I fumbled for my bag, nearly fell when I stood—my legs gave out—but Andrew caught me.
I practically ran out of the restaurant.
Cold wind hit my face, stinging, but it cleared my head slightly.
I could finally breathe, but then came more violent trembling and cold. I bit my lip hard, refusing to let those damn tears fall.
Back at the apartment, I opened the door and immediately saw Richard's slippers by the entrance, his coat on the sofa, groceries he'd bought on the kitchen counter, the water glass he'd used on the nightstand...
Richard's traces everywhere. I took a deep breath. My eyes welled up. The tears finally fell. I had to throw all this out. I wouldn't let Richard affect me anymore. Wouldn't hurt for him anymore. Wouldn't harbor any unrealistic fantasies about him.
I started frantically cleaning, stuffing all of Richard's things into a huge black garbage bag. I even sprayed disinfectant on the sofa where he'd sat, as if that could erase every trace of his existence.
Just as I threw the last item in the bag, the doorbell rang.
Emma. She held a garment bag, looking excited. "Babe! Ready? Tonight's Starlight Charity Gala is your first official appearance since your identity reveal! I picked you a killer dress, it'll absolutely..." She stopped mid-sentence, staring at thewrecked living room and me crouched by the trash, eyes red, clutching a men's shirt.
"Oh my God, Natalie, did you break up with Mr. Winston?" Emma came in, carefully setting the garment bag on a clean dining chair, looking around.
Break up? Richard and I were never together.
"Cleaning out trash." I stood, shoving the shirt deep into the already-full garbage bag.
Emma watched me silently for a few seconds, then sighed and put her arm around my shoulders. "Listen, honey, I don't know what happened with you and Mr. Winston, but..." She lowered her voice. "Think about it. The Winston family—what kind of elite dynasty is that? You know how many women, no, how many families are dying to connect with Mr. Winston? And now he's..." Emma glanced at my expression, choosing her words carefully. "So attentive to you, handled all your problems, providing protection... It's like winning the lottery! I know he's maybe a little controlling? But God, I swear, for rich people, control is practically a virtue. Natalie, think about it—with him, you and your baby would never worry about anything for the rest of your lives."
"My child's father cannot be a man with a messy personal life!" I pulled away from her, my voice shaking. "Richard is a complete bastard who played me like a fool! A man like that could never be a good father!"
Emma flinched at my outburst. Then her expression turned complicated as she looked me up and down, her gaze settling on my abdomen. "Natalie, this baby, is it..." She didn't finish, but the meaning was clear.
I jumped back like I'd been burned, my heart pounding. "That's none of your business, Emma. From today on, I don't want you mentioning anything about Richard. Things between us are completely over."
Emma opened her mouth to say something, but seeing my resolve, swallowed her words and just shook her head helplessly. "Fine, fine, you're the boss. Go wash your face. We need to do hair and makeup. Let's run through the schedule again, too. Sweetheart, I have a feeling you're about to become a superstar."
The joke didn't improve my mood. I forced a smile and walked into the bathroom to shower. Just as I set my phone on the sink, a new message came through.
Richard: "I have a last-minute meeting tonight. I'll be back late. Don't wait for me for dinner."
Was his meeting at the restaurant where he'd just been kissing Olivia?
Was he coming back late because of Olivia?
I stared at those words, fury and hatred surging to my head. I opened his contact, my fingers trembling with force, and decisively blocked Richard.
Screw coming back late.
Richard never needed to come back at all.
Chapter Twenty
Richard
The meeting had been going for twenty minutes, but I hadn't heard a single word.
My fingertips drummed against the conference table. The rhythm betrayed an irritation I didn't want to admit—it had been forty minutes since I'd texted Natalie, and she hadn't responded. She was the type who checked her phone constantly. No way she hadn't seen it.
So she was ignoring me on purpose.
Why would she ignore me?
