Chapter 4
1167 Words
Sophia’s POV
He steadied me quickly, hands still on my arms as if making sure I was real and upright and not about to fall apart.
“I wasn’t looking where I was going.”
His gaze moved over me fast, scanning, checking. There was real concern there. No politeness. No distance. Just a sharp flash of worry that appeared and disappeared in the same breath.
“I’m fine,” I managed, even though my heart had completely forgotten how to beat normally.
He nodded, already half-turning away as voices called his name from down the hall. His security detail hovered a few steps back, tense and waiting. His team stood clustered like a moving storm cloud ready to follow wherever he went.
He was in a hurry. That much was obvious.
But he didn’t just leave.
He turned to one of the men behind him, his tone shifting into something brisk and commanding.
“Make sure she’s okay.”
And then he was gone.
Just like that.
The hallway swallowed him. The movement of suits and polished shoes fading into the distance until the space felt oddly quiet again.
One of his staff stepped forward immediately, concern etched across his face. He asked if I was hurt. If I needed medical attention. If I wanted ice. Water. Assistance. Anything at all.
I reassured him I was fine at least three times before he finally seemed convinced.
And yet he didn’t leave.
Instead, he hesitated like someone waiting for permission to say something he wasn’t sure he should say.
“Miss Louis,” he said carefully.
My heart skipped.
I hadn’t told him my name.
He extended a small, sleek envelope toward me.
“Mr. Greene asked me to give you this.”
My fingers hovered in the air for a second too long before taking it.
It was heavier than paper should feel. Thick. Cream colored. My name written neatly across the front in clean, deliberate handwriting.
Sophia Louis.
I looked up, but the hallway was already empty.
He was gone.
And suddenly the quiet felt louder than the collision had.
My room was quiet when I got back. The kind of quiet that presses against your ears. I sat on the edge of the bed, turning the envelope over in my fingers, tracing my name again and again as if it might disappear if I blinked too hard.
Sophia Louis.
Neat handwriting. Controlled. Intentional.
I slid a finger under the seal and opened it.
Inside was a single card. Thick. Cream colored. Expensive without screaming about it.
His handwriting again.
Straightforward. Direct.
No fluff. No poetry. No theatrics.
Just him.
He apologized for bumping into me and for the inconvenience. He wrote that he would appreciate the chance to speak with me privately. He clarified that we would still remain within the summit premises, in a private VIP section he had access to. He wrote the time. That evening. Precise. Clear. Confident. And at the bottom, simply:
Colton Greene.
I read it once.
Then twice.
Then a third time, slower, like new meaning might grow between the words if I gave them enough attention.
The door opened behind me.
“Well, well,” Emily’s voice floated in, playful and curious. “I leave you alone for one evening and men have already started sending letters.”
I spun around too fast, clutching the card like it was contraband.
She walked in, dropped her purse on the chair, and narrowed her eyes dramatically.
“Who is it?” she asked, already grinning. “Please tell me France has delivered the love of your life. I deserve this victory.”
I laughed nervously and shook my head, but my silence gave me away.
Emily gasped. Loud. Theatrical.
“I knew it! You just got here and men won’t let you rest. Honestly, I hope this one is not another time-waster. You deserve the real thing.”
I hesitated.
Then I told her everything.
From the hallway meeting.
To the polite conversation.
To the snub that still burned under my skin.
To the collision.
To the letter in my hand.
Emily listened without interrupting, her expression shifting from amusement to confusion to protective suspicion.
“You are not going,” she said immediately.
The certainty in her voice felt like relief and disappointment tangled together.
I nodded slowly. “Okay.”
The word left my mouth too easily.
Too quickly.
Too ready.
I stared at the letter again.
“What if he has something important to say?”
The question slipped out before I could stop it.
Emily exhaled softly and sat beside me. “I’m sorry for deciding for you.”
Silence stretched between us.
Then she nudged my shoulder. “You should go.”
My heart did something dramatic and unnecessary.
“If you’re going,” she added, eyes sparkling now, “then he should see exactly what he’s been ignoring.”
And suddenly we were in preparation mode.
Emily’s version of war strategy.
We chose something simple. Effortless. Suspiciously effortless.
A soft cream blouse tucked into tailored black trousers. Clean lines. Elegant without trying. Heels that added just enough height to change posture but not scream occasion. Minimal jewelry. Small gold studs. A delicate bracelet.
My makeup looked like skin on its best day. My hair pulled into a low sleek bun that made everything look intentional without looking styled.
I looked in the mirror and almost laughed.
It looked like I hadn’t tried.
Which meant we had absolutely tried.
When I stepped into the hallway, my heart began beating faster than the situation required.
And then I saw him.
The same man who had handed me the letter stood waiting near the elevators.
He straightened immediately. “Miss Louis.”
I blinked. “Were you… waiting for me?”
“Mr. Greene asked me to accompany you.”
The audacity stunned me for a second.
The confidence. The certainty. The assumption that I would come.
What if I hadn’t?
This poor man would have been standing here indefinitely.
I followed him through quiet corridors and restricted hallways until the noise of the summit faded behind us.
The private section was quieter. Softer lighting. Fewer people. Everything felt… removed. Like stepping into a hidden pocket of the same world.
We stopped at a doorway.
“He’s inside.”
My pulse thundered in my ears as I stepped forward.
And there he was.
Seated.
Back turned.
Alone.
For the second time since I had arrived in France, Colton Greene was completely by himself.
And somehow, just the sight of his back still felt unfairly breathtaking.
Broad shoulders relaxed against the chair. Jacket draped perfectly. Dark hair catching the soft ambient light. The quiet confidence of someone who never needed to announce his presence for it to be felt.
I stood there longer than I should have, just looking.
Then he turned.
And the world narrowed into a single, silent moment where neither of us looked away.
- Writer
