"So your grandson's nickname is... Puppy?" I asked, trying not to smile.
Mrs. Margaret Ricardo sat across from me at the café table, her eyes twinkling with mischief despite her advanced age. After her moment of clarity at the mall, we'd retreated here for coffee and privacy.
"Oh yes," she chuckled. "When Nathaniel was little, he followed me everywhere. Just like a loyal puppy." She sipped her tea delicately. "He hates when I call him that now."
I tried to reconcile this image with the stone-faced CEO I'd glimpsed in business magazines. The man whose signature was somehow on my marriage certificate.
"Mrs. Ricardo—"
"Call me Margaret, dear. We're family now."
I hesitated, still processing that bombshell. "About that... I really need to speak with your grandson."
"Of course you do. He's your husband, after all," she said matter-of-factly.
Her lucidity was holding, which gave me hope. Maybe she truly did understand the situation, despite her Alzheimer's.
"There's a charity gala tonight," she continued. "Nathaniel always attends. We'll go there."
"We will?" I blinked in surprise.
"Certainly. I'm on the board." She waved her hand dismissively. "I'll call my driver."
Two hours later, I found myself dressed in a simple black dress Margaret insisted on buying for me, sitting beside her in a luxurious town car heading toward the city's most prestigious hotel.
"Remember," she instructed, "just stay close to me. Nathaniel won't make a scene in public."
My stomach churned with nerves. Tonight, I would finally confront him about our supposed marriage.
When we arrived, photographers swarmed the entrance. Margaret moved with surprising confidence through the crowd, nodding regally as flashbulbs popped around us. I kept my head down, feeling painfully out of place.
Inside, the ballroom glittered with wealth and privilege. Conversations hushed momentarily as Margaret entered, then resumed with increased intensity as people noticed me beside her.
"Margaret Ricardo!" A portly man in an expensive suit approached. "Delighted to see you. And who is this lovely young woman?"
Before Margaret could introduce me, a tall man with silver-rimmed glasses interrupted.
"Mrs. Ricardo, what a pleasure." His smile didn't reach his eyes as they flicked dismissively over me. "I'm Raymond Philips, Mr. Ricardo's personal assistant. He sends his deepest regrets but couldn't attend tonight. A last-minute business emergency."
Margaret's face fell. "Nonsense. Where is my grandson?"
"In Baltimore, ma'am. Addressing an urgent factory issue." Raymond's tone was respectful but firm. "He asked me to escort you this evening."
I watched as Margaret's lucidity wavered, confusion clouding her eyes. "But... Puppy promised..."
Raymond winced at the nickname. "Perhaps we should sit down, Mrs. Ricardo."
As he guided her away, I caught his warning glance back at me. The message was clear: stay away.
I refused to be deterred. Once Margaret was settled with Raymond, I slipped away to a quiet corner and pulled out my phone. A quick search confirmed that Ricardo Industries indeed had a factory in Baltimore. Another search found its address.
Two hours later, I stood outside the sprawling industrial complex, having taken a rideshare straight from the gala. Security was tight, but I was determined.
"Excuse me," I approached the guard station. "I'm here to see Nathaniel Ricardo."
The guard looked skeptical. "Do you have an appointment?"
"I'm his wife," I said, the words feeling strange on my tongue.
The guard's eyebrows shot up, but he reached for his phone. After a brief conversation, he shook his head. "Sorry, ma'am. Mr. Philips says Mr. Ricardo isn't receiving visitors."
Of course. Raymond had beaten me here.
I hesitated, then reached into my purse. Alongside my regular ID was another—my research credentials from my work as Dr. Bella. I rarely used this identity in public, but desperate times called for desperate measures.
"Perhaps this will help," I said, showing him the more impressive badge.
The guard's demeanor changed instantly. "Dr. Bella! My apologies. We weren't expecting you." He quickly opened the gate. "Second building, third floor."
I hurried through before he could verify with anyone. Inside, I followed signs to the administrative section and took the elevator to the third floor.
The office area was mostly empty at this late hour, but light spilled from under a conference room door. Through its glass panel, I could see him—Nathaniel Ricardo himself—bent over blueprints with several engineers.
My heart raced as I approached. This was it. The moment of truth.
Before I could knock, the door swung open and Raymond Philips stepped out, his face darkening when he saw me.
"How did you get in here?" he demanded.
"I need to speak with Mr. Ricardo," I insisted, trying to look past him.
Nathaniel glanced up at the commotion. For one brief moment, our eyes met. His were cold, assessing, and utterly indifferent. Then he simply turned back to his work and nodded to Raymond, who promptly had someone draw the blinds.
Just like that, I was dismissed.
Raymond grabbed my arm and steered me toward the elevator. "This is harassment," he hissed. "Security!"
Two guards appeared almost instantly.
"But I'm his wife!" I protested as they escorted me out.
Raymond laughed coldly. "Mr. Ricardo isn't married. This delusion of yours is becoming tiresome."
Outside, in the parking lot, Raymond confronted me again. "Listen carefully. Mr. Ricardo has never met you. He certainly hasn't married you. Whatever scam you're running ends now."
"It's not a scam," I insisted, pulling the marriage certificate from my purse. "Look!"
He barely glanced at it. "A forgery, obviously."
"His grandmother recognizes me!"
"Mrs. Ricardo has Alzheimer's," he said dismissively. "She confuses faces, names, even decades. One day you're her nurse, the next her daughter-in-law. It means nothing."
I felt my temper rising. "If that's true, why are you working so hard to keep me away from him?"
Raymond's lips thinned. "Because Mr. Ricardo's time is valuable. And you're wasting it."
"I just need five minutes—"
"Let me make something crystal clear," he interrupted. "You will never get near Nathaniel Ricardo again. I'd bet my career on it." His smile was cold. "In fact, I'll make you a wager. If you ever manage to speak with him in person, I'll admit I was wrong and apologize. But when you fail—and you will fail—you'll leave him alone permanently."
I glared at him, furious at his condescension. "Fine. Deal."
He smirked and walked away, leaving me standing alone in the parking lot.
Back in my rideshare, I stared out the window, frustrated but not defeated. There had to be another way. Then I remembered—Margaret's phone. She had been texting someone she called "Grandson" earlier.
Pulling out my own phone, I composed a message:
"This is Juliana, Mrs. Margaret Ricardo's companion. She's worried about you and wants to know where you'll be tomorrow. She'd like to visit."
I held my breath and hit send.
Two minutes later, a reply came with a location pin. I tapped it open and froze.
The address was for No. One Manor—the notorious Ricardo family estate, the most secure and exclusive private residence in the city.
I was going to the lion's den itself.