"My granddaughter-in-law, you won't leave me behind again!"
I froze, staring at the elderly woman clutching my wrist. Her grip was surprisingly strong for someone who looked so frail.
"Mrs. Ricardo," I said gently, trying to extricate myself. "You've got the wrong person. I'm not your granddaughter-in-law."
Her eyes narrowed. "Don't lie to me! I know who you are. You're Nathaniel's wife."
Technically, she wasn't wrong. But I wasn't about to explain the bizarre situation to an elderly woman who clearly had memory issues.
"Let me help you inside," I offered, unlocking my apartment door. "We can call your family to come get you."
She shuffled in behind me, her eyes darting around my modest apartment with curiosity rather than judgment. When I gestured toward the couch, she sat down with a huff.
"I'm not going back," she declared, crossing her arms. "They treat me like I'm broken. Like I don't know my own mind."
I sighed, pulling out my phone. "Who should I call to come get you?"
"No one! I told you, I'm staying here."
"Mrs. Ricardo—"
"Call me Margaret," she interrupted. "We're family, after all."
My phone rang before I could argue further. The screen displayed an unknown number.
"Hello?" I answered cautiously.
"Is my grandmother with you?" Nathaniel Ricardo's cold voice came through without preamble.
I glanced at the elderly woman, who was now examining the stack of academic journals on my coffee table.
"Yes, she's here. She was waiting at my door when I got home."
He cursed under his breath. "Keep her there. I'm on my way."
"Wait—how did you know to call me?"
"GPS tracker in her bracelet," he replied briskly. "Don't let her leave."
He hung up before I could respond. I stared at my phone, irritation rising. He hadn't even asked nicely—just barked orders like I was one of his employees.
I turned back to find Margaret watching me with sharp eyes.
"That was Nathaniel, wasn't it?" she asked. "Always so busy. Never has time for his poor grandmother."
"He's coming to get you," I told her.
She scoffed. "I won't go. Not until he apologizes."
"For what?"
"For trying to send me back to that horrible nursing home." Her hands trembled slightly. "They drug me there. Make me sleep all day so I'm not a bother."
Something in her voice made my heart twist. I knew what it felt like to be treated as inconvenient, to be pushed aside by family.
"Would you like some tea while we wait?" I offered.
Her face brightened. "Yes, dear. That would be lovely."
I busied myself in the kitchenette, watching her from the corner of my eye. Despite her age and apparent confusion, there was something regal about the way she held herself.
"What happened to your face?" she asked suddenly.
My hand flew to my cheek, where a faint bruise was still visible from where my mother had struck me. "It's nothing."
"It's not nothing," she insisted. "Someone hit you."
I turned away, focusing on the kettle. "It doesn't matter."
"It matters to me." Her voice softened. "When my husband was alive, he had a terrible temper. I know what it's like."
I brought the tea over, touched by her concern despite myself. "It was my mother," I admitted quietly. "She has...expectations I can never meet."
Margaret reached out, her cool fingers gently brushing my cheek. "Do you have an egg?"
"An egg?" I repeated, confused.
"Yes, for the bruise. Boil it, wrap it in a cloth, and press it to your skin. An old remedy, but effective."
I couldn't help but smile at the strange advice. "I'll try that."
She nodded approvingly, then took a sip of her tea. "Perfect. You remember how I like it."
I didn't correct her delusion. There was something comforting about her mistaken familiarity, about being treated with such casual affection.
A sharp knock interrupted our quiet moment. I opened the door to find Nathaniel Ricardo looking even more imposing than he had in his office. His tailored suit was slightly rumpled, and the dangerous gleam in his eyes made me step back.
"Grandmother," he said, his voice softening as he looked past me. "You had us worried."
Margaret turned away pointedly. "I'm not going back to that place."
"We've discussed this," he replied, an edge of weariness in his tone. "The doctor says—"
"The doctor says what you pay him to say!" she snapped.
I stood awkwardly between them, unsure whether to intervene. Nathaniel's gaze flicked to me, his eyes narrowing.
"I need to speak with you," he said curtly. "Privately."
I gestured to my tiny kitchen area, the only semblance of privacy in my studio apartment. When we were a few steps away, he spoke in a low voice.
"What did you say to her?"
