The knocking lasted a while, then stopped.
Then I heard him on the phone. "I know. The document's been sent over. I'll be there in time to sign."
He hung up. Richard's voice came again.
"Natalie, I have urgent business. When I get back, we'll talk properly."
Richard left. That crack in the ice wall around my heart—the one warmed open by a hint of tenderness—froze over again in that moment, faster and thicker than before, now topped with barbed wire.
I struggled up from the floor and went to the bathroom, splashing cold water on my face. Looking at myself in the mirror—red, swollen eyes, ghostly pale skin, my face bloated andstrange from pregnancy—a sharp wave of self-loathing surged up.
How did I let myself become this?
That evening, I forced down a few bites of the dinner a maid brought up. It tasted like nothing. I was about to turn in early when Joseph's apologetic voice came from outside. "Madam, Mr. Green and Mr. Michael Green are here. They insist on seeing you. I told them you were resting, but they won't leave. They're downstairs in the parlor now."
My father and Michael? What did they want? Since Richard and I had reconciled—if you could call it that—and returned to Los Angeles, they'd called a few times asking if Richard would resume supporting the Green Group. I'd brushed them off, and they'd stopped calling. Why show up now?
"Tell them I'm asleep. Please ask them to leave." I had neither the energy nor the mood to deal with them.
"We're already up here, Natalie. What kind of behavior is this?" My father's voice came down the hallway along with footsteps, utterly unapologetic. Joseph's low attempts at stopping them were ignored.
I closed the bedroom door, but soon it was being pounded.
"Natalie! Open up! I know you're in there!"
I shut my eyes, knowing I couldn't avoid this. I opened the door but blocked the entrance, not inviting them in. "What do you want? I'm not feeling well. Maybe we can talk tomorrow."
My father Robert looked older than the last time I'd seen him, brow furrowed, his face showing his usual undisguised impatience with me. My half-brother Michael looked for a few seconds, then dropped his gaze. Since his mother died, Michael had always acted like this—timid, withdrawn.
"Not feeling well? Looks to me like you're living large here, comfortable as can be!" Robert sneered, scanning the luxuriousmaster bedroom behind me. "Meanwhile, your brother and I are about to end up on the street!"
"What happened now?"
"What happened? You have the nerve to ask!" Robert's voice shot up, spittle nearly hitting my face. "Ever since you threw your tantrum and ran off, every deal we had with Winston Group got suspended! Suppliers demanding payment, banks refusing to extend loans, multiple projects dead! Green Group is a hollow shell now! All because of you, because you pissed off Richard!"
"You're the one who pissed him off." I finally snapped, all my suppressed emotions finding an outlet and ricocheting back. "You and Michael. You used my relationship with him, grabbed what you could without restraint, and pursued projects way beyond the company's capacity! You got greedy, overextended yourselves, and now the money's dried up—and you blame me? Who forced me to marry him in the first place? Wasn't it for your business?"
"You!" Robert clearly hadn't expected such a fierce comeback. His face flushed red, finger jabbing at me. "If I hadn't made you marry him, would you have what you have today? Would you be living in a place like this? Would you be carrying a Winston baby? Ungrateful wretch!"
I laughed bitterly. But tears welled up anyway.
"Why should I be grateful?" I demanded. "Grateful that you remarried less than a month after Mom died? Grateful that you treated me like I was invisible once you had a new son, like I was a burden, an embarrassment? Grateful that when I slit my wrists at fourteen, you called me a disgrace who only caused trouble?!"
I jerked up my left hand, exposing the twisted scar on my inner wrist.
That scar came from a summer when I was fourteen. After being ignored, belittled, and ganged up on by my stepmotherand brother, I'd taken a shard of porcelain into the bathroom and left my mark.
Robert and Michael both paled at the sight. A flicker of panic crossed Robert's eyes, quickly replaced by deeper anger. "Why bring up ancient history! What kid doesn't have a rebellious phase! You're fine now, aren't you?"
"Yeah. I survived." I dropped my sleeve over the scar, my voice shaking. "I left that house. I sang for money, penny by penny, to stay alive. I finally had a little life of my own... and then what? You called me back. You guilt-tripped me with family obligation and fatherly love. You packaged me up like merchandise and shoved me at Richard, all to get his money and connections to plug the holes you and Michael created! Now the hole's bigger, so you come back to me and blame me for everything! Robert Green, do you deserve to be called a father?"
"Shut up!" Robert exploded, eyes bloodshot. He raised his hand, and before I could react—
Crack!
A vicious slap landed on my left cheek.
Searing pain exploded. My ears rang. Half my face went numb. I tasted iron. The blow knocked me back a step, into the doorframe. My vision went black. A sharp, contracting pain shot through my lower abdomen.
