After what felt like forever, Emma spoke again. "Okay. I'll agree. The mystery of not showing your face could actually be a selling point. But Natalie," her tone turned serious, "your performance has to carry everything. The contract will specify that you must fully cooperate with vocal training, recording, and scheduled performances and promotional activities."
"I promise." I didn't hesitate. "When can I see the contract?"
"I can email you the electronic version in ten minutes!" Emma's efficiency was startling. "Once you review it and it looks good, we need to sign in person. When can you get to LasVegas? The sooner the better! We can get you familiar with the environment, meet the band, and if things go smoothly, I can lock down your first warm-up show within two weeks! At the New Moon Theater's small venue—it's a great starting point!"
I gripped the phone, looking around this cramped, sparse apartment I'd briefly inhabited, at the manila envelope containing divorce papers, and took a deep breath.
"I'll buy a ticket right now," I told Emma.
After hanging up, my gaze drifted to the window. Rain was falling over Los Angeles. The sky was overcast.
And I was about to break through those clouds.
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."
