Chapter 25
Chapter Twenty-Five
Natalie
I didn't expect to see Olivia at Blackwood Manor.
I'd been about to nap when the baby started doing gymnastics, so I decided to head downstairs to the glass conservatory for some air. Six months pregnant, I moved at sloth speed.
Passing through the main hall, I caught voices from the front entrance. Joseph and the maids were never around at this hour. Curious, I turned toward the sound.
That's when I saw Olivia.
She wore a crisp white suit and pearl earrings, standing beneath that massive Impressionist painting in the foyer, head tilted slightly as she spoke to Joseph.
He bent forward, respectful, almost familiar.
Had Olivia been here before? At least this was my first time seeing her at Blackwood Manor.
But then again, she and Richard were college friends—why wouldn't she have been here?
"Natalie?" Olivia spotted me first. A perfect social smile bloomed on her face as she walked over, eyes dropping to my swollen belly. "I'm here to pick up an urgent document for Richard. Hope I'm not disturbing your rest."
"Miss Carter." I nodded, glancing at the folder in her hands. "I thought David handled these things." God, I surprised myself with how calm I sounded.
Honestly, it felt terrible.
But standing in this manor, especially while staying by Richard's side, facing someone I despised, I managed to maintain some courtesy, as if the champagne incident had never happened.
"David's stuck in traffic. I was in the area, so I came to grab this rush contract for Richard." She explained, then turned to Joseph with easy familiarity. "That '90 Margaux Richard keeps in the wine cellar—he can use it for the next business dinner. He mentioned Mr. Eisenberg likes it."
Joseph nodded. "Of course, Miss Carter. I'll make a note."
Olivia didn't just know what documents Richard needed urgently—she clearly knew his safe combination, what was in his wine cellar, and when to serve it. Her ease here made me uncomfortable, as if she were the lady of the house.
A maid needed something, and Joseph stepped away.
"You're looking well, Natalie." Olivia's attention returned to me, scanning my face, my loose maternity dress, my swollen feet in house slippers.
"Pregnancy must be exhausting. Richard always says you need rest, so we've all tried not to intrude.
" With those words, she drew a circle, and I stood outside it.
She tilted her head. Her necklace caught the light. That necklace—platinum chain with a pigeon blood ruby, cushion cut, rare, surrounded by diamonds—my gaze locked onto it.
I knew that necklace.
Last spring, Richard attended a Christie's jewelry auction. He came home late that night. When I asked what he'd bought, he said "a necklace." I asked what kind, and he showed me a photo on his phone. I'd said, "It's beautiful. The ruby looks like frozen blood. Is it for me?"
Richard had agreed. But later he said he'd already given it away.
I thought he meant given it away. To some business partner's wife, or some family matriarch who needed courting. That was normal in high society—jewelry as social currency, circulating faster than cash.
I didn't think twice about it.
Now it hung around Olivia's neck.
The thing I'd loved, Richard had given to another woman.
"Like it?" She noticed my stare, fingers touching the ruby. "Richard gave it to me last year. Said the moment he saw it, he knew it was perfect for me. Richard's taste is impeccable. Though his taste in wives could use work."
My fingers dug into the sofa armrest, nails leaving crescent marks in the soft leather. "Olivia, if you're trying to make me jealous, save it. Plenty of women in Los Angeles envy me already."
Olivia clearly hadn't expected that response.
She paused, but her smile deepened. "Envy you for what?
Natalie, he only wants to conquer you. Understand?
Because you keep trying to run. But if you stop running, Richard will just find you boring and treat you like he always did.
You think a baby will make Richard devoted to you?
Natalie, plenty of women in this world can give Richard children. You think you're the only one?"
"So what?" I stepped forward. Despite my belly, I straightened my spine, looking her dead in the eye.
"So you come to my and Richard's home and throw shade at me, the lady of the house, just to imply you're better suited for Richard?
