I woke to the gentle sound of Margaret Ricardo's even breathing. She'd slept through the night without incident—a miracle according to the lengthy care instructions Nathaniel had sent over.
For someone who'd dumped his grandmother on a stranger, he was surprisingly thorough. The document detailed everything from her medication schedule to her preference for having the window blinds partially open while she slept. I'd followed every instruction precisely, half-expecting disaster despite my efforts.
But Margaret had slept peacefully, her face relaxed in a way that suggested she hadn't rested this well in some time.
I snapped a quick video of her sleeping soundly and sent it to Nathaniel, adding only: "She's fine." No need for pleasantries with a man who treated me like a transaction.
My phone pinged almost immediately with his response: "Good. Continue as instructed."
No thank you. No acknowledgment of what a miracle it was that his grandmother hadn't had an episode. Just a cold directive to keep doing what I was told.
I rolled my eyes and set about preparing Margaret's breakfast according to the detailed menu in my instructions. As I scrambled eggs exactly the way the notes specified—with a pinch of dill and a tablespoon of cream—my phone buzzed again.
To my surprise, it was another text from Nathaniel: "I appreciate the video. She hasn't slept through the night in months."
I stared at the message. Was that... actual gratitude from the ice king himself? Before I could decide how to respond, Margaret stirred.
"Good morning, dear," she called, her voice surprisingly strong for someone her age.
"Good morning," I replied, carrying over her breakfast tray. "How did you sleep?"
"Better than I have in ages," she admitted, accepting the tray with a smile. "You always know just what I need."
I didn't correct her continuing delusion that I was her long-established granddaughter-in-law. The care instructions had been explicit: don't contradict her beliefs about relationships or recent events. It would only cause distress.
As she ate, I checked my calendar. I had exactly two hours before I needed to be at the Ricardo Group headquarters to try again for that divorce discussion. After yesterday's fifty-thousand-dollar detour, I couldn't afford any more delays.
"I need to go out for a while," I told her gently.
Margaret looked up sharply. "You're leaving me?"
"Just for a few hours," I reassured her. "I have an appointment."
"With who?"
I hesitated. "With your grandson, actually."
Her eyes narrowed suspiciously. "Which grandson?"
"Nathaniel," I replied, wondering how many grandsons she had.
To my surprise, she relaxed completely. "Oh, that's fine then. My Nathaniel is a good boy. Tough on the outside, but he has his grandfather's heart."
I nearly choked on my coffee. Nathaniel Ricardo, a good boy? The man was a shark in an expensive suit.
"I'll be back soon," I promised, gathering my things. "The nurse Nathaniel hired will be here in fifteen minutes."
She waved a hand dismissively. "I don't need a nurse. I'm not an invalid."
"It's just company," I said diplomatically. "Someone to talk to while I'm gone."
An hour later, after settling Margaret with the nurse, I stood outside the gleaming Ricardo Group headquarters. The towering glass building reflected the morning sun, nearly blinding me as I approached the entrance.
This time, I wouldn't leave without answers.
The receptionist looked up as I approached the front desk, recognition flashing in her eyes. I'd tried to deliver a package here once, back when I worked as a courier to supplement my income.
"Can I help you?" she asked, her tone already dismissive.
"I need to see Nathaniel Ricardo," I said firmly.
She snorted. "Do you have an appointment?"
"No, but—"
"Then I'm afraid that's impossible." She looked me up and down, taking in my simple blouse and pants. Nothing fancy, but perfectly professional. "Mr. Ricardo doesn't see anyone without an appointment, especially not... walk-ins."
The way she said "walk-ins" made it clear she meant something far less polite.
"It's regarding a personal matter," I insisted.
"Personal?" She raised an eyebrow. "Let me guess—you met him at some club and now you think you have a connection?"
My cheeks burned with indignation. "That's not—"
"Save it," she cut me off. "You're not the first girl to try this, and you won't be the last. Mr. Ricardo doesn't date gold-diggers."
I opened my mouth to tell her exactly who I was—his legal wife, for God's sake—when a familiar voice rang out behind me.
"Julie? Is that you lurking around the Ricardo building again?"
I turned to find Imogen standing there, perfect as always in her designer outfit, her hair styled in loose waves. She was clutching Liam Ricardo's arm like it was her most prized possession.
"Imogen," I said flatly. "What a surprise."
Her smile was saccharine sweet. "Not really. I'm here to have lunch with my fiancé and his uncle. You remember Liam's uncle, don't you? The CEO of this entire company?"
The receptionist's eyes widened as she recognized Imogen. "Miss Johnson! Good morning. Mr. Ricardo mentioned you'd be coming by."
"Yes, we have reservations at Maison d'Or," Imogen replied, her gaze sliding back to me with undisguised contempt. "But what are you doing here, Julie? Don't tell me you're still chasing after Liam?"
Liam chuckled beside her, his arm tightening around her waist. "Some people just can't take a hint."
I clenched my jaw. "I'm not here for Liam."
Imogen tilted her head. "Then why are you here? It can't possibly be business. The Ricardo Group doesn't exactly deal with..." her gaze flicked over my modest clothes again, "...your level."
The receptionist was watching our exchange with growing interest, clearly enjoying the drama.
"My business is my own," I said coolly.
Imogen's eyes narrowed. "You're not still trying that ridiculous story about being married to Nathaniel Ricardo, are you?"
The receptionist gasped. "Wait, is this the crazy woman you told me about? The one who's been claiming to be Mr. Ricardo's secret wife?"
My blood ran cold. Imogen had been talking about me? Spreading lies?
"That's her," Imogen confirmed with a theatrical sigh. "My poor delusional stepsister. She's been obsessed with the Ricardo family ever since Liam and I got engaged."
"I'm not obsessed with anyone," I snapped.
"Oh please," Imogen scoffed. "First you chased Liam for years, and when he chose me, you invented this fantasy about being married to his uncle? It's pathetic, Julie."
The receptionist was now looking at me with open disgust. "Security is on speed dial," she warned. "Mr. Ricardo has a strict policy about stalkers."
"I'm not stalking anyone!"
"Then why are you here, making up lies about being his wife?" Imogen challenged. "God, Julie, get some help. Or at least get some dignity. Everyone knows Nathaniel Ricardo would never look twice at someone like you."
The receptionist nodded in agreement. "Mr. Ricardo's standards are... exclusive."
"Unlike you," Liam added with a smirk. "Weren't you seeing that mechanic from downtown last month? And now you're claiming to be married to one of the wealthiest men in the country?"
I felt my face burning with humiliation as people in the lobby began to stare.
"I suggest you leave before I call security," the receptionist said firmly, reaching for her phone. "Mr. Ricardo doesn't have time for desperate social climbers."
I stood frozen, caught between fury and mortification. How had this gone so wrong so quickly?
My phone pinged in my pocket—a text notification. I pulled it out automatically, a momentary escape from the public shaming I was enduring.
It was from Nathaniel: "Where are you? My grandmother is asking for you."
I looked up from the phone to see the receptionist already dialing security, Imogen's smug smile growing wider by the second.
And that's when I heard the elevator doors slide open behind me, followed by a sudden, shocked silence falling over the lobby.