Nathaniel stared at me, his dark eyes widening with shock, then narrowing with suspicion. The hallway suddenly felt too small for both of us.
"You?" he spat the word like it tasted foul.
I found my voice. "Before you say anything—"
"Was this your plan all along?" His voice was deadly quiet. "Pretend to be some medical professional online? Lure me here?"
"No! I didn't know you were Iron Will," I said quickly. "I swear."
His jaw clenched tight. "And I'm supposed to believe that?"
Mrs. Huang poked her head out again. "Is everything alright? Your grandmother's waiting."
Nathaniel's gaze flicked between me and my neighbor. Confusion flickered across his face.
"Grandmother?" I repeated, suddenly understanding. "You mean Old Mrs. Ricardo is here? In my apartment?"
His eyes narrowed further. "How do you know who my grandmother is?"
This was a disaster. I stepped back, gesturing for him to come inside before this turned into a hallway spectacle. After a moment's hesitation, he entered, his imposing frame making my small apartment shrink.
"I should call security," he muttered, pulling out his phone.
"Wait!" I moved toward him. "This is a misunderstanding. I've been caring for an elderly woman for the past month. She was assigned to me through an agency."
"Convenient story."
"It's the truth!" I insisted. "She has Alzheimer's. She thinks I'm someone named Bella and calls me her granddaughter-in-law."
Nathaniel froze. His eyes searched mine with an intensity that made me step back.
"Where is she?" he demanded.
I pointed toward my bedroom door. "She's probably asleep. She takes her medication at eight."
Without waiting for permission, he strode across my apartment and carefully opened the door. I followed close behind, watching as his rigid posture softened at the sight of the elderly woman sleeping peacefully in my bed.
"Grandmother," he whispered, his voice suddenly gentle.
He approached slowly, checking her breathing, then lightly touching her forehead. The tenderness in his movements surprised me. This was a different man from the cold CEO who'd dismissed me at the restaurant.
He turned to me, his expression guarded but less hostile. "How long has she been here?"
"About a month," I answered. "The agency called me. Said she needed special care."
Nathaniel studied me for a long moment. "You've been caring for her all this time?"
I nodded. "She's sweet. Confused sometimes, but sweet."
He ran a hand through his hair, looking conflicted. "And you didn't know who she was?"
"Not really. She mentioned the Ricardo family, but I thought it was just confusion. Until tonight."
We moved back to the living room, closing the bedroom door gently behind us.
"Why didn't the agency inform me?" he muttered, more to himself than me.
"Maybe they did tell your family?" I suggested. "Just not you specifically?"
His expression darkened. "That's exactly what they would do."
The tension between us remained thick, but different now. I could see him reassessing, recalculating.
"I need to take her home," he finally said.
"It's midnight," I pointed out. "Moving her now would be disorienting. She's comfortable here."
He looked torn, clearly not wanting to leave his grandmother in my care but recognizing the logic in my words.
"Fine," he conceded. "I'll return in the morning."
"That would be best," I agreed, relieved.
As he moved toward the door, he stopped suddenly. "Your bank account. What are the last four digits?"
The question caught me off guard. "Why?"
"Just answer."
"7328," I replied cautiously.
Something shifted in his expression. "You've been receiving monthly payments from a Ricardo family account."
"Yes, from the agency," I explained. "For her care."
He shook his head. "Not the agency. From my personal account."
I blinked in surprise. "But I thought—"
"My assistant handles these matters," he said, almost to himself. "He must have set this up."
Nathaniel studied me again, this time with something closer to confusion than suspicion. "You really didn't know?"
"How could I?" I asked. "I'm just trying to make a living."
The corner of his mouth tightened. Was that almost a smile? "We'll discuss this tomorrow. 8 AM. I'll bring my doctor to check on her."
With that, he left, the door closing firmly behind him.
---
I barely slept that night, my mind racing with the implications of what had happened. By morning, I was exhausted but prepared when Nathaniel arrived precisely at 8 AM with a distinguished older man carrying a medical bag.
Old Mrs. Ricardo was delighted by their visit, especially when she saw Nathaniel.
"My grandson!" she exclaimed, her face lighting up. "You've come to see me and Bella!"
