Beneath the Mask

Her name, his chaos

Sophie POV

The chatter in the office was unusually loud today, and it wasn’t the kind of buzz caused by excitement or productivity. It was hushed whispers, speculations, and side glances. All of it centered on one person: James Blackwood.

As I sat at my desk, pretending to organize files, I caught snippets of conversation floating through the open office space.

“Did you see him during the meeting yesterday? He was completely distracted. Didn’t even catch that mistake in the report.”

“Yeah, that’s not like him. James is usually sharper than a tack in meetings. What’s going on with him?”

“Maybe it’s a woman.”

That last statement hit me like a bolt of lightning. I froze, gripping the file in my hand so tightly that the edges crumpled.

James? Distracted? Over a woman?

No. It couldn’t be.

James was meticulous, methodical, and painfully precise. He didn’t just attend meetings; he dominated them. People dreaded being late because they knew he’d call them out without hesitation. He lived for structure, for control. That’s who James was.

Or at least, that’s who I thought he was.

But lately…

The memory of his recent behavior flashed in my mind—his absent-mindedness during meetings, the way his eyes seemed to drift off as though lost in thought, his temper shorter than usual. And now, his absence.

I tried to shake off the idea, but the more I thought about it, the more I couldn’t ignore it. Could it be… Clara?

My heart skipped a beat at the thought.

Of course, James didn’t know that Clara and I were the same person. He didn’t know that every moment he spent obsessing over her was a moment spent obsessing over me.

The realization made my head spin.

“Sophie!”

The sharp voice yanked me out of my thoughts. I turned to see Isabella storming toward me, her designer heels clicking loudly against the marble floor.

“Sophie! Did you not hear me calling you?”

“Sorry,” I muttered, forcing a polite smile.

“Sorry?” Isabella sneered, crossing her arms over her perfectly tailored blouse. “You’ve been spacing out all morning. Do you even do anything here?”

I bit back a sigh and forced my voice to stay calm. “I apologize, Isabella. It won’t happen again.”

Isabella’s lips curled into a smug smile. “Good. Because if I have to do your job on top of mine, I’ll make sure James knows just how useless you are.”

I didn’t respond. There was no point. Isabella lived to provoke people, and the less I fed into her theatrics, the better.

“Speaking of James,” she said, flipping her hair dramatically, “is he in his office?”

I shook my head. “No. He’s not here today.”

Her perfectly arched brow shot up in surprise. “What?”

“He hasn’t come in,” I clarified.

Isabella blinked, her confusion quickly morphing into curiosity. “James? Not in the office? That’s… impossible. He doesn’t skip work for anything. Not even when he’s sick.”

I nodded silently, feeling the same unease that had been gnawing at me all morning.

Isabella began pacing, her heels clicking against the floor in a rhythmic pattern. “What is going on with him? First, he’s distracted during meetings, and now this? Could it really be… a woman problem or there is something more?”

She laughed, a sharp, condescending sound that grated on my nerves.

Turning to me, she asked, “Sophie, do you think James is seeing someone?”

I stiffened at the question. My mind raced for an answer, but nothing seemed safe to say. “No,” I finally managed, my voice tight.

Isabella smirked, her confidence returning. “Of course not. I thought as much. A woman would never make James like this. He’s too disciplined, too focused.”

She tugged at the hem of her skirt, smoothing it over her thighs. “Besides,” she added with a coy smile, “I’m the one for him. I know he’ll see it eventually.”

I barely suppressed an eye roll as she continued babbling about her imagined future with James. Her words blurred into the background as I stared at the empty hallway, my thoughts racing.

And then, as if summoned by sheer willpower, James appeared.

He strode into the office, his presence commanding as always, but something about him was different. His hair was slightly disheveled, his tie loosened, and his jaw set in a way that screamed frustration.

“Sir!” Isabella exclaimed, hurrying toward him with a wide smile. “I was just—”

“Not now,” James snapped, cutting her off with a sharp glare. “Get out.”

Isabella froze, her smile faltering. “But—”

“I said, get out,” James repeated, his voice low and dangerously calm.

Isabella’s cheeks flushed with humiliation, and she shot me a glare before storming out of the office.

I watched the interaction with growing concern. James was always firm, but this was something else entirely. His usual composed demeanor was gone, replaced by a simmering anger that seemed ready to boil over.

As soon as Isabella left, James slammed the door to his office.

Moments later, the sound of something heavy crashing to the floor echoed through the space.

I flinched, my heart pounding. What was going on in there?

The muffled sound of another crash followed, and then silence.

I stared at the closed door, torn between my instinct to check on him and my fear of making things worse. James was unpredictable when he was like this.

Finally, I took a deep breath and stood, my legs feeling shaky beneath me. I approached the door cautiously, my hand hovering over the handle.

“James?” I called softly, my voice barely audible.

No response.

I hesitated, then knocked gently. “James, are you okay?”

Still nothing.

My heart raced as I debated what to do. Part of me wanted to walk away, to give him the space he so clearly needed. But another part—the part that knew James better than most—couldn’t ignore the nagging feeling that something was deeply wrong.

Steeling myself, I turned the handle and pushed the door open.

The sight that greeted me made my breath catch.

James was standing in the middle of the room, his back to me. Papers were scattered across the floor, a shattered glass lay near the wall, and his desk chair was overturned.

“James,” I said again, my voice trembling.

He didn’t turn around.

“I told you to leave me alone,” he said, his voice low and strained.

“I’m not Isabella,” I replied gently, taking a cautious step forward. “It’s me, Sophie.”

That seemed to get his attention. He turned slightly, his face a mix of anger and something else—something raw and vulnerable.

“Why are you here?” he asked, his tone harsh but not as sharp as before.

“I was worried about you,” I admitted.

His eyes softened for a brief moment before the mask of anger slipped back into place. “I don’t need your concern,” he muttered, running a hand through his hair.

I took another step forward, careful not to push too hard. “James, whatever’s going on, you don’t have to deal with it alone.”

He laughed bitterly, shaking his head. “You wouldn’t understand, Sophie.”

“Then help me understand,” I urged.

For a moment, he looked like he might say something, but then his expression hardened. “Just leave, Sophie. Please.”

The word “please” was so uncharacteristic of him that it sent a shiver down my spine.

Reluctantly, I nodded and turned to leave. But as I reached the door, I heard him whisper something under his breath.

“It’s all because of her.”

I froze, my hand on the doorknob. “What did you say?”

James didn’t answer, but his silence spoke volumes.

And as I walked out of his office, my mind was consumed by a single thought.

Who is “her”?