Chapter522 To Be Your Pride
"Sir, the company has been receiving a series of letters today regarding brands and studios canceling their collaborations with your wife, partly due to the divorce," Charles began cautiously after Oliver had dealt with some urgent matters.
In this divorce drama, all the uninformed would naturally assume that Natalie was the one cast aside by Oliver—a woman of no further use. Not only would they no longer benefit from a good relationship with Oliver through Natalie, but they also risked offending Oliver himself!
And so, if they could sever ties, they would.
But who would have imagined that it was actually Oliver who'd been left behind in the divorce, even spending an entire day camped out at her doorstep?
"So, what's your point?" Oliver's tone was icy, his eyelids lifting slightly.
The news of the divorce was out because she wanted it that way. Could he stop it?
Or was he expected to tell all those people they couldn't cancel contracts over his and Natalie's split?
What right or position did he have to say so?
From the perspective of an ex, perhaps?
"It's not just about the divorce," Charles began hesitantly, pausing for a moment, "I heard at last night's party, someone questioned the condition of your wife's leg. By dawn, rumors were circulating that her leg is... that she's disabled. Those partners, out of precaution, decided to back out of their deals."
Charles uttered the word ‘disability’ carefully.
That gaze was downright scary!
"What did you say about her leg?" Oliver pressed his pen against the documents, his expression darkened.
Charles was inwardly in turmoil—it wasn't his own words that started this!
"There was this video, and ma'am's walk looked pretty off, so some nosy people were saying she's crippled. They even suggested whispers at the party weren't just baseless rumors," Charles explained with clenched teeth. "But all those posts have been scrubbed from the internet now—probably the work of... Roger Wild."
With each word, Charles felt like he was dancing on the blade of the Grim Reaper, ready to be claimed at any moment.
Luckily for him, Oliver's attention wasn't on the mention of "Roger Wild" right now; he was totally focused on Natalie's gait—
It was indeed strange, he had noticed it himself this morning when she came out to fetch something.
Could it be that a previous fracture hadn't healed properly?
No, that didn't make sense. Why would she be buying medication for external injuries then?
Could she have had another fall?
Or worse, had someone hurt her?
"Natalie, you've really outdone yourself!" Oliver muttered, feeling a lump in his throat.
"Sir, what did you say?" Charles didn't catch his mumble.
"Shut your mouth."
"Yes, sir!"
Knowing things couldn't go on like this, Natalie set out for the hospital first thing the next morning.
"Miss Watson, your leg bone is completely recovered; there’s no issue there. As for the minor injuries on your shin and knee, those are trivial matters." The doctor reassured her after glancing at the X-rays. "Walk for me once more. Relax, don't be tense."
The office was devoid of anyone but the attending physician.
Even so, Natalie couldn't help but feel nervous.
She sensed something was wrong with her very first step. By the second, her body gave in, and she slumped into a chair, resigned, "Doctor, I can't do it."
"Miss Watson, all your physical functions are normal. I'm sorry, but I can't help you with your condition," the doctor sighed, "I suggest you seek help from a psychologist."
That was precisely where Natalie's problem lay—her ailment wasn't something that could be addressed because, ostensibly, there was nothing to fix.
It wasn't a physiological issue but a psychological one.
Oliver had been lingering at the entrance to Maple Villa all day, not going upstairs.
What good would it do to go up? He couldn't even see Natalie's windows from there. He might as well stay below, at least he could catch a glimpse through the window.
Today, driving his limited-edition Ferrari, he caught the attention of the security attendant who had been watching him for quite some time. Eventually, the attendant approached and asked, "Sir, are you looking for someone or waiting for someone? You can't park here, you know."
"Do you know the resident of unit 1601 in building 12?" Oliver blurted out on impulsively.
He was actually hoping to glean information about Natalie from the security guard.
Any minor detail would suffice.
The guard indeed knew something: "The very beautiful young lady, right? Tall, with an exceptional presence, though it seems she has an injured leg. She with a noticeable limp."
"Yes!" Oliver perked up at the mention.
"She left early this morning!" the guard gestured with a flick of his hand.
Oliver narrowed his eyes and dialed Jamie, instructing him to immediately track down Natalie's whereabouts.
Jamie had already deployed someone to keep an eye on Natalie since early morning, primarily out of fear that she might encounter another incident.
It didn’t take long for Jamie to relay Natalie's exact location to Oliver.
The place was a... psychological clinic.
Natalie had sought out a private psychologist working in a small building within an upscale villa community.
Just steps away from the clinic, Natalie halted.
At the end of her gaze stood a tall, commanding figure leaning against a sapphire blue Ferrari. His usual attire of a dress shirt and slacks, set against the backdrop of towering French plane trees with lush green foliage, made him dazzling to behold.
Had this area not been so quiet, girls might have already been crowding around, stealthily taking his picture.
Natalie was transfixed, her peripheral vision catching sight of his long legs. Her gaze suddenly intensified, then, flustered, she averted her eyes and hastened in another direction.
Today, she had stepped out without any attempt to disguise her appearance.
All of last night, she had reassured herself:
"Natalie, it's okay that you're having trouble with your leg—you can recover. Everyone gets sick sometimes; don't be scared! If you succumb to fear, then you're truly lost. You're just ill, not a freak."
This morning, Natalie had even greeted the morning shift guard with a "Good morning." She could walk into the hospital with ease, unfazed by the odd glances of others.
It was just a temporary ailment, no big deal.
But now, the only feeling she had was one of embarrassment.
Why did Oliver have to see her like this?
She had once taken pride in standing on the gleaming runway, letting Oliver see that his wife, despite a humble origin, was also outstanding.
During Paris Fashion Week, she had finally seen him at the end of the runway, his eyes and heart filled solely with her presence. Inside, she was saying, "Oliver, can you see? I can be your pride too. Without a powerful background, I still won't let you become the laughing stock of high society."
But now, all that remained of her was a limping, laughable figure on the brink of becoming the butt of a joke. She had been avoiding him—she didn't want him to see her like this.
"Natalie!"
Natalie, hearing his voice, quickened her pace, not even bothering to disguise the awkwardness in her leg.
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