I watched as Nathaniel carefully hid his reaction to her calling me Bella. The doctor performed a thorough examination while I prepared breakfast.
"She's in excellent health," the doctor reported afterward. "Better than she's been in months, actually. Whatever care she's receiving here is working."
Nathaniel nodded thoughtfully. "Leave us, please."
The doctor departed, and Nathaniel turned to me, his expression unreadable.
"I checked into you last night," he stated bluntly. "Juliana Johnson. No medical degree, but good references as a caregiver."
"I never claimed to have a medical degree," I replied. "I just do my best."
"Your best seems to be what she needs." He hesitated. "I'd like her to stay here. For now."
I was stunned. "You're not taking her?"
"The doctor recommends against disrupting her routine. She's clearly comfortable here." His voice remained businesslike. "I'll double your compensation, of course."
"That's not necessary—"
"It is." His tone left no room for argument. "And I'll be checking in. Regularly."
I nodded. "Of course."
As he prepared to leave, he turned back. "About our other... situation. My attorney will be in touch."
Our marriage. Of course. Even this strange development wouldn't change his determination to end our unexpected legal connection.
"I understand," I said quietly.
---
Two days later, I took Old Mrs. Ricardo shopping at Oceanview Mall, the city's most exclusive shopping center. She insisted on buying new clothes, and her eyes lit up at the designer boutiques.
"Oh, Bella, isn't this lovely?" she said, holding up an elegant blue dress in Vivienne's, the most expensive store in the mall.
I smiled. "It's beautiful, but maybe we should look somewhere more—"
"Nonsense! You must try it on," she insisted, pressing the dress into my hands. "And I'll try this one."
Before I could argue, she was ushering me toward the fitting rooms, the attentive sales associate trailing behind us.
I had just slipped into the dress—which fit perfectly—when I heard a familiar, cutting voice outside my fitting room.
"Did someone actually let those two in here?" Imogen's voice dripped with disdain. "The old lady looks like she wandered out of a retirement home, and the other one is clearly her nurse."
My heart sank. Of all the times to run into my stepsister.
"Miss, I assure you, they're valued customers," the sales associate replied diplomatically.
Imogen laughed. "Please. I know a charity case when I see one."
I stepped out of the fitting room, the beautiful blue dress swirling around me. Imogen stood there in an almost identical dress, though hers was red, her face registering shock at seeing me.
"Juliana?" she sneered. "What are you doing here? And in that dress? It costs more than you make in three months."
I lifted my chin. "Hello, Imogen. I'm shopping with a friend."
"A friend?" Her eyes widened as Old Mrs. Ricardo emerged from her fitting room in a stunning emerald ensemble. "You're babysitting now? How pathetic."
Old Mrs. Ricardo looked confused by Imogen's tone. I moved protectively to her side.
"Please don't be rude," I said quietly. "We're just enjoying our day."
Imogen stepped closer, dropping her voice. "You know what's rude? Pretending you belong in a place like this. You're embarrassing yourself."
"Bella, who is this unpleasant young woman?" Old Mrs. Ricardo asked loudly.
Imogen's eyes flashed with anger. "I'm Imogen Johnson, future Mrs. Ricardo. And you two should really move along to somewhere more... budget-friendly."
I felt my temper rising. "We have every right to be here."
"Rights? Please," Imogen scoffed. "You're a servant's daughter playing dress-up."
Old Mrs. Ricardo's face darkened. "Young lady, your manners are appalling."
"And who exactly are you to lecture me on manners?" Imogen demanded.
Before I could intervene, I saw Cameron Johnson, my stepfather, approaching. His face was set in its usual expression of disapproval as he spotted me.
"Imogen, what's the hold up? We have that meeting with—" He stopped abruptly, his eyes moving from me to Old Mrs. Ricardo.
The blood drained from his face as recognition dawned. His mouth opened, then closed, as he stared at the elderly woman with undisguised shock.
"Mrs. Margaret Ricardo?" he finally managed, his voice barely above a whisper.
Imogen froze, her eyes darting between her father and the old woman she'd just insulted.
The matriarch of the Ricardo family.