Chapter 2
1879 Words
Sophia’s POV
I kept staring at my phone long after the call ended, the screen slowly fading to black in my hand.
Working for Emily had never been about favoritism. People loved to assume that, of course. The whispers had followed me the day I got hired. Best friend privilege. Connections. Luck. Words people used when they didn’t want to believe in effort.
The truth was simpler and harder at the same time.
Emily had seen potential in me before I ever did. She had seen discipline, stubbornness, the refusal to give up even when my world was falling apart. I had interviewed like everyone else. I had worked like everyone else. I had earned my place.
But the summit invitation? That was where friendship blurred the lines a little.
I was qualified to attend. I worked in the company. I had the credentials. The experience.
Still, Emily choosing to bring me felt personal.
And that thought made my chest feel warm and guilty at the same time.
The summit happened once every three years. A gathering of people who shaped industries and moved economies with phone calls and signatures. The kind of event people built entire careers hoping to attend just once.
The last time it happened, I had barely been able to get out of bed. I had been drowning in heartbreak, learning how to breathe again after Frank left. While the world gathered in glittering halls and toasted success, I had been learning how to survive silence.
Three years later, life had circled back around and placed me at the door again.
Only this time, it expected me to walk in.
Emily insisted I come over to her place the next day.
Her mansion never stopped feeling surreal, no matter how many times I visited. Tall glass windows that swallowed sunlight whole. Marble floors that reflected footsteps like quiet echoes. A staircase that curved like a ribbon toward the upper floors.
I still remembered the first time I visited, how I had felt like I needed permission to breathe too loudly.
Now, it simply felt like Emily.
She met me at the entrance in oversized sunglasses and excitement that practically sparkled.
“We have exactly seventy-two hours,” she announced. “We need outfits, schedules, beauty appointments, luggage, documents, emergency snacks, backup outfits, backup shoes…”
I laughed. “Emergency snacks?”
“You will thank me later.”
Preparation unfolded like a whirlwind.
Shopping became an event of its own. We moved through boutiques and showrooms where fabric whispered when touched and mirrors seemed too honest. Emily moved like she belonged everywhere. I followed, trying to convince myself I wasn’t out of place.
She chose a midnight-blue gown for the gala night, the fabric flowing like liquid ink. For daytime sessions, tailored suits in soft neutrals and clean lines. Shoes that looked elegant and slightly dangerous. Accessories that shimmered without shouting.
Every time I hesitated at a price tag, Emily brushed past it like it didn’t exist.
“This is an investment,” she insisted.
“Emily…”
“My treat.”
By the end of it, our suitcases looked like they belonged to people with far more glamorous lives than ours.
The night before departure, she confirmed everything.
Flights booked. Hotel reserved. Transport arranged.
She had sponsored the entire trip without hesitation, like generosity was simply another language she spoke fluently.
Gratitude sat heavy in my chest.
Departure morning arrived faster than I expected.
Her driver dropped us at my family home first.
My mother pulled me into a hug that lingered longer than usual. My father gave the kind of firm handshake that tried to hide pride. Tristan hovered nearby with barely disguised excitement.
“You’re going to France,” he said like it was science fiction.
“Just for work,