Novel & Cerita Author Julie Johnson

Jullie knocked gently on the door. "Come in," Jane’s voice called from inside. Jullie pushed the door open and stepped in, turning back slightly to address Jane with a teasing tone. "I didn't wanna interrupt, you know." Jane was sitting by the window, reading a physical book, and she rolled her eyes playfully. "Stop it. He doesn't even have my time these days." "Woman of justice," Jullie teased, her voice layered with affection. "I can't believe this is you."

“And besides, drama makes things interesting.” She had a gleam. That sharp, reckless gleam that didn’t match the flour on her nose or the simple braid down her back. It hit me like a slap—Julise wasn’t just clever and brave. She was dangerous. And maybe... fun. “I’m not going,” I said, trying to keep my voice flat. “Yes, you are.” “Julise—” She dropped her spoon and stepped into my space, lowering her voice so only I could hear. “You want answers? Real ones? You won’t find them scrubbing pots. The nobles drink and brag. They lie and then forget who’s listening.”

Noelle Juliana was becoming something known, not because it was loud or insistent, but because it was real. Julian arrived just after eleven. He carried a cup of coffee in each hand and handed mine over without a word. I took it, grateful, and we stood there together for a while, not speaking, just watching the movement around us. Eventually, he said, “You’ve heard.” “Yes.” “You’re sure you don’t want to respond?” “I’m sure.” Julian looked down at his coffee, then back at me. “She’s trying hard.” “She always did.” “I listened to part of it,” he admitted. “She’s making herself the center.”

Julian ------ She gave him the manuscript on a Sunday morning. All of it. Three hundred and twenty-one pages, printed, stacked on the kitchen counter with a single sticky note on top that read: *One week. No edits. Just read.* He read it in four days. Not because he rushed. Because he couldn't stop. He read it the way she had told him to — as a reader, not a participant. He tried. The first fifty pages he succeeded, losing himself in her account of the trials the way a reader would, following the thread of a story whose outcome he didn't know.

"This is unbelievable! I’m going to take a walk outside. I need to breathe. This is a lot, and I’m upset she used you like that." I nodded as he turned and walked out. Sienna Julian seemed to have gone out, so sitting outside and reading was my next best option. Mirror Image by Sandra Brown. It was so captivating. When was this woman going to tell her husband—who is not her husband—that his wife died in a plane crash?

I take a good long whiff of her scent as I stare into her chocolate brown eyes. “Her name is Julia. She is not pregnant. It has been more than six weeks since she has been with a lover. Her blood type would be O positive. She more muscle than body fat, so her weight is around one hundred and fifty four pounds. She uses natural deodorant but puts products in her hair. She also has a thing for sweets” I state evenly. I walk back to the good doctor and push the clip board into his chest. He fumbles as he takes it from me but immediately starts to write down what I said.

Neat rows of windows gleam, and my eyes roam upward as I catch a flash of movement in one of them. Julia, wrapped in nothing but a towel, walks past. Her long auburn hair is twisted up in a bun, but a few strands have escaped to frame her face. She doesn’t seem to realize that anybody could see her. My gaze lowers to the spot where the top of the towel conceals her chest before the guilt kicks in.

The project wasn't about art. Not really. It was about being seen. About telling stories. About reclaiming something. Camille shifted nervously in her chair. "I know it sounds stupid." "No." The answer came instantly. "It doesn't." The younger woman's shoulders relaxed slightly. Jessica continued turning pages. The ideas became more ambitious. More detailed. More powerful. Then she saw a title written across one page. The Unbroken Collection The words hit her harder than expected. Because they felt true. Painfully true.

she said, biting her lower lip. “I guess”, I whispered. Julie started other things I couldn't understand because I wasn't listening. All that was on my mind was how I was going to avoid Julian, and I must do so,at all cost. And speak of the devil. The heavy dining room doors swung open, and Julian walked in. His large, imposing frame seemed to instantly consume the entire room's attention the moment he crossed the threshold. Broad shoulders, sharp jaw, effortless posture—damn, he was fine. But my breath caught in my throat when I noticed the unfamiliar, perfectly manicured hand entangled with his.

She's often possessed; I hope you won't be surprised if she suddenly behaves unusually," Julian whispered in Julie's ear. "Why did you bring her here? It's ridiculous," Julie replied no less quietly. "She's trustworthy, and she's still a descendant of the five great witches." "I only trust you, Julian." "And I need your expertise to break into Dad's cupboard." "Hahaha, you're so funny." "So, can we get started?" Joan looked straight at Julie. Her grey eyes seemed to be searching for an answer to the question Julian had asked her. She nodded and took a step back. Joan reached into a leather pouch from her waist bag and took out a jar containing a white powder.