My Fiancée Married My Sister

Chapter 12

I picked up the phone and stared at the number on the business card for what felt like the hundredth time that morning. The apartment was quiet except for the distant hum of traffic outside. Diana had left for a quick errand, leaving me alone with my thoughts and that simple line of handwriting. I muttered to myself, “Just do it. What is the worst that can happen?”

My thumb pressed the numbers before I could talk myself out of it again. The line rang twice. A professional voice answered on the third ring. “Sinclair Capital, this is Lena. How may I direct your call?”

I cleared my throat. “Hi. This is Jasmine Reed. I received a card from Noah Sinclair. It said we should meet. I am calling to… see if that is still possible.”

Lena’s tone stayed smooth and efficient. “Miss Reed. Mr. Sinclair mentioned you might reach out. Let me check his schedule. He has availability on Thursday afternoon at three. Does that work for you?”

I gripped the edge of the table. Thursday. Four days from now. My mind raced through excuses. Work on new sketches. Follow up on job applications. Anything to delay. “Thursday at three. Yes. That works.”

“Excellent,” Lena said. “I will send confirmation details to the email on file. Mr. Sinclair’s office is on the fortieth floor. Bring identification. Security is strict. Anything else I can help with today?”

“No. Thank you.” I ended the call and set the phone down like it might bite me. An appointment. Just like that. I almost canceled right then. I grabbed the phone twice and put it back down. Four times total before I finally left it alone.

Diana walked in carrying grocery bags. “You look like you just ran a marathon. What happened while I was gone?”

“I called the number,” I told her, sinking into a chair. “His assistant answered. Appointment is set for Thursday at three. I almost backed out four times. What am I doing, Di? This man buys companies for a living. Lancaster is on his list. My old company and now I am walking into his world.”

Diana unpacked the bags, setting fruit on the counter. “You are doing what you always do. Facing things head-on when it matters. Remember how you kept designing even after the family meeting? How you sent all those applications even when the wedding news was everywhere? This is the same. You are not running. You are choosing.”

I helped put away the milk and bread, my movements automatic. “Choosing. That is what it feels like. But my stomach is in knots. Noah Sinclair. The Glacier. They say he moves slowly but nothing survives if he decides against it. What if his information is bad news? What if it is connected to the IP agreement that took my patterns and client files?”

“Or what if it is good?” Diana countered. “You deserve answers after everything. The way you handled the studio visit. One box and you still kept creating. The way you laughed at my texts during the ceremony even though it stung. That says a lot about who you are. People notice that kind of steady fire.”

We made lunch together. Simple sandwiches. I told her more while we ate. “The assistant sounded so normal. Like scheduling meetings with billionaires is everyday business. I kept thinking about the handwritten note. He took time with that card. Why me?”

Diana took a bite and pointed her sandwich at me. “Because you matter. Your work at Lancaster was not small. You created the look that made them noticeable. Clients came for your ideas. You made clothes that worked for real people. That kind of talent gets seen eventually.”

After lunch, I tried to sketch but my mind kept drifting back to Thursday. I almost canceled again. I picked up the phone and put it down. “What if I walk in and he knows every detail? The elevator moment, the family demand, and the way I left with one box and kept going anyway. I feel exposed.”

“You are stronger than you give yourself credit for,” Diana said from the couch where she flipped through a magazine. “The applications you sent this week? Two replies already. People see your potential. This meeting might open more doors. Or at least give you information so you can close old ones.”

I nodded and went back to the sketches. Bold lines. Sweeping details. Ideas that felt like mine again. But every few minutes the appointment sat in the back of my mind like a ticking clock. Noah Sinclair. Steel-gray eyes in the photos. Controlled. Formidable. A man who could change the path I was trying to build.

By evening I had nearly talked myself out of it three more times. Diana noticed during dinner. “You keep checking the clock. Stop. You called. The appointment is set. Now eat and tell me about the new capsule ideas instead of worrying.”

I described the concepts while we ate. “I want pieces that move with the body. No hiding. Fabrics that drape right on curves. Colors that flatter warm skin tones. The kind of collection I wish existed when Mom made those comments about shrinking.”

“That is the spirit,” Diana said. “Keep that energy for Thursday. Walk in there as the woman who built a brand from scratch. Who kept creating after betrayal. Who still finds reasons to laugh.”

Later that night I lay in bed staring at the ceiling. The apartment was dark and still. Thursday felt both close and far away. I ran through possible conversations in my head. What would I say? What would he ask? The information he mentioned pulled at me like a loose thread.

I almost reached for the phone to cancel one final time. My hand hovered. Then I pulled it back. No. I would go. I would listen. I would see what this was about.

The decision settled over me as sleep finally came. Nervous energy mixed with determination. Whatever Noah Sinclair wanted to tell me, I would face it. Not as the woman who got erased. But as the one still standing, still designing, and still choosing her own path forward.