anxiety written all over his face.
He saw me too, said something to whoever stood beside him, and headed over with his glass.
"Richard." He forced a smile. "Good evening. Didn't expect to see you here."
Honestly, Robert's bitterness was written across his face. If not for Natalie, we'd have zero contact. Robert should thank God that Natalie inherited most of her mother's genes.
Natalie... there I went thinking about her again.
"I know you and Natalie might have had some misunderstanding recently, but don't worry, I've already spoken to her..."
"You talked to her already?" I cut him off.
"That's right. Five days ago, I contacted Natalie. She realizes now how wrong it was to throw a tantrum with you..."
I didn't hear another word.
Five days ago, Robert had contacted Natalie. And she still hadn't reached out to me.
Even knowing her father's company was hanging by a thread, completely dependent on my goodwill, Natalie still wouldn't contact me.
Damn it.
This was spiraling completely out of control.
I set down my glass, my expression dark.
Robert probably thought he'd said something wrong. He watched me carefully. "Richard? Are you all right..."
I ignored him, cutting through the crowd and leaving the ballroom. I drove straight to Winslow Apartments.
The city streets blurred into streaks of light outside my window.
One thought consumed me. Find Natalie. Now. Screw waiting for her to cave. Whatever it took, I had to bind her to me.
The car stopped outside Winslow Apartments. I rushed upstairs—this dump didn't even have an elevator.
I found her door and knocked.
No answer.
I knocked again, harder.
"Natalie, open up. I know you're in there."
Still nothing.
Unease crept back in. I raised my hand again.
The door next to hers cracked open. An elderly woman with reading glasses and gray hair poked her head out. "Stop knocking! That girl left ages ago! Five nights ago, dragged her suitcase out in the middle of the night. Landlord's already listing it again!"
Five days ago.
The same night I gave her the divorce papers, she left?
Where did she go?
I turned and headed downstairs, my mind racing.
Gina... Gina would know.
The lights were on at Gina's apartment. I rang the bell. The door opened quickly. Gina stood there in pajamas, hair messy, her expression shifting from surprise to undisguised mockery.
"Wow, look who it is." She crossed her arms, blocking the doorway with no intention of letting me in. "Mr. Winston makes a late-night visit. I'm so honored, considering what a busy man you are..."
"Where's Natalie?" I had no patience for Gina's games.
"No idea."
I closed my eyes, my patience nearly gone. "Tell me, Gina. Last time I'm asking."
"I said I don't know," Gina rolled her eyes. "Richard, you signed divorce papers, right? Then have some self-awareness. Don't pull the husband card. You two have nothing to do with each other anymore. And stop bothering me. I've got an early shift at the hospital tomorrow." She slammed the door.
I suppressed the urge to rip it off its hinges. I went downstairs and called David from the street. "Use every resource. I want Natalie's travel records, purchases, phone logs for the past five days. I need to know where she is."
At three a.m., David called back.
"Mr. Winston, we found it. Miss Green used her personal credit card the night she received the divorce papers to buy a one-way ticket from Los Angeles to Las Vegas.
Airline records show she arrived. We also detected a brief call between her and a Vegas number—registered to Harbor Records in Las Vegas, contact name Emma.
No hotel check-ins yet, possibly using cash or someone else's ID. "
Las Vegas. What was she doing there? A record label... Christ, Natalie would rather fly across the desert to sing for scraps than be my Mrs. Winston? This was an unprecedented humiliation for me and the Winston family.
I should fly to Las Vegas immediately, find that godforsaken Harbor Records, drag Natalie out of some filthy rehearsal space, throw her over my shoulder, get her on a plane back to LA, back to Blackwood Manor, and lock her in the bedroom until she understood who was in charge.
The urge was so strong my temples throbbed.
But I didn't move.
I leaned back in my chair. Outside the office's massive windows, LA's lights blazed endlessly. I owned all this, but couldn't hold onto one woman walking away from me.
Maybe... I forced myself to think rationally. Maybe charging over there would only make things worse. Natalie was furious right now, like a small animal with all its quills raised. My presence, my dominance, would only make her resist harder, run farther.
Las Vegas wasn't some fairy tale. The music scene there was a cesspool. Her innocence and beauty... God, imagining other men looking at her with disgusting eyes made me want to kill someone. How long could Natalie last in that environment? A week? A month?
