Chapter 17
Chapter Seventeen
Natalie
Morning light squeezed through the blinds, landing right on my eyelids.
I groaned and buried my face in the pillow, then froze.
Richard's cologne. Mixed with the scent of last night's sex.
My body remembered everything in an instant.
His burning skin, brutal kisses, that familiar heaven-like sensation when we were tangled together.
.. I bolted upright. The other side of the bed was cold and smooth, as if last night's sex—intense enough to qualify as warfare—had been nothing but a hormone-induced fever dream.
I sat in the middle of the rumpled sheets. Tears rushed to my eyes without warning. I blinked them back hard.
God, I was such an idiot.
I'd actually thought sleeping together might change something. Thought that arrogant bastard Richard might turn into the kind of boyfriend who left good morning kisses. Two years of marriage should've taught me better. Richard Winston was ruthless.
I threw off the covers and got up, at least consoling myself that Richard was damn good in bed. Toys couldn't compete with the real thing.
After a quick wash, I changed into clean loungewear and headed toward the living room. A smell of food drifted over.
I followed it to the kitchen and couldn't believe what I was seeing.
Richard Winston stood at my counter. He'd shed last night's expensive coat and suit jacket, wearing only a soft charcoal cashmere sweater with the sleeves rolled to his elbows, exposing his muscular forearms. He had his back to me, frying eggs in my slightly sticky old pan, moving with surprising competence.
A paper bag sat on the counter nearby, fresh bread peeking out, along with two steaming cups of coffee.
Was I dreaming?
I pinched my thigh. Hard. The pain made me gasp.
Richard heard me and turned, still holding the spatula. He looked at me and jerked his chin. "Go sit. Three minutes."
I opened my mouth. Nothing came out. The scene was too surreal.
Two years married to Richard, and I hadn't known he could cook?
"You..." I finally found my voice, dry as sandpaper. "How did you get in?"
My fridge had been empty. Richard's ingredients were obviously bought from outside, so...
"After you fell asleep last night, I had someone install a new fingerprint lock. My print's already in the system. You should add yours later."
Richard spoke while smoothly sliding the eggs onto a plate, turning off the heat, then leaning casually against the counter. Like he owned the place.
"This is my apartment, and you just changed my lock!" I couldn't believe his nerve.
"Obviously, the old lock was outdated. Poor security." He picked up both plates and walked to the small dining table. "Eat breakfast. You need protein."
I stared at the carefully plated eggs, toast, and tomato slices, then at his shameless face. Anger mixed with absurdity rose in me. "I don't need you deciding what I need! And I definitely don't need you breaking in and changing my locks! Richard, that's invasion of privacy, that's..."
"That's me making sure you don't lock me out again.
" He cut me off, pulling out the chair across from me and sitting down.
He picked up the coffee, took a sip, then frowned—clearly unimpressed with my cheap beans.
"Besides, given your current condition," his gaze swept meaningfully over my abdomen, still hidden under loose clothes, "I don't think it's wise to let you live alone in a place with virtually no security.
Eat, Natalie. Don't make me say it a third time. "
That commanding, warning tone again.
I should be angry.
"You went out and bought all this?"
Richard didn't like eggs. I did... God, bought off by eggs? That's pathetic, Natalie.
"I was going to wake you to come along, but you were exhausted last night. You needed sleep." Richard didn't look up. "Eat. It's better warm."
This had to be manipulation.
How could I go back to LA with him just because he made me breakfast?
"I'm not eating." The words came out stiff. Then my stomach growled.
Damn it. Early pregnancy hunger was relentless.
Richard looked up, a flicker of amusement in those gray-blue eyes. Then he spoke seriously. "Eat, Natalie. You're not alone anymore. After you finish, we need to talk about that baby."
My heart sank.
We couldn't avoid this forever.
I pulled out the chair and sat, picked up my fork, and stabbed at the eggs. They were actually good.
"Nothing to talk about. The baby's mine. I'll handle it."
Richard set down his knife and fork, wiped his mouth with the napkin, slow, deliberate, but his eyes sharpened. "Things that need 'handling' are problems. This baby clearly isn't a problem. Besides, it's Winston blood. I'll take responsibility..."
"It's not Winston blood!" I shot back immediately, heart hammering.
God, I had to stick to this story. I couldn't let Richard know the truth.
If he found out I was carrying his child and had hidden it, run away, tried to raise it alone.
.. The consequences were unthinkable. He'd tie me down completely, use every method at his disposal.
The baby and I would never escape his control.
"Richard, I got pregnant after our divorce. The baby has nothing to do with you. You don't need to and have no obligation to take any responsibility."
"Do you know how hard it is for a single mother to raise a child?
You can't even take care of yourself." He frowned, leaning back, hands folded on the table.
"Listen, I shouldn't have signed those divorce papers.
That was my mistake. My mistake led you to find another man during our separation.
But that's fine. I'll own my mistake. So I don't care who the biological father is.
Once we remarry, I'll treat this child as my own.
He'll be a legitimate Winston heir, with the name, trust funds, everything I own.
And you, with Winston family support, your career can continue. "
I couldn't believe my ears.
Richard wanted to claim a child that wasn't his?
"You're insane..." That was the only explanation.
Richard clearly disagreed. His thinking was almost obsessive.
"Natalie, you're my wife. Even divorced, I won't allow you to be with another man.
So this isn't a discussion. You need to understand.
Remarrying me is the best choice for you and the baby.
Either come back to LA with me, or I'll stay here with you.
As for remarriage, the lawyer will have the papers here this afternoon. "
He'd already arranged everything and was just informing me?
"You're shameless!" I jumped up. The chair scraped loudly across the floor.
"Many people say that." He seemed happy to acknowledge it.
"But for me, satisfactory results are what matter.
