Grant had his arm around his new fiancée, Vanessa Hale, who looked elegant but entirely oblivious to the trap they were setting for me.

“Please,” I whispered. “Just nine minutes. My lawyer will be here then.”

The man looked at my bare ring finger, noting the lack of a wedding band.

I quickly slid my hand into my coat pocket.

He stood up slowly.

He was tall, easily six feet two, and he carried an aura of absolute authority that made the air in the room feel heavy.

Without a word, he pulled out the empty chair opposite him.

“Sit down,” he said.

I sank into the leather chair, my heart hammering against my ribs.

“My name is Emily,” I whispered as he sat back down.

“Nathan,” he replied.

He reached across the small table and took my hand.

His palm was warm and dry, his grip surprisingly firm and steady.

“Act natural,” Nathan murmured, his eyes locking onto mine. “They are right behind you.”

I felt a cold shiver run down my spine.

“Emily,” Grant’s voice boomed from behind my shoulder.

I turned my head slightly, keeping my hand firmly in Nathan’s.

Grant stood there, his expensive cashmere coat draped over his arm.

Evelyn was right beside him, her eyes scanning Nathan with sudden, sharp suspicion.

“Who is this?” Evelyn asked, her voice dripping with condescension.

“This is my husband,” I said, the lie tasting like ash in my mouth.

Grant laughed, a harsh, mocking sound that drew glances from nearby tables.

“Your husband? You’ve been divorced for a year, Emily. You don’t have a husband.”

Nathan did not flinch or look away.

He slowly released my hand, leaned back in his chair, and looked directly at Grant.

“I suggest you lower your voice, Mr. Whitmore,” Nathan said, his tone icy and calm.

Grant’s laugh died instantly in his throat.