Once she learned how cruel reality was, she'd remember what I'd given her, remember Blackwood Manor's comfort and security.
Then I'd appear, and everything could return to normal.
Right. Strategic retreat. I knew when to push and when to pull back.
Over the next few days, I tried drowning myself in work.
Meetings, negotiations, financial reports, merger deals.
.. I packed my schedule, running like a machine.
But everyone felt the office's low pressure.
My temper was worse than ever, finding fault with everyone, tearing into people over minor mistakes.
David told me several board members were privately complaining, saying I'd come back from Paris like a powder keg ready to explode.
After a marathon meeting about Asian market expansion, several executives fled the conference room looking shell-shocked. I sat at the head of the table, loosening my tie, feeling exhausted and empty.
That's when the door opened. Olivia walked in holding a folder. "Richard, here's the South American market analysis you requested." She set it on the table but didn't leave immediately, her gaze falling on my loosened tie and furrowed brow.
"Are you all right? You haven't looked well lately."
"I'm fine." Short answer. I didn't want to deal with her.
"You don't look fine." She stepped closer, her heavy perfume wafting over.
"I heard about Natalie. She's actually playing disappearing act?
If you ask me, Natalie's being incredibly ungrateful.
You gave her everything most people dream of, and this is how she treats you.
Richard, someone like that isn't worth your worry. "
I said nothing, fingers drumming absently on the table.
Nobody knew about Natalie leaving except those investigating her whereabouts. Who told Olivia? Whoever it was could start packing.
Olivia walked to the bar and pulled out a bottle of my whiskey, pouring two half-glasses. Amber liquid swirled in crystal. She pushed one toward me.
"Have a drink. Relax." She raised her glass, eyes hazy in the light. "You should look forward, Richard. Sometimes the best things are right in front of you."
Jesus, I took back any previous assessment of Olivia's intelligence. Anyone with half a brain wouldn't say something so stupid.
I looked at Olivia's carefully made-up face, the undisguised interest in her eyes, and felt utterly weary.
I drained the glass. Liquor burned down my throat, bringing brief numbness.
Olivia refilled it, then started rambling about recent social circle gossip—who got married, who went bankrupt—her tone dripping with cheap sympathy and schadenfreude. Her voice buzzed in my ear like a mosquito, mixing with the alcohol, making me increasingly irritable.
"Enough." I cut her off, downing another glass, trying to drown the burning restlessness and... emptiness with alcohol.
I missed Natalie's scent, missed her body. I wanted her under me right now, wanted her gasping and begging, swearing she'd never leave me again.
"I just want to make you happy, Richard." Olivia's fingers brushed my hand. "You're exhausted. You need to relax, need someone with you. I can be that person."
The alcohol hit me. My vision blurred. Olivia's face swam in the light, dark hair, red lips.
.. she was undeniably beautiful, but another face overlapped hers in my mind, a face that captivated me with or without makeup, and the body I couldn't resist. I loved it when she looked at me with those blue eyes full of desire.
In those moments, I'd give her anything.
"Natalie..." I murmured unconsciously.
Olivia stiffened, but the next second she pressed closer, arms around my neck, warm breath on my ear. "Don't think about her. I'm here..."
Her kiss landed, aggressive and perfumed. But the instant our lips touched, I snapped awake—no, this was wrong. This wasn't Natalie!
I shoved Olivia hard. She stumbled back, crashing into the desk. "Richard, you..."
"Get out." My voice was hoarse, still drunk but ice-cold with fury.
"I was just..."
"Last warning, Olivia." I looked at her with zero warmth. "Don't test me. Now leave."
She bit her lip, embarrassment flashing in her eyes, even tears, but what did I care? Finally, Olivia grabbed her purse and click-clacked out on her heels.
The office fell silent again, thick with alcohol fumes and perfume, and my heavy breathing.
I pulled down the blinds, unbuckled my belt, and gripped what was rock-hard and ready to explode in my pants.
I imagined Natalie naked before me, imagined her cupping her breasts to my mouth, imagined her spreading her legs, begging me to fuck her hard. Natalie was always so tight—every thrust into her body made my scalp tingle with pleasure.
"Natalie..." I called her name over and over, my grip growing thicker, stroking faster, breathing harder.
This thing between Natalie and me was far from over.