Chapter 10

The day Shermaine moved into Joshua’s house came quickly. She didn’t have much to pack; everything fit into a small suitcase.

It was the weekend. The driver Joshua had sent was already waiting outside.

Before leaving the Jean residence, Shermaine made a FaceTime call to her brother Ross, who was still overseas on a business trip. It rang a few times.

Ross was tall and sharp-featured, with enough of a resemblance to Shermaine around the eyes to make their relation obvious. “Sheary,” he smiled.

“Ross,” Shermaine replied. “You probably already heard about my engagement to Joshua. I’m moving into his place today.”

“Yeah, Dad just told me. Listen, now that you’re going over there, remember to keep some distance. Don’t fall for him,” Ross reminded her.

Shermaine raised an eyebrow. She thought, ‘So Ross thinks pretty highly of Joshua. But it also means if I do fall for him, it won’t end well. Joshua’s not going to fall for me.’

She nodded sweetly. “When are you coming back?”

“End of the month,” Ross answered.

They chatted for a bit longer before Ross, clearly too busy, ended the call.

Hearing a few knocks at the door, Shermaine said, “Come in.”

The door opened. Wendelyn stood outside in a sleek evening dress that fit like it was made for her. The cut flattered her figure, and the whole look gave her an air of graceful composure.

Wendelyn asked gently, “Shermaine, did you finish packing?”

“Yeah.” Shermaine looked up. “What do you want?”

Wendelyn spoke softly, “Mom asked me to see you off.”

At that, Shermaine smiled, realizing why Wendelyn had gone to the trouble of dressing up. She didn’t turn Wendelyn down. “Sure,” Shermaine said.

Shermaine thought, ‘If she wants to be taught a lesson, why should I stop her?’

After about forty minutes, the car pulled up to Joshua’s place. It was a two-story villa, but the lot was huge, and the design had a quiet, understated elegance.

Shermaine cast a glance at Wendelyn with a hint of amusement, thinking, ‘So that’s why she insisted on coming along in an evening dress like that. Trying to play into his taste, huh?’

The car door opened. Shermaine stepped out with one foot, looking up, ready to thank the driver—only to realize it wasn’t the driver who had opened the door for her. It was Joshua.

He wore a crisp white shirt and tailored slacks, the sleeves of his shirt casually rolled up, revealing a clean stretch of forearm. His arms were solid, with lean muscle and sharp definition. Shermaine’s eyes briefly dropped to his hands—his fingers were elegant, the lines of his knuckles refined.

Joshua offered his hand. Shermaine blinked. After a beat, she placed hers in his.

His palm was cool to the touch, but large enough to wrap completely around hers.

Joshua said, “My grandfather knows you’re moving in today. He’d like to meet you.” What he meant was that Owen was already inside.

Shermaine nodded. “Got it.”

Just then, Wendelyn stepped out from the other side of the car. Her red lips parted gently. “Mr. York.”

Joshua looked over. His gaze was mild as he gave a slight nod. Compared to before, this counted as a response.

Wendelyn lit up inside. She thought, ‘Mr. York must like how I look today!’

The autumn wind rustled through the yard, scattering dried yellow leaves across the ground. Shermaine’s hair fluttered in the breeze, a few strands brushing against her cheeks.

Joshua reached out and tucked them behind her ear. “Let’s go in. It’s windy out here,”

That single move nearly gave Shermaine cardiac arrest. She thought, ‘Would it kill him to give a little warning before doing that? A gesture like that’s a bit too intimate.’

On the second floor, Owen caught the scene through the window and looked especially pleased. He pondered, ‘Joshua’s finally showing some sense. Good. Now I just hope I’ll live long enough to meet my great-grandchild.’ His thoughts had already wandered far ahead.

Joshua led Shermaine inside, holding her hand. Wendelyn followed behind, her gaze heavy with frustration as she bit her lip.

The scent of fresh coffee lingered through the house. Owen was seated in the living room. His hair was white, and illness had left him looking thinner than most men his age. But his eyes, sharp and clear, had a way of seeing through people.

There was a quiet strength about him—one that most elderly men didn’t carry.

Shermaine gave a soft, graceful smile. “It’s an honor to meet you, sir.”

Owen’s stern expression melted into a chuckle. “Sheary, you’re just as charming as you were as a child.”

Then he added, “You’ve suffered a lot, though. You were born to a life of privilege, but ended up spending fourteen years out there on your own. That couldn’t have been easy.”

Shermaine smiled, “It’s all in the past now.”

They chatted a bit. Eventually, Owen noticed Wendelyn off to the side and paused. “And this is?”

Shermaine introduced her. “Wendelyn Jean.”

Owen gave a nod. This was his first time seeing Wendelyn.

He thought, ‘So this is the girl the Jeans adopted after Shermaine was taken. She’s certainly been well-raised. Ruth must’ve put in a lot of effort and care.’

But ever since Shermaine returned to the Jean family, Ruth—her own mother—had been particularly cold toward her.

Owen took a closer look. “Jameson and Ruth seem to have treated you quite well even though you’re their adopted daughter.”

Wendelyn smiled politely, “Yes, Mr. Owen York.” After all, they weren’t on a first-name basis.

She continued, “I’m deeply grateful for everything they’ve given me. I don’t think I could ever repay it.”

Owen said, “Then when they’re old, make sure you take good care of them.”

Wendelyn nodded. “I couldn’t agree more.”

Her performance was actually quite decent, but Owen barely paid her any attention. He took every chance he got to talk to Shermaine instead.

Shermaine was easy on the eyes, and when she spoke to an elder like Owen, her voice softened noticeably. When he asked about her past, she never dwelled on the hardship.

Instead, she shared the fun bits, the quirky little stories. Owen was clearly enjoying every minute of it.

Joshua sat beside Shermaine, sipping his coffee, chiming in here and there.

Wendelyn, on the other hand, stayed silent the whole time, clearly out of place.

A servant came over with a tray of fruit and pastries.

Owen said, “Sheary, you’ve done a lot of talking. You must be thirsty. Have some fruit.”

“Thanks.” Shermaine really was thirsty. She picked up a cherry and popped it into her mouth. It was juicy and sweet.

“Try a pastry too,” Owen offered.

Shermaine followed his suggestion and took one from the plate he pushed toward her.

She was absolutely gorgeous, and whatever she did just looked effortlessly graceful. The more Owen watched her, the more pleased he felt.

But Joshua, not quite picking up on the mood, glanced at the time. “Grandpa, it’s getting late. You should head back.”

Owen shot him a glare. “Sheary’s here. I’m not going anywhere.”

Joshua offered a perfectly reasonable excuse, saying, “If you stay, she’ll feel too awkward to talk to me.”

Shermaine exclaimed internally, ‘Wow. Look at the way he said that crap. I’ve gotta hand it to Joshua—his acting is top-tier.’

Owen stroked his white beard, calm and crafty. “You’ll have plenty of time alone with her. Missing out this once won’t kill you.”

Shermaine smiled, a soft dimple blooming at the corner of her mouth. It wasn’t polite or calculated—it was genuine.

In that moment, every bit of her feminine allure lit up the room. She was the kind of woman who was sweet on the outside but dangerous at the core.

Joshua couldn’t look away.

Owen was quietly overjoyed, thinking, ‘She’s so elegant, so radiant. Joshua’s one lucky boy.’ He asked, “Sheary, do you play chess?”

Shermaine didn’t know how to play chess. She knew how to do a lot of things—but chess just happened to not be one of them. She shook her head.

Owen looked a little disappointed.

Then Wendelyn spoke up, “Mr. Owen York, if you’re up for a game, I’d be happy to play with you.”