Page 50 of Julian's Curse

If Julian found these articles first, he’d be devastated. My mind raced, fueled by sudden regret. The thought of him reading about this before I could explain, before I could even try to make sense of it all, was unbearable. Why hadn’t I seen this coming, knowing well enough how tabloids chased every story?

Frantically, I dialed his rehab center, my hands trembling as I tried to push aside the gnawing thought that Oliver still had no answers about Sophie. Everything lately felt infinitely wrong—no matter how hard I tried to steady myself, more chaos kept coming at me. Then with that came a wave of nausea, a reminder that I was in fact carrying Julian’s child. Unexpectedly, I felt apop of bubbles in my underbelly, which couldn’t have been the baby’s movement yet, but it was distinctly different from how I normally felt. “Hi, this is Lucie Valemont. I am calling to see if I can speak with Julian, the passcode is 4222.” I muttered. “He’s been at your facility for almost a month now.” As if I needed to remind them who the famous billionaire was. The staff at this place probably had to sign some of the strictest NDAs they’d ever read.

“Hi Lucie,” answered a pleasant voice. “Actually, Julian’s just checked out unexpectedly this morning.”

My stomach dropped. This was definitely not how I had planned things. Now, I had no idea how to reach him, especially since I still had his phone. Was he on his way home now? Something told me that with Julian, things were about to get far more complicated than I could imagine. He was probably furious, assuming I’d gone through with the abortion without even telling him.

“Do you know where he was headed?”

“No, he left quite abruptly. We’ve tried to convince him to continue the program for another few months but it became impossible.” She let me know apologetically. “Our guests are free to leave anytime.”

There was no doubt that Julian had read the news, and that’s why he was no longer in Palm Springs. I needed to call Oliver about Sophie anyway, so hopefully he’d know how to get in touch with him. I thanked the rehab assistant, then ended the call, next dialed Oliver’s number. He almost always picked up my calls on the first ring.

“Miss Benton.” He answered instantly as I’d expected.

“Oliver, I tried to call the rehab but Julian’s checked out. Do you know if he is using a new number?”

“I will text it to you,” he assured me, then paused. Likely, he had many questions for me but he hesitated to ask…

I sighed with relief, nevertheless. “I know you’re focused on finding Sophie, and that’s really the most important thing. Any news on that?” I urged, still immensely embarrassed about the headlines.

“Actually,” he said in a promising tone. “I have one strong lead for her disappearance.”

“You do?” I suddenly felt a rush of hope, despite how grim the rest of my situation seemed. I hadn’t honestly expected him to move so quickly—after all, when it came to my car accident the previous year, we’d been stuck in a standstill with no leads for what felt like forever. This was different. There was momentum now, and with that came a flicker of hope.

“We’ve been running some phone logs from the area where Mark reported her going that evening,” his voice remained steady despite the weight of the information. “There’s one phone that’s been used in the area, and it belongs to her former colleague, Jessica Doutzen.”

The words hit me like a cold wave. Jessica. Of all people. The name alone stirred up a mix of confusion and unease—why had she been in that area? And what did it mean for Sophie?

“I don’t believe it’s just a coincidence,” he continued, his tone even but firm. “I’ve interviewed Amanda Hart, and it seems like the two girls had a falling out. Do you have any more information on this?”

“Sure, Oliver. Jessica got fired. At one point, she told Sophie that Mark, her boyfriend at the time, had a hidden dating profile. It was pretty petty, honestly. But Sophie took it seriously. So, she broke up with Mark because of Jessica’s story, and it took like a year for them to connect again.” I then shared with him the story about the strange letter she’d sent to Mark.

“Excellent,” he seemed satisfied with my explanation.

“Do we know anything else?” I queried anxiously.

“Not yet, but I am driving to her house at the moment. I am working with the investigators to see if we could request a search warrant. It’s my goal to get them enough facts so they can do so.”

“I am so grateful for your help Oliver.”

“Miss Benton, about the news,” he switched subjects, his tone remaining calm. “I wish you’d let me know sooner, so we could figure out how to address it with the public.” I could sense his frustration with my decision to handle it alone, and I knew he was right. Keeping everything under wraps had never been easy, but now that the story was out, the damage control felt like it was already slipping through our fingers.

“I meant to deal with things in private. I hope you understand, Oliver. I am sorry how this impacted Julian’s business.”

“Yes, Will spoke to me about your sudden trip to East County.”

To my relief, he didn’t ask what part of the story was true or not. But knowing him, he’d probably collected much of the information himself already.

“Do you know how much Julian knows?”

“He’s found out from his PR lady about the articles. She’s not too happy, let me just say it gently.” He acknowledged with brutal honesty.

Something told me that Oliver hadn’t gone as far as telling everything he knew to Julian. This was far too personal for him to throw me under the bus like that. “I’ll give him a call now, and I’ll talk to you later,” I ended our conversation. I didn’t need to remind him to keep me updated on Sophie—I knew he’d do that without being asked.

Almost instantly, I dialed Julian’s new number. A heavy rock settled in the pit of my stomach as each ring stretched on, feeling like eternity. Just as I’d anticipated, he didn’t pick up and it went straight to voicemail. “Hey Julian, it’s Lucie. I meant totell you everything before the articles came out, but then Sophie disappeared. I am not sure you know she’s missing. Please call me back soon.” I ended my voicemail.

Then, I took a seat in our living room, randomly waiting to hear the familiar, rambunctious roar of the Huracan’s engine. Would he call? Would he come home eventually? Knowing it was a terrible idea if I wanted to keep my sanity, I decided to Google the rest of the articles to assess the damage to my reputation. The headlines flashed on the screen, each one more damning than the last.

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