My heart hammered against my ribcage as Imogen's words sank in. She'd called someone here? My mind raced, trying to make sense of her claim. I had no husband—at least not one I'd ever met. The legal document binding me to Nathaniel Ricardo was just that—a piece of paper connecting two strangers.
"Imogen, what game are you playing?" I kept my voice low, steady despite my growing panic.
Her smile widened with predatory satisfaction. "No game, sister dear. Just thought everyone should meet the man you've been hiding all this time."
Before I could respond, the door swung open. All eyes turned as a man stepped into the room. He was tall with broad shoulders, but his faded jeans were splattered with mud, his work boots leaving dirty marks on the polished floor. His plain t-shirt was stained with sweat, and a tool belt hung low on his hips.
"Sorry I'm late," he said, scanning the room. His eyes landed on me. "Juliana?"
