"Severe professional misconduct. Multiple attempts to interfere with my private life and cause significant distress to Mrs. Winston." I looked at her, my gaze devoid of warmth. "This is final. The Group will notify major partners in the industry shortly."
I cut Olivia's connection and continued deploying the transition plan.
After handling everything, I returned to the master bedroom. Natalie was awake, propped against the headboard while a maid helped apply warm compresses. The swelling was mostly gone, but the marks remained. Seeing me enter, the maid withdrew discreetly.
I sat on the bed beside her and took her hand. She didn't pull away.
"I fired Olivia. She won't appear in your life again or in any Winston Group matters." I looked at her seriously. "Also, Natalie, there are some things I want to tell you. Promises I'm making to you."
She watched me quietly, waiting.
"I've contacted top designers in Milan and Paris. They'll create custom pieces for you—whatever you want, for pregnancy and after. Wear what you want, where you want. And your music career—you can absolutely continue. I'll use my resources to support you, connect you with the best producers and platforms, but I won't interfere with your creative work. Your light shouldn't be dimmed by anyone or anything—especially not by my stupid fears."
"Finally," I pulled a folder from my pocket and handed it to her, "these are transfer documents for several major properties I own in New York, Los Angeles, and Switzerland. My lawyers have notarized them. They're in your name now. Natalie, I want to give you real, permanent security. Whatever happens in the future, you'll have the means to make any choice you want."
Natalie took the folder, fingers trembling. She flipped through the documents worth a fortune. Tears fell in fat drops, splattering on the pages.
She looked up at me through blurred eyes, voice barely audible. "Why?"
"Because I love you, Natalie." I reached up, wiping the tears from her cheek with infinite gentleness, feeling the warmth and fragility of her skin. "I know this love came too late, was expressed terribly, but it's real. It was, it is, and it always will be."
Natalie fell into my arms, burying her face in my shoulder. I held her tight, feeling her body shake and her burning tears soak through my shirt. My hand rubbed her back gently, kissing the top of her fragrant hair.
I don't know how long passed. Natalie's sobs gradually became hiccups, then quieted.
She lifted her head from my chest, eyes and nose red, tear tracks across her face. She looked at me for a long time, then nestled back into my arms, circling my waist.
"Richard, I love you too."
I was certain I heard Natalie say those words.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Natalie
Ever since Richard and I cleared the air, we'd stumbled into something like a belated honeymoon phase.
Every morning, first thing I did was look for his face. Sometimes he was already dressed, fastening his cufflinks. Other times, he was still asleep, lashes down, brow slightly furrowed like he was wrestling with some hostile takeover even in his dreams. I'd stare at him forever—long enough that he'd open his eyes and say in that rough just-awake voice, "Seen enough?"
"No," I told him honestly.
"Really?" He'd smile, pull me into his arms, and rest his chin on top of my head. "Then look a little longer."
Richard even started buying me clothes. Clothes I'd actually like. A bright yellow sundress with daisies embroidered at the neckline. Sequined ballet flats so soft they folded in half. And this hoodie with obnoxious rainbow stripes—I stood in front of the mirror for five minutes wearing it, and if you ignored my belly, I could've passed for a sixteen-year-old.
Richard leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed, watching me spin. His expression was complicated—likesomeone trying to convince himself to accept something that needed time to digest.
"You're sure you want to wear that out?" he asked.
"Positive."
"To the studio?"
"Yes."
"Security will follow."
"I know."
