Chapter 2
Chapter Two
Richard
I rarely got this irritated.
Natalie hadn't answered my messages in three hours. During that time, I'd checked my phone more than I usually did in an entire day.
This wasn't normal. Even during our most perfunctory exchanges, she always replied within minutes, even if it was just "okay."
I tried calling her. The phone rang four times before switching to voicemail.
Just as the automated voice prompted me to leave a message, the hospital room door swung open. Olivia emerged, steadying herself against the doorframe. Her face was still pale, but she looked considerably better.
"Sorry, Richard. Didn't mean to keep you waiting." Her voice carried weakness and apology. "I feel terrible that you had to come all the way to the hospital to pick me up."
My attention snapped back to the present.
"It's fine." I killed the screen and slipped my phone back into my coat pocket, my tone resuming its usual steadiness. "We scheduled you to lead the meeting before I left for Zurich. You can't miss it. Besides, I needed to swing by the office for a file anyway. You're on the way."
It was true. The Carter family—Olivia's family—was crucial to our European expansion.
She herself was the primary point of contact for the project.
Whether professionally or personally, checking on her while she was stuck in LA and bringing her to the prep meeting was the most efficient arrangement.
I would have done the same for any business partner in her position.
"Let's go. Car's downstairs." I gestured toward the elevator.
Olivia followed, her heels clicking crisply in the quiet corridor. As we reached the elevator, she spoke softly. "Earlier... what Nick and I said. You're not bothered by it, are you?"
I glanced at her.
She kept her eyes down, discomfort flickering across her face. "He's always made those kinds of jokes. College till now—never changed. I just went along with it. Figured if I did, he'd finally drop all that ancient history."
She paused, meeting my eyes. "So... does it bother you?"
"No." I pressed the elevator button. "I know what Nick's like."
And I did. I couldn't care less about those so-called bets or jokes. Besides, I barely talked when drunk. I was more inclined to believe Nick had made the whole thing up.
More to the point, Natalie was my wife. For two years, she'd done well. Even if I had said those things while drunk, I would never sleep with another woman over some idiotic bet.
After marriage, I owed my wife emotional and physical loyalty.
Ten hours later, the private jet touched down. The moment the cabin door opened, I reconnected to the network. The screen lit up. Still no new messages from Natalie. Only a few emails from my assistant about schedules and work confirmations.
An inexplicable restlessness took over. I dialed Blackwood Manor directly.
Joseph answered.
"Sir."
"What's Natalie doing today?" I cut to the chase.
"Madam hasn't been feeling well these past couple days. This morning she went to Ethelred Hospital. Alone."
Ethelred Hospital? My heartbeat skipped.
"Results back yet?"
"When Madam returned, she said it was just a common cold. She was tired and needed rest. This afternoon, I had Dr. Howard come by. He prescribed some gentle supplements and calming herbal tea." Joseph paused. "Madam instructed us not to disturb your work."
A cold.
So she hadn't replied because she wasn't feeling well.
But the explanation didn't sit right. Instead, an unfamiliar anger rose in my chest.
She was sick and hadn't told me.
As her husband, I should have been the first to know about her health. That was a basic right. My responsibility. Her silence—what did it mean? That she didn't see me as someone to rely on? Or that she thought I didn't care?
Either way, it infuriated me.
Natalie had always been a perfect wife. Beautiful, appropriate, never overstepping. I told her what to wear, she wore it. I told her which events to attend, she attended. I told her to stay quiet, she stayed quiet. Like a piece of art I'd sculpted myself.
I was satisfied with that arrangement. Satisfied with her. So why was she disrupting the balance?
I rubbed my temples. Maybe... she was just throwing a tantrum. Women had these inexplicable moods. Maybe I'd been too busy lately. Neglected her. Maybe she just needed attention.
Fine. If that's what she wanted.
"Got it." I ended the call and turned to my assistant, who was organizing files. "David, compress my one-week schedule into three days. Three days from now, I'm going back to LA."
David clearly froze.
His reaction irritated me. "Problem?"
David snapped out of it, shaking his head. "Sorry, sir. I'll rearrange everything."
Olivia looked over. "Richard? Something wrong? Emergency in LA?"
"Natalie's sick." My answer was brief.
"She can see a family doctor. Or go to the best hospital." Olivia's tone was purely factual. "But the meeting with Fitzroy is critical. You can't just phone it in..."
"You think I'd half-ass this meeting?" I cut her off, focusing on the rapidly adjusted timeline. "Besides, I pay my team well—not so they just follow orders. The important meetings won't last a week. My staff can handle the tedious follow-ups themselves."
As for why Natalie had hidden her illness from me—I'd find out when I got back.
Three days later, all my necessary work finally wrapped up under intense pressure.
After the private jet landed in LA, I had the driver detour to Wilshire Boulevard. Last week I'd won an antique necklace at auction. It had been stored there ever since.
The first time I'd seen that necklace, I'd thought of Natalie's eyes—that clear blue with a hint of innocence. She always lit up when she got gifts, her eyes brightening before she smiled that obedient smile.
Spending money to make her happy—couldn't be easier.
The car passed through Blackwood Manor's iron gates just after midnight. Palm tree shadows pressed against both sides of the driveway, tall and silent.