I don't care about process." He took another leisurely sip of coffee.
"Sit down. Finish breakfast. Then you need to get ready.
Emma will be downstairs in half an hour to take you to rehearsal. "
"How did you..." I stared.
"Your phone was vibrating on the nightstand, so I answered it." His tone was flat. "I told her I'd drive you. She doesn't need to come."
"You answered my phone?!"
"If you could wake up on time, eat breakfast, and have basic time management skills, I wouldn't have to." He checked his watch. "You have twenty minutes. I suggest you change. That outfit..." he glanced at my loungewear, "...isn't appropriate for public, even for rehearsal."
I stood frozen, half furious, half deeply powerless.
Richard was like an irresistible cold front, invading every corner of my life overnight, and I was helpless to stop him.
I bit my lip and stormed back to the bedroom, slamming the door.
When I arrived at the rehearsal venue and stepped out of a Rolls-Royce, Emma's jaw nearly hit the ground. When Richard also got out, Emma was completely stunned.
Emma pulled me aside, voice low but nearly squealing with excitement.
"Natalie, oh my God, you and Mr. Winston... babe, I'm so proud! He's a billionaire!"
"Emma. Focus on work." I walked straight toward the stage, unamused.
I could feel Richard's gaze on my back, like two tangible beams. I tried not to care.
Rehearsal went smoothly enough. The only tension was Richard sitting in the front row in the audience.
In his expensive, tailored clothes with that keep-away aura, he looked like some impossible-to-please executive inspector.
Combined with his perpetually dissatisfied expression, everyone onstage felt the pressure.
The band was clearly nervous, missing several notes.
Even the usually joking drummer barely spoke.
During the break, Emma sidled over with the schedule, eyes constantly darting toward Richard.
"Just confirming tomorrow morning's new single launch flow.
Media's arranged, security's beefed up—plenty of people want to see Nightingale's real face, so security matters.
Though with Mr. Winston here, I think we could dial security up to presidential protection level. Seriously, you and him..."
"There's nothing between us." I cut her off, taking the schedule, but Emma's words made me glance at Richard involuntarily. He was on the phone. He seemed to sense my gaze and looked up. I immediately looked away.
Stop looking, Natalie.
Richard was probably just uncomfortable that I'd suddenly left his life. Once he got bored, he'd leave naturally. Besides, in his mind, I was carrying someone else's child. Someone as proud and harsh as him—how could he accept that?
Still, another voice in my head asked—
What if? What if Richard wasn't just acting on impulse? What if he was truly determined to get back together?
I didn't dare keep thinking.
At the next day's launch, I wore a custom black dress designed to cleverly conceal my small belly, face covered by Nightingale's delicate silver feather mask.
Before going onstage, I peeked through the side curtain and spotted Richard immediately.
He sat quietly in the boiling crowd, like a lion temporarily retracting its claws. The dark suit stretched tight across his muscles, his forearms filling the sleeves with taut curves, large-knuckled hands resting on his knees with faint vein traces on the backs.
He was just watching the stage, expression calm, even indifferent, but that presence was so powerful it seemed to pierce through the noisy air and pin me in place.
I yanked my gaze back and took a deep breath.
Natalie, now is not the time to swoon.
The launch opened smoothly. The preview snippet of my new song got enthusiastic positive feedback. During Q&A, the media focused on my real identity and Nightingale's creative inspiration. I deflected with the half-true, half-false story we'd prepared. Emma looked relieved below.
Then commotion erupted in the back rows—arguing, maybe. Security moved that direction. Suddenly, a few people shot up from different spots, holding things, shoving aside staff and security, rushing the stage, pointing at me and shouting.
"Nightingale, my ass! Just a fraud!"
"Probably an ugly face under that mask!"
"Public figures shouldn't hide!"
Instantly, screams, chairs clattering, security shouting—chaos. The people in front jumped onto the stage edge. A man in a baseball cap reached for my mask.
I stumbled backward, about to fall.
But the expected pain never came. I landed in a solid embrace. Familiar cologne surrounded me completely.
Richard.
His other hand had already seized the cap man's reaching arm, twisted hard. A scream of agony followed.
Richard's voice came from above my head. "Secure them. Don't let a single one go."
Black-suited, powerfully built men appeared from nowhere, instantly subduing the stage rushers, pinning them down. The whole thing took under ten seconds.
Chaos continued below, but the onstage threat was neutralized.
I trembled in Richard's arms, still shaken.
The instant terror and the slight cramping in my abdomen when I'd been grabbed left me cold with sweat.
"It's over." His voice rumbled low in my ear, arms tightening with undeniable protection. "Keep your head down. Don't let the cameras see your face."
Only then did I realize countless flashes were going off on us. The mask was still on, but the struggle had knocked it askew, exposing most of my face. My hands had instinctively covered my abdomen, clearly looking pregnant. All of it was exposed to cameras.
Oh God.
"Clear the scene. Find out who sent them. I want names, backgrounds, and every dollar trail. Twenty minutes." After giving orders, Richard ignored the mess below and the flashing cameras. He half-carried, half-supported me offstage, moving quickly toward the backstage entrance.
The whole way, he shielded me completely from approaching people and cameras.
Emma rushed over, face pale. "Natalie! Are you okay? God, what just..."
"Hospital." Richard cut her off, tone brooking no argument. "Get a car. Now."
"Hospital? I don't need..." I wanted to say I was just scared, but before I finished, intense dizziness slammed into me.
Richard's tense jawline and Emma's pale face began spinning, blurring, melting like watercolor paint. All sounds—his breathing, distant commotion, my own panicked heartbeat—rapidly receded, like through thick glass.
In the last instant before darkness swallowed my vision, I saw something on Richard's usually composed face I'd never seen before.
Was it worry?
I didn't know.