"One of your discharge gifts." He gestured for me to open it, the corner of his mouth lifting in a faint, almost gentle curve. "Though I think you need something to cheer you up right now. Showing you early."
I opened the folder suspiciously. Inside: thick legal documents, equity transfer agreements, asset lists... The top page's title read clearly: "Confirmation of Unconditional Transfer of 'Harbor Records' and All Subsidiary Assets and Rights from Richard Winston to Natalie Green (Winston)."
Harbor Records. My former label. The one he'd acquired.
I looked up at him sharply, too shocked to speak.
"It's yours now." Richard met my eyes, expression calm and serious. "Completely, one hundred percent. Independent board, independent operations. I won't interfere in any business decisions. What kind of music company you want it to be, what artists you sign, what music you release—it's all your call. This is your kingdom, Natalie. I'm just... returning what belonged toyou all along, in a more secure way. Celebrating you and our son being safe."
My fingers traced those cold legal terms, trembling slightly. This wasn't charity or compensation. He'd heard my longing for independence and self, and given me the most practical, respectful way to achieve it—a platform and absolute freedom. He wasn't trying to "protect" me under his wing anymore. He'd built me my own fortress.
"Thank you." A thousand words reduced to this, voice breaking.
"And this." He indicated with his eyes the gilded invitation beneath the folder.
I picked it up. A formal letter from the most authoritative, historic global music awards—the Golden Voice Award committee. It stated that given my "unique contribution to contemporary pop music, artistic influence, and extraordinary courage and creativity shown in adversity," the committee had decided to grant me this year's Lifetime Achievement Award. The ceremony was in a month.
God, this award... what so many musicians dreamed of.
"Natalie, per protocol, you need to prepare a speech and submit it to the committee for general approval, to avoid inappropriate remarks. If you need help..."
"I'll write it myself." I set the invitation back on the folder. "But once I'm done, you can be my first audience. Don't get too emotional." Honestly, I'd never written an acceptance speech. This would take some work.
Richard actually laughed, low and warm in the quiet room, with rare ease. He shook his head like he couldn't handle me. "Fine. But will your body hold up standing on stage that day? I'll get you a diamond-encrusted wheelchair so even sitting, you'll sparkle."
"No way. Too nouveau riche." I couldn't help laughing, too.
Soon, I dropped the joking, saying softly, "Richard, I want to see the baby. Now. Can we?"
Richard's smile faded. His brow creased slightly as his eyes swept over my still-pale face and weak frame. "You just woke up. Your strength can't handle it. Tomorrow, when you're better, I promise..."
"Just through the glass. One look." I reached out, tugging his sleeve, shaking it lightly. "I won't go in, won't disturb him. Just one look. Richard, please."
His lips pressed tight, gray-blue eyes struggling. Medical orders and my physical condition on one side. The unmistakable longing and anxiety in my eyes on the other. Finally, the latter won. He sighed almost inaudibly, that breath full of helpless surrender.
"Ten minutes." He held up one finger. "Only looking from outside for ten minutes. Then straight back to bed rest. Non-negotiable. I'll have the nurses prepare a wheelchair and monitoring equipment."
"Deal!" I agreed instantly, afraid he'd change his mind.
So, accompanied by nurses and Richard, I went to the NICU to see the baby. Through thick glass, I saw the little guy sleeping quietly in his incubator.
This was my son. Mine and Richard's child. He came early to this chaotic world, but he'd have all our love and protection.
I turned to Richard beside me. He watched the tiny figure intently, his profile uncommonly soft in the gentle light. Those usually cold gray-blue eyes now held a tenderness I'd never seen, almost reverent, with a hint of awkward nervousness at new fatherhood.
In that moment, my last doubts, barriers, and anxieties melted away like ice in sunlight.
Surviving this made me see things clearly. I saw Richard's love—maybe still carrying innate dominance and protectiveness,maybe he'd never learn ordinary people's soft words, but it was real, burning, and willing to pay any price.
I was willing to spend my life with Richard. I'd decided that two years ago.
Chapter Thirty
Richard
The day Natalie got discharged, the weather was impossibly perfect. She wore the pale yellow cashmere dress I'd had a designer send over, carefully cradling our son Leonardo in her arms—finally cleared to come home, wrapped snug in his soft blanket. Natalie had picked the name. Said it sounded "like a brave little knight." I didn't care either way. If she liked it, that was enough.
Just as we headed toward the waiting stretch limo, my phone buzzed in my pocket. David.