The main house blazed with light—but those were the servants' quarters and hallway lights. The second-floor master bedroom window was dark. Natalie had probably gone to bed.
But when I pushed open the bedroom door, I found Natalie lying on the bed, her back to the door.
She wore a silk nightgown I'd never seen before—vivid crimson red. Thin straps. A vast expanse of smooth bare skin under the warm light. Damp blonde hair scattered across her shoulders. She was barefoot, absorbed in the tablet in front of her.
The bedroom was quiet. The central AC hummed softly. White mist rose from the humidifier. The air carried the scent of her usual body wash—rose. That fragrance made my pants tighten.
She hadn't noticed me. So I stood in the doorway and stared unabashedly. Watched her shoulder blades rise and fall with each breath. Watched that thin red strap hang loose from her shoulder, barely there.
God, I wanted to strip her naked right now.
I'd seen her in haute couture gowns at galas. Seen her drowsy and languid at dawn. But I'd never seen her like this—vivid and alive, like a fire burning quietly in the dark.
After that brief moment of being stunned, displeasure crept in—Natalie had violated my rules. Bought this kind of seductive clothing.
I gripped the jewelry box tighter and moved silently around the foot of the bed to her side. I bent down and grabbed her ankle.
Natalie jolted violently, like she'd been electrocuted.
"Ah—" She whipped around, her blue eyes full of shock and panic.
"Richard?" She tried to pull her foot back, but my fingers tightened. She couldn't move. Her ankle was so slender I could circle it with one hand. "Why are you back early?"
"Joseph said you were sick." My fingers traced her ankle. Her skin was cool. Temperature normal.
My gaze swept across her face. Flushed cheeks, bright eyes—no sign of illness.
"Cold's gone?"
"Already better," she tugged again. "Did your work go well?"
Her tone was stiff. Obviously deflecting. I knew her too well. I released her ankle and placed the navy velvet jewelry box on the sheet beside her hand.
"For you."
She looked at the box but didn't touch it. Her face showed none of the delight I'd anticipated. Instead, she gave me a pointed look. The reaction fed my growing irritation.
"I believe I've said," my voice dropped lower, "these loud colors—these immodest clothes—they don't suit your position. They should be thrown out."
She was silent for two seconds, then turned her face away. "I like it. So I bought it."
My jaw tensed. My eyes darkened. Natalie had never contradicted me this directly before.
Anger flared. But before the anger, something more primal surged. The red dress made her skin look blindingly white. Her lazy posture gave me an unobstructed view of her curves. Though I'd seen her naked countless times, I had to admit—this Natalie was more tempting than ever.
This was completely different from the usual "Mrs. Winston" who sat quietly at the breakfast table in cream turtleneck cashmere. But that was my wife. That was the Natalie I knew—the one I could control.
"Go change." My tone left no room for argument. "Now."
She looked at me for several seconds.
Those seconds felt like centuries.
Then, slowly, she climbed off the bed. The red silk slipped from her shoulder with a soft rustle. She stepped barefoot onto the carpet—toes first, then the whole sole—grabbed the cream robe draped nearby, and walked toward the bathroom. Didn't glance at the jewelry box once.
The bathroom door closed. Light flickered on behind the frosted glass. Only a blurred shadow moving.
I stood there, staring at that door with burning eyes.
Her scent still lingered in the air. The sheets held the impression where she'd lain. A few blonde strands on the pillow. That red silhouette still blazed in my mind.
Minutes later, the door opened. Natalie emerged.
The cream robe covered her to the neck, tied neatly at the waist, the two ends hanging at identical lengths. Eyes downcast, she passed by me, lifted the corner of the covers, slid in, and turned her back to me.
I stared at the exposed nape of her neck. She probably wanted to fake sleep, but her acting was terrible. So I asked. "Why didn't you tell me you were sick?"
Natalie's head stayed still. "Didn't think it was necessary."
"Whether it's necessary is my call."
I braced my arm beside her. The mattress dipped.
"Look at me." My tone was a command.
Natalie's lashes fluttered twice, then opened. "Richard, I'm exhausted today." Her voice was faint. "Can we talk about this tomorrow?"
She didn't wait for my answer before rolling over again.
I closed my eyes—the vivid, striking figure in red, and this restrained, quiet figure in white. Which one was really her?
The question gnawed at me.
I stopped talking. Instead, I gripped her shoulder firmly, forcing her to face me again. Then I bit down hard on her lower lip, sucking almost violently, my tongue forcing past her teeth, invading, sweeping, claiming her mouth.
I felt her surprise. But quickly, she melted into the kiss.
My fingertips traced down her spine, pressed into the small of her back, pulled her hard against me until there was no space between us. Natalie's soft body pressed tight. Even through fabric, her soft, warm breasts nearly burned me.
I wasn't satisfied with just a kiss.
So I moved from her lips, along her jaw, biting my way down to her neck, my tongue trailing across her chest.
She let out a soft sound, tilting her head back, exposing more of her throat. "Richard..."
Without question, I loved it when Natalie said my name like this.
My palm slid from her lower back downward, delving deeper, kneading the full softness of her flesh.
My breathing grew ragged. I bit her earlobe, my voice rough with panting. "Natalie..."
She didn't speak. Her skin burned. Her breathing scattered. She went soft all over, but she didn't push me away.
Good. Obedient.
This was my Natalie.