My Fiancée Married My Sister

Chapter 9

I had gone to pick the envelope up but it had arrived before me. Diana handed me the cream envelope as soon as I got back from the front desk. "This came for you. No return address and feels fancy with thick paper. Who sends physical mail these days?"

I took it and sat at the table where my sketches still lay spread out. "Now a mystery letter… this feels strange.”

"Open it," Diana said, pulling up a chair beside me. "Read it out loud. We have been talking all morning about job replies. This could be good news or more mess."

I slid my finger under the flap and pulled out a single business card. Heavy stock. Simple black text. Noah Sinclair. Sinclair Capital. Below it, handwritten in strong, neat writing: "I think we should meet. I may have information that concerns you."

I stared at it for a long moment. "Noah Sinclair. I do not know that name. Sinclair Capital. Sounds big though.”

Diana took the card and examined it. "Let me search quickly on my phone. Noah Sinclair. Billionaire venture capitalist. Known for buying struggling companies and turning them around. Or dismantling them,” she read out. “What information could he have that concerns you?"

I set the card down on the table next to my sketches. "After all the drama going on in my life, now this? Someone watching me? I do not need more complications."

Diana leaned forward. "But it feels important. Maybe it's related to Lancaster? Maybe he knows something about the IP agreement or Ryan's moves."

I picked the card up again, turning it in my fingers. "’I may have information that concerns you.' What does that even mean?"

"Call him," Diana suggested. "Or at least reply to the email that came with the notification. This could be part of rebuilding."

I stood up and paced a little, the card still in my hand. "Rebuilding. That is what I have been doing here with you.”

Diana watched me pace. "Exactly. But someone out there knows something. Sinclair Capital. They handle big deals. Maybe he looked into Lancaster. You deserve information after what they took."

I stopped by the table and looked at the card again. Noah Sinclair. The name felt heavy. "I think we should meet. That is what it says. But I just lost everything. The public tags still come in sometimes. 'What happened to the sister?' Careless comments. I do not need a billionaire poking around my mess."

"Throw it away if it feels wrong," Diana said. "But keep it for a day and sleep on it. This might be the break."

I held the card a moment longer, then walked to the trash bin. "No. I do not need mysterious information right now. I need to focus, send more applications, and sketch new ideas for my own work.”

I dropped the card into the trash. It landed on top of some old papers. Diana raised an eyebrow but did not argue. "Your choice. You know best what you can handle today."

We went back to work. I sat at the table and opened my laptop again. "Another application. Small boutique looking for pattern makers. I can show the sketches I kept. The bold neckline one. The one I finished the night everything changed."

Diana read over my shoulder as I typed. "Good. Mention your experience with inclusive sizing.”

I kept typing, reading parts out. "Developed patterns that work for real bodies and made women feel seen. That is my strength."

Hours passed like that. Talking through cover letters. Sorting more from the one box. Diana ordering lunch and making me eat while we discussed interview possibilities. "One place replied already. They like your portfolio. You are functioning, Jasmine. Quietly building."

"I am," I said between bites. "But that card… it sits in the trash but the words stay in my head.”

Diana nodded. "Someone has been watching. That is clear. But you threw it away. Maybe that's for good.”

By late afternoon I had sent four more and updated the portfolio with new sketches.

Diana checked her phone. "More comments on the announcement still trickling in. Careless ones. But fewer tags on you. People are already moving on."

"Good," I replied. "I need that. Space to function. To rebuild."

We cooked dinner together later. Simple pasta. Talking about old design school days. "Remember when I cried over that bias cut?" I said, stirring the sauce. "You told me it was perfect and I was just afraid. You have always been the one who does not let me disappear."

"And I will not now," Diana answered. "You are the talented one. The extraordinary one. They all made you shrink. Mom with her words. Ryan with his needs. Ava taking what was yours. But here you are with one box, many applications, and quiet strength."

I nodded, serving the plates. "Quiet strength. That is what I have right now.”

We ate and talked more. About future ideas, my own label someday,.and celebrating what others called flaws.

Later that night I sat alone at the table again. The trash bin still held the card. I did not pull it out, but the words echoed. "I think we should meet. I may have information that concerns you."

I pushed the thought away and sketched instead with new ideas, bold lines, and my own vision.

But as I worked, the wondering grew. Who was watching? What information? After everything, why now?

The questions followed me to bed. The wedding was coming soon. The one I was not invited to. Diana planned to go for me. To witness. But that card. That name. It lingered like a first hint of something bigger.