Griffin's bombshell revelation kept replaying in my mind as I paced my small apartment.
"He fabricated a marriage certificate using your name and ID."
The pieces were starting to fall into place. If Nathaniel Ricardo had created false marriage documents to escape his family's matchmaking, that would explain why he had no idea who I was. But how did those fake documents become legally binding? And why choose my identity specifically?
I needed answers directly from the man himself.
"You're sure about this?" I asked Griffin over the phone for what must have been the tenth time.
"Positive, boss," Griffin replied, the sound of typing carrying through the line. "My source at city hall confirmed it. Ricardo fabricated the documents five years ago, but somehow they became official. Your signatures match the ones on file."
I frowned. "That's impossible. I never signed anything."
"Well, someone did. And they did a damn good job of forging it."
I sat on the edge of my bed, mind racing. "How do I get to him? His headquarters is practically a fortress."
Griffin went silent for a moment. Then, "You still have your courier job, right?"
A slow smile spread across my face. Of course. The perfect way in.
Two hours later, I stood outside the gleaming Ricardo Group headquarters, dressed in my well-worn courier uniform. The faded blue coveralls and cap were far from the designer clothes everyone expected to see on Nathaniel Ricardo's wife, which made them the perfect disguise.
The ID badge hanging around my neck was genuine—I'd been working part-time as a courier for eight years to support myself through school. It was honest work that kept me independent from the Johnson family's manipulation, though they thought it was just another sign of my inferiority.
I patted the sealed envelope in my pocket. It contained proof of our marriage—the same documents I'd discovered at the courthouse. My heart hammered against my ribs as I approached the security desk, but I kept my expression neutral, bored even, like this was just another delivery.
"Package for Mr. Ricardo," I said, sliding a delivery slip across the counter.
The security guard barely glanced at me. "Leave it here."
I shook my head. "Sorry, signature required. Executive level clearance."
He looked annoyed but waved me toward the elevator bank where a man in an impeccable suit stood watching me with suspicion. As I approached, his eyes narrowed further.
"I'm Raymond Philips, Mr. Ricardo's executive assistant," he said, his tone clipped. "What's this about?"
"Signature required package," I replied evenly, holding up the envelope.
"From whom?" he demanded.
"City Records Office," I said, which wasn't entirely a lie.
Raymond's eyes hardened. "I handle all Mr. Ricardo's correspondence. Give it to me."
"Sorry," I shrugged. "Protocol requires his personal signature."
"You've never delivered here before," he observed, studying my face intently.
I met his gaze without flinching. "I cover different routes."
"ID," he demanded, holding out his hand.
I passed over my courier badge. It was genuine, with eight years of employment history that would check out if he bothered to verify it.
Raymond examined it closely, then made a call. I stood patiently, knowing my documentation was flawless.
After a terse conversation, he handed back my badge with obvious reluctance. "Fine. Follow me."
The elevator ride to the top floor was silent and tense. Raymond kept shooting suspicious glances my way, but I maintained the bored expression of someone who just wanted to finish their shift.
Nathaniel Ricardo's office was exactly what I expected—vast and imposing, with floor-to-ceiling windows offering a panoramic view of the city. The man himself sat behind an enormous desk, his attention fixed on the papers before him.
He didn't look up when we entered.
"Sir," Raymond began, "this courier insists on your personal signature."
Nathaniel didn't even raise his head. "Sign for it, Raymond."
I stepped forward. "I'm afraid I need Mr. Ricardo's signature specifically. It's regarding a legal matter."
That got his attention. Nathaniel's head snapped up, and I found myself caught in the intensity of his gaze. The photos I'd seen didn't do him justice. His features were sharp and aristocratic, his dark hair perfectly styled, and his eyes... they were cold enough to freeze my blood.
"Leave us," he commanded Raymond, who hesitated before reluctantly withdrawing.
The moment the door closed, I removed my cap and met his gaze directly.
"My name is Juliana Johnson," I said, placing the envelope on his desk. "According to these documents, I'm your wife."
His expression didn't change, but something dangerous flashed in his eyes. "Ah. You're Liam's ex."
I blinked in surprise. That wasn't the response I'd expected.
"I'm not here about Liam," I said firmly. "I'm here about us. Our marriage."
Nathaniel leaned back in his chair, studying me with clinical detachment. "There is no 'us.' There is no 'our marriage.' Whatever game you're playing, I suggest you stop now."
I pulled out the documents and placed them before him. "This isn't a game. These are legal marriage certificates with both our signatures dated five years ago."
He didn't even glance at them. "Forged, obviously. What do you want? Money? Is that why you're here?"
His dismissiveness ignited a spark of anger within me. "I want a divorce. I need these papers dissolved so my company can proceed with its IPO."
For a split second, something like surprise flickered across his face before his mask of indifference returned.
"Your company," he repeated, his tone making it clear he didn't believe me. "How convenient that you've discovered this 'marriage' just as my nephew's engagement to Imogen Johnson was announced. I'm sure the timing is purely coincidental."
I stiffened. "This has nothing to do with Imogen or Liam."
"Doesn't it?" His voice was silky with danger. "Liam pursued you for years. You were the poor, illegitimate daughter pining for a Ricardo man who ultimately chose your perfect sister instead. And now, miraculously, you've discovered you're married to an even more powerful Ricardo? How painfully transparent."
His words cut deeper than they should have. Not because they were true, but because they showed how completely he'd misjudged me.
"You have no idea who I am or what I want," I said quietly. "But let me be clear: I'm not after your money, your power, or your name. I want nothing from you except your signature on divorce papers."
He stood suddenly, his tall frame imposing. "Ms. Johnson, do you know how many women have tried to claim connections to me for their own gain? How many forgeries and schemes I've dealt with?"
"I can imagine," I replied evenly. "But this isn't—"
His phone rang, interrupting me. The call seemed to agitate him immediately.
"Again?" he snapped into the receiver. "When? Have you checked the usual places?"
His expression shifted from irritation to genuine concern. He ran a hand through his perfect hair, momentarily looking less like an untouchable CEO and more like a worried grandson.
"I'll be right there," he said, ending the call. His eyes locked on mine. "We're not finished, but I have a family emergency."
"Your grandmother?" I asked, remembering the old woman who had appeared at my door.
His expression hardened again. "Stay away from my family, Ms. Johnson. You've been warned."
Without another word, he stormed past me, leaving me alone in his office with the evidence of our marriage still sitting untouched on his desk.
I gathered the documents, frustration building inside me. Getting to Nathaniel had been hard enough—how was I going to get another chance?
By the time I made it back to my apartment building, exhaustion had set in. The emotional toll of confronting Nathaniel, being dismissed so completely, and getting absolutely nowhere with my divorce weighed heavily on me.
As I trudged up the stairs to my floor, I fumbled for my keys, so lost in thought that I didn't immediately notice the figure waiting by my door.
When I finally looked up, my breath caught in my throat.
It was the same elderly woman who had appeared at my doorstep before—the one who had called me "wife" and sparked this entire investigation.
Before I could react, she lunged forward with surprising speed and grabbed my wrist in a grip far stronger than her frail appearance suggested.
"My granddaughter-in-law," she exclaimed, her eyes bright with recognition, "you won't leave me behind again!"