Fleeting Love, True Encounter

: The Third Person

He picked up a beige, wide-brimmed hat and placed it on my head. After fiddling with it for a moment, he nodded in satisfaction, looking like he was trying to suppress a smile. "I'll take the entire collection," he told the clerk.

Just as the clerk was boxing everything up, a powerful shove sent me stumbling to the side.

My heels skidded on the slick marble floor. I staggered a few steps but couldn't regain my balance and collapsed onto the ground.

A sharp pain flared from my elbow and knees. I lifted my head and saw Tanya Gable's exquisite face.

Acting as if she hadn't even seen me, she walked straight up to Shane Sinclair. Her voice was laced with suppressed fury. "Where is Julian Sinclair? I followed him all the way to Veridia, and he won't even give me his address."

Before, whenever I fell or got pushed around, Shane Sinclair was always the first to rush to my side.

He would gently help me up, check me for injuries, and then stand protectively in front of me.

But this time, he didn't.

He didn't even glance my way. Instead, he hurried forward, gently steadying Tanya Gable, who was slightly out of breath from running in. "Careful," he said. "You rushed in so fast. Don't slip."

The tenderness and concern in his voice felt like daggers in my ears.

"I'm never kept in the loop on family business," Shane Sinclair continued, his fingers naturally tucking a stray curl behind Tanya Gable's ear. "I've told you before, my brother isn't interested in you. Why are you forcing it?"

Tanya Gable reacted as if she'd heard the funniest joke in the world, shoving Shane Sinclair's hand away. "He doesn't like me? He won't marry me? What, is he supposed to like Cecilia Gable instead?"

Only then did her gaze finally land on me, still sprawled on the floor.

Her look was dismissive, as if she were inspecting a worthless knickknack. "Sloppy, timid, and utterly unpresentable. How could someone like that ever be worthy of being the wife of President Sinclair?"

It was only then that Shane Sinclair glanced at me, his eyes ordering me to leave.

I quietly scrambled to my feet, brushed the dust from my skirt, and slipped out of the shop, head bowed. Even as I left, I could still hear them talking.

"My dearest sister, you're not going to make me marry Cecilia Gable, are you? Can't you give me a chance, too?"

I heard their intimate banter, followed by Tanya Gable's crisp laughter. "In your dreams."

My elbows and knees still throbbed with a dull ache, but compared to the hollowness in my heart, the physical pain was practically nothing.

My phone buzzed in my pocket—a special notification sound.

The one I had set just for Shane Sinclair.

I pulled out my phone. On the screen was a location pin from Shane Sinclair. "Go here and find my brother. While you're there, find out what his plans are."

I stared at the message for a long time, so long that the screen timed out and went dark. Only then did I raise my hand to hail a cab.

The location pin led to a quiet, residential neighborhood of villas.

As I rang the doorbell, I steeled myself for rejection.

Julian Sinclair—Shane Sinclair's older brother, the true power behind the Sinclair Group—was notoriously cold and aloof.

The door opened.

Julian Sinclair stood there in a simple white cotton shirt and gray slacks, a pair of gold-rimmed glasses perched on his nose.

He had obviously just finished working; his laptop was still open on the coffee table in the living room.

When he saw me, his eyes widened slightly, betraying genuine surprise.

"Cecilia Gable?" His voice was a little deeper than I remembered. "What are you doing here?"

I forced a smile. "I came here on a trip with Shane. Something came up so he couldn't make it, and he asked me to pay you a visit."

A flicker of something crossed Julian Sinclair's eyes, and the hint of a smile at his lips faded slightly. "Is that so." He still stepped aside to let me pass. "Come on in."

The villa's interior was done in a minimalist, modern style. Expansive floor-to-ceiling windows looked out onto a meticulously manicured garden.