"Nothing," I responded defensively. "She showed up at my door. I was going to call someone, but then you called me."
His jaw tightened. "She's been asking for you. Insisting you're her granddaughter-in-law."
"I've told her I'm not."
"It doesn't matter what you tell her. She has Alzheimer's. Some days are better than others, but when she gets an idea in her head..." He trailed off, rubbing his temple.
"I'm sorry about her condition," I said sincerely. "But this has nothing to do with me."
He studied me for a moment, calculation evident in his eyes. "Actually, it might."
"What do you mean?"
"She refuses to go with me, but she seems comfortable with you." He hesitated, looking like every word pained him. "Would you watch her? Just until I can make other arrangements."
I blinked in surprise. "You want me to babysit your grandmother?"
"It would only be for a few days. A week at most."
"Why would I do that? You've been nothing but hostile to me."
His expression darkened. "Name your price."
"Excuse me?"
"Everyone has a price, Ms. Johnson. What's yours?"
I felt a flash of anger. "I'm not for sale."
"Fifty thousand dollars," he said flatly. "For one week of your time."
My jaw dropped. Fifty thousand dollars would cover my rent for years. It would fund my research without having to stretch every penny. It would give me breathing room I'd never had before.
My phone rang again, interrupting our standoff. I glanced at the screen and saw my stepmother's name. Anxiety twisted in my stomach—calls from the Johnson household never brought good news.
"I need to take this," I said, stepping away from Nathaniel.
I answered with trepidation. "Hello?"
"Juliana," my stepmother's soft voice came through. "Is everything alright? You missed our family dinner."
I winced. I'd completely forgotten about the monthly obligation.
"I'm sorry, Mrs. Johnson. Work kept me late." It wasn't entirely a lie—my confrontation with Nathaniel had been about clearing the way for my company's IPO.
"Your sister was disappointed," she said, her tone making me feel guilty despite myself. Evelyn Johnson was the only one in the family who showed me any kindness, and I hated disappointing her.
"I'll make it up to her," I promised, though the thought of doing anything for Imogen made my skin crawl.
"That's alright, dear. Take care of yourself."
After I hung up, I turned back to find Nathaniel watching me with an unreadable expression. Margaret had fallen asleep on my couch, her face peaceful in slumber.
"Family troubles?" he asked, not sounding particularly interested.
"Nothing unusual," I replied flatly.
He studied me for a moment longer, then pulled out his phone. After a few taps, he turned the screen toward me. "The money's been transferred to your account. I assume you'll accept the arrangement now."
My phone pinged with a notification. I checked it, my eyes widening at the balance now showing in my account.
"I haven't agreed to anything," I protested.
"Your face says otherwise." He nodded toward his sleeping grandmother. "One week. Keep her comfortable. Keep her happy. That's all I'm asking."
I looked at Margaret's peaceful expression, then at the notification on my phone. The pragmatic part of me couldn't ignore the financial windfall. The stubborn part of me hated feeling like I was being bought.
And yet, there was something about the old woman that tugged at me. The way she'd offered to help with my bruise, the genuine concern in her eyes...
"Fine," I relented. "One week."
Nathaniel nodded sharply. "I'll have her medications and belongings sent over." He handed me a business card. "My direct number. Call if there are any issues."
Without another word, he turned to leave.
"Wait," I called after him. "What about our situation? The marriage?"
He paused at the door. "We'll discuss it after the week is up. Take care of my grandmother first."
And then he was gone, leaving me alone with a sleeping old woman and fifty thousand dollars I hadn't had an hour ago.
I sank into a chair, overwhelmed by the bizarre turn my life had taken. A week ago, I'd been a normal—if overworked—young woman juggling multiple careers under different names. Now I was legally married to one of the most powerful men in the country and babysitting his Alzheimer's-afflicted grandmother.
My phone pinged again. This time, it was a text from Mrs. Johnson:
"Juliana, I hope you don't mind, but I've taken the liberty of inviting Dr. Emma Bella to our home next week. Imogen is very eager to meet her. I thought you might want to join us?"
I nearly dropped the phone. Dr. Emma Bella—my scientific alias—had been invited to the Johnson house. By my own stepmother. At Imogen's request.
And they had no idea they had just invited me to my own ambush.