Once a Doormat Now Untouchable (Caleb and Sydney) novel Chapter 502

**Chapter 502**

And then, just like that, Raymond appeared across the hall, a sudden presence that shifted the atmosphere in the room.

Tiffany, caught in the throes of her passionate venting, was abruptly interrupted by the shrill ring of her phone. It was a client, and despite her frustration, she had no option but to end her tirade prematurely. With a reluctant sigh, she pushed herself back toward the study-off, ready to don the mantle of the dutiful corporate worker once more.

Julian, leaning casually against the doorframe, let out a light chuckle. “So, what’s your plan now?” he asked, his eyes sparkling with mischief.

“I’ll dry it myself,” Sydney declared, her voice firm but lacking the energy to follow through.

Though she uttered those words, she remained rooted in place. The thought of blow-drying her hair filled her with dread. Why hadn’t someone invented an automatic hair dryer that could do the job for her? If such a miraculous device existed, she would purchase it in an instant.

The air had turned crisp lately, a reminder that one careless moment could lead to an unwelcome cold. Julian, sensing her hesitation, urged her gently, “Go on, you know you should.”

Years had passed, and Sydney had transformed in countless ways, yet some habits clung to her like stubborn shadows. One glaring example: her aversion to drying her hair remained steadfast.

As a child, Julian had been relentless in his attempts to encourage her to take care of her own hair.

The memory of a pouty, indignant Sydney, not even ten years old, flashed through his mind. She would glare at him with a mix of indignation and self-righteousness. “Why are you telling me what to do? If you care so much, you do it!” she had retorted, her logic impeccable and leaving him utterly speechless.

He had spoiled her more than he ever intended.

Initially, he had aimed to instill a sense of independence in her.

“It’s your hair. You should dry it yourself,” he had insisted.

But Sydney always had a clever comeback ready. “If it’s my hair, then why do you care?”

Her reasoning was unassailable, and eventually, he would relent. Once that line was crossed, there was no turning back. From that point on, every time she washed her hair and he was home, she would appear at his study door, hair dryer in hand, her expression sweet and innocent.

“Jules, Jules, come help your Precious dry her hair!” she would sing, a little schemer who had always known that her charm was his Achilles’ heel.

But now, as time had passed, Sydney had matured, and the playful act of being spoiled around him had faded.

A tightness gripped her chest. She stood and pushed open the window, allowing the cool autumn air to rush in, revitalizing her senses. Only after taking several deep breaths did the heavy weight in her chest begin to lift.

“So those ointments from before, the ones by my bed…” she said softly, her voice barely above a whisper. “You were the one who sent them?”

Julian hesitated. “Yes and no,” he replied, his tone measured.

He had longed to do so but knew he couldn’t risk it. If Eloise’s people ever caught him entering Sydney’s room, everything he had worked tirelessly to achieve would unravel.

“Did you want to?” she pressed, her tone unwavering and direct.

He fell silent, the weight of her question hanging in the air.

“Jules, you wanted to bring me the medicine yourself, didn’t you?” Her voice softened, calm and steady, as if she were articulating a truth he was too afraid to voice. “If you hadn’t been worried about putting me at risk, you would have been the one applying it, right?”

It was not merely a question; it was a truth she offered back to him, a connection that transcended their circumstances.