Chapter 8

Josephine walked into the living room. She found a sleepy Julie, who was already too tired to keep her eyes open.

She gently carried Julie to the bedroom, patted her back, and tucked a pink stuffed bunny into her arms.

Afterward, she tidied up Julie's backpack. Her gaze fell on the hand-drawn poster inside. On it was a milk-colored puppy, wagging its tail with joy.

Josephine let out a soft sigh.

Tomorrow, she decided, she would check out the pet market.

…

Julian tossed his phone onto the nightstand. A gray towel hung loosely around his neck as he gave his hair a halfhearted rub.

Rosalyn stood nearby, rapid-firing questions. "Was it a female patient? She sounded young. And pretty—she sounded pretty. Is she single? Be nicer when you talk, okay? Was that little chubby pup hers?"

"Rosalyn," he said, voice low, eyelids drooping slightly as he called her name, "since when did you become so nosy?"

"Oh, come on. I'm just worried about you!"

He curled his lips slightly, more smirk than smile. Tossing the towel onto the sofa, he sat down. His damp black hair was slightly tousled, fringe falling loosely over his forehead.

"What are you now, psychic? You heard a voice over the phone and figured out what she looks like? What a waste for you to be working at Faulkner Group. You should apply to some secret agency. Clearly, you've got superpowers."

"She sounded pretty," Rosalyn pressed on, lighting up.

"Nope. Ugly," he replied flatly. With that, he opened his laptop and pulled up medical records. He didn't even glance up. "Close the door."

That sealed it for Rosalyn. If he said ugly, then the girl was probably beautiful.

She plopped down beside him, refusing to let it go. "Josephine, huh? Nice name. Got a photo? Let me see."

"When did you start acting like Mom?" Julian muttered, raising a hand and tapping the air casually with his fingers. "She has a daughter about this tall who has congenital heart disease. Her daughter's my patient."

"She's married?" Rosalyn froze. "So her daughter's a patient? I thought…"

She trailed off, watching her brother's indifferent expression.

Under strict orders from Shane and Vera, she had to ask. "What about the Moore family's heiress? You should at least meet her. She's General Moore's precious daughter."

"Met her." He handed her his phone. "Added her on Instagram. Chatted. Tell Mom I've completed the mission."

Rosalyn knew it wasn't that simple. Her brother's aloof manner said everything. She opened his chat with Myra and took one look before her mood soured.

Myra: [Julian, are you busy today? I have two tickets to the music festival...]

Julian: [Busy.]

Myra: [I have a friend with a heart condition. Can we get a consultation?]

Julian: [Make an appointment.]

Myra: [I heard you're off this Saturday. Let's go to the movies.]

Julian: [On call.]

Just a handful of messages, cold and curt. Rosalyn stared at them, feeling a migraine coming on. Her brother was allergic to friendliness.

"So what type do you like? You don't like Myra, fine. How about someone else? The hospital director's daughter? Or that girl from the Wright family, the ones with the art legacy?"

She felt defeated by his nonchalance. But then, unexpectedly, Julian gave her an actual answer.

"Big boobs. Slim waist. Long legs. Fair skin. Oh, and I don't like girls who are too skinny or too flashy. Not too short either. Ideally, around 5 feet 6 inches tall."

Rosalyn hesitated, her mind sketching out a familiar silhouette.

She turned toward him.

After a pause, she asked, "Phoebe?"

The next moment, his darkened gaze swept over her.

Julian didn't bother answering. He simply shut his laptop and said, "Close the door."

A clear dismissal.

Even though Rosalyn was six years older and had served for years as the executive CEO of the Faulkner Group, when it came to her younger brother, she often found herself at a loss.

His temperament mirrored their father's the most. If he hadn't chosen medicine, if he hadn't cared about maintaining a relationship with their older brother, he'd probably be the one sitting in the chairman's seat.

Julian had the presence. The skill. The power.

He was born to lead.

Out in the hallway, their mother, Vera, was already waiting. She grabbed Rosalyn's hand. "Well?"

Rosalyn gave her the rundown.

Vera sighed. "Is he looking for a girlfriend or auditioning models? He's got height requirements down to the decimal."

She tugged her daughter closer and whispered, "Don't tell your father about these criteria yet. That old stick-in-the-mud will start ranting that Julian's got 'vulgar taste' again."

"Mom," Rosalyn hesitated, "do you remember... when Julian was in university, he had a girlfriend?"

"Of course," Vera said without missing a beat. "He even sent Sabrina abroad because of her…"

How could she forget? The whole thing had been quite a mess. Though, truthfully, it had been Sabrina's fault.

Now that Vera thought about it, maybe they could find that girl again. If she wasn't married yet, maybe there was still a chance.

Rosalyn didn't need her mother to spell it out. She got the message loud and clear.

She'd only mentioned the girl, and Julian's face had immediately clouded over.

She wanted to douse the idea with cold water then and there, but seeing the sparkle in her mother's eyes, she held back.

Still, she remembered.

Seven years ago, not long after Julian left the country, that girl had ended things. She'd mailed over a huge package.

When Julian returned for the New Year and opened it, it was filled with everything from their three-year relationship—every letter, every keepsake, every trinket.

It was a clean, clinical severing.

The girl had even itemized the cost of a bottle of mineral water.

It was the first time Rosalyn had ever seen her brother look that enraged.

…

The week passed quickly.

Josephine attended the Fleuris City Fabric Exhibition and gathered some fresh material.

A few colleagues were whispering.

Carrie grabbed her arm. "Did you hear? Myra's in a relationship. Arranged marriage. The guy's family is loaded, one of the top names in Fleuris City."

The moment she said top names, Josephine's mind drifted—not that she followed high-society gossip, but she couldn't help thinking of the Faulkner family. They practically owned the top chairs in Fleuris City's social hierarchy.

As for Myra, there were things she did at work that Josephine couldn't bring herself to like.

But she had no desire to comment on Myra's private life.

"If only some rich CEO could fall for my friend, I could live off her," Carrie said, grinning as she shook Josephine's arm. "Come on, babe. Just hook one with your looks."

Josephine laughed softly. "My daughter's already six."

And more than that, she didn't think she was all that pretty.

Even after the weight loss, even with coworkers' compliments and strangers' appreciative glances… she couldn't see it.

Maybe it was all the years she'd spent overweight, absorbing silent judgment. The self-doubt and insecurity had been written into her blood.

"So what if you have a kid?" Carrie tipped up her chin. "These days, beauty is a scarce resource. If I were a guy, I'd totally go for you. You've got that soft, elegant vibe. That rare, understated beauty."

She poked Josephine's waist. "How is this so small? What kind of workout are you doing?"

Josephine swatted her hand away, brushing it off as teasing.

"Alright, enough. Let's get some photos. We've got a meeting on these fabrics tomorrow."

Her phone buzzed.

Camera in hand, Josephine busied herself snapping pictures. The fabric expo was packed with people.

It wasn't until she and Carrie grabbed dinner that she finally checked her screen.

There was a missed call from the afternoon.

She stared at the number.

Suddenly, she didn't feel like eating.

It was Julian's.