My grip tightened unconsciously. She didn't make a sound, just glared at me, her blue eyes like ice.
"My patience has limits." I bit out, breath hitting her face. At this distance, I could smell her faint sweat, alcohol, and familiar orange blossom, now mixed with bar smoke—strange and sharp. "Natalie, this stupid runaway game ends now. Come home with me."
Natalie looked at me and suddenly laughed coldly.
"Richard, you actually think this is a game? This is the life I want. Even if it's garbage to you, it's better than being with you." She stared at me, shouting angrily, "I will never go back with you. I want respect and freedom! I want to do what I want! Right now, you're just a page I can't wait to tear out!"
Fuck restraint. Fuck decorum. Fuck everything.
I lowered my head and kissed her hard.
Her soft lips stayed pressed shut. I didn't care—I forced her teeth open, my tongue tangling with hers. I'd reclaim control over Natalie this way.
Then a sharp crack echoed through the narrow hallway.
Pain exploded across my face.
The slap hit hard. My head snapped to the side, the taste of blood in my mouth.
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 hadcollapsed, 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 pastin 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.