Olivia, give it a rest. Because right now, I'm the one living here.
I'm carrying his child. And you—" I laughed coldly, sweeping my gaze over her perfect hair and expensive suit.
"Whatever rapport or history you two have, right now you're just an assistant who runs errands to pick up documents when he needs them. "
My words hit home. Olivia's perfect mask finally cracked, her eyes going cold.
"Natalie, I really didn't expect you to be so sharp-tongued.
But you're right about one thing—Richard and I have history.
If it weren't for you, we'd be married by now.
I don't like you simply because you came between Richard and me.
As the other woman, you have no right to talk to me like this.
And as the Green family's little princess, you're not even qualified to meet with me. "
"Why are you still here?"
Richard's voice came from behind us.
Olivia and I both turned. Richard stood at the foyer entrance, looking displeased, clearly having rushed back—his suit jacket unbuttoned. His gaze swept sharply over Olivia with undisguised displeasure, then quickly landed on my pale face.
He was obviously talking to Olivia. His voice was ice.
Olivia raised the folder. "Just took some time finding the document. I was about to leave when I ran into Natalie. We were just chatting."
Richard's brow furrowed. He looked at me, then at Olivia. "Give me the file. You can go." He held out his hand, his tone absolute.
Olivia obediently handed over the folder, still wearing that polished smile. "All right, I'll head back to the office. For the follow-up—"
"Get out." Richard cut her off. His voice wasn't loud, but the chill in it dropped the temperature several degrees.
Olivia's smile finally froze. She pressed her lips together, said nothing more, gave Richard a slight nod, glanced at me with an indecipherable look, then turned and left.
Only Richard and I remained in the foyer. The air felt thick. All I could hear was my own breathing, quick from agitation.
Richard held the folder, striding toward me. "Natalie, what did you and Olivia talk about?"
"Nothing. She came to get documents, didn't she?" I cut him off, turning toward the stairs. "I'm tired. I'm going to rest."
I surprised myself with how flat I sounded.
But I genuinely had no energy to argue with Richard anymore.
What was there to argue about? Olivia's words were factual.
That necklace was proof. I'd been a fool, softening because Richard showed me a shred of tenderness, only to learn now he'd given most of his tenderness to someone else.
"Natalie!" Richard called from behind, his voice edged with suppressed frustration.
I didn't turn around. I walked straight to the master bedroom and locked the door. Leaning against the cold wood, I finally let myself shake, tears flooding out without warning. I covered my mouth to keep silent and slid down onto the carpet.
His footsteps stopped outside.
"Natalie, open the door. We need to talk."
I buried my face in my knees, motionless.
Richard and I had nothing to talk about.
The knocking lasted a while, then stopped.
Then I heard him on the phone. "I know. The document's been sent over. I'll be there in time to sign."
He hung up. Richard's voice came again.
"Natalie, I have urgent business. When I get back, we'll talk properly."
Richard left. That crack in the ice wall around my heart—the one warmed open by a hint of tenderness—froze over again in that moment, faster and thicker than before, now topped with barbed wire.
I struggled up from the floor and went to the bathroom, splashing cold water on my face. Looking at myself in the mirror—red, swollen eyes, ghostly pale skin, my face bloated and strange from pregnancy—a sharp wave of self-loathing surged up.
How did I let myself become this?
That evening, I forced down a few bites of the dinner a maid brought up.
It tasted like nothing. I was about to turn in early when Joseph's apologetic voice came from outside.
"Madam, Mr. Green and Mr. Michael Green are here.
They insist on seeing you. I told them you were resting, but they won't leave. They're downstairs in the parlor now."
My father and Michael? What did they want? Since Richard and I had reconciled—if you could call it that—and returned to Los Angeles, they'd called a few times asking if Richard would resume supporting the Green Group. I'd brushed them off, and they'd stopped calling. Why show up now?
"Tell them I'm asleep. Please ask them to leave." I had neither the energy nor the mood to deal with them.
"We're already up here, Natalie. What kind of behavior is this?" My father's voice came down the hallway along with footsteps, utterly unapologetic. Joseph's low attempts at stopping them were ignored.
I closed the bedroom door, but soon it was being pounded.
"Natalie! Open up! I know you're in there!"
I shut my eyes, knowing I couldn't avoid this. I opened the door but blocked the entrance, not inviting them in. "What do you want? I'm not feeling well. Maybe we can talk tomorrow."
My father Robert looked older than the last time I'd seen him, brow furrowed, his face showing his usual undisguised impatience with me. My half-brother Michael looked for a few seconds, then dropped his gaze. Since his mother died, Michael had always acted like this—timid, withdrawn.
"Not feeling well? Looks to me like you're living large here, comfortable as can be!" Robert sneered, scanning the luxurious master bedroom behind me. "Meanwhile, your brother and I are about to end up on the street!"
"What happened now?"
"What happened? You have the nerve to ask!
" Robert's voice shot up, spittle nearly hitting my face.
"Ever since you threw your tantrum and ran off, every deal we had with Winston Group got suspended!
Suppliers demanding payment, banks refusing to extend loans, multiple projects dead!
Green Group is a hollow shell now! All because of you, because you pissed off Richard! "
"You're the one who pissed him off." I finally snapped, all my suppressed emotions finding an outlet and ricocheting back.
"You and Michael. You used my relationship with him, grabbed what you could without restraint, and pursued projects way beyond the company's capacity!
You got greedy, overextended yourselves, and now the money's dried up—and you blame me?
Who forced me to marry him in the first place? Wasn't it for your business?"
"You!" Robert clearly hadn't expected such a fierce comeback. His face flushed red, finger jabbing at me. "If I hadn't made you marry him, would you have what you have today? Would you be living in a place like this? Would you be carrying a Winston baby? Ungrateful wretch!"
I laughed bitterly. But tears welled up anyway.
"Why should I be grateful?" I demanded. "Grateful that you remarried less than a month after Mom died?
Grateful that you treated me like I was invisible once you had a new son, like I was a burden, an embarrassment?
Grateful that when I slit my wrists at fourteen, you called me a disgrace who only caused trouble? !"
I jerked up my left hand, exposing the twisted scar on my inner wrist.
That scar came from a summer when I was fourteen. After being ignored, belittled, and ganged up on by my stepmother and brother, I'd taken a shard of porcelain into the bathroom and left my mark.
Robert and Michael both paled at the sight. A flicker of panic crossed Robert's eyes, quickly replaced by deeper anger. "Why bring up ancient history! What kid doesn't have a rebellious phase! You're fine now, aren't you?"
"Yeah. I survived." I dropped my sleeve over the scar, my voice shaking.
"I left that house. I sang for money, penny by penny, to stay alive.
I finally had a little life of my own...
and then what? You called me back. You guilt-tripped me with family obligation and fatherly love.
You packaged me up like merchandise and shoved me at Richard, all to get his money and connections to plug the holes you and Michael created!
Now the hole's bigger, so you come back to me and blame me for everything!
Robert Green, do you deserve to be called a father? "
"Shut up!" Robert exploded, eyes bloodshot. He raised his hand, and before I could react—
Crack!
A vicious slap landed on my left cheek.
Searing pain exploded. My ears rang. Half my face went numb. I tasted iron. The blow knocked me back a step, into the doorframe. My vision went black. A sharp, contracting pain shot through my lower abdomen.
"Dad!" Michael seemed startled, reaching out but not daring to intervene.
But Robert wasn't satisfied. His other hand rose, coming down harder.
That hand froze mid-air, caught in a stronger grip, knuckles white.
"Robert."
Richard's voice came from above me, laced with a kind of controlled violence I'd never heard before.
"You're in my house. Touching my wife. How fucking dare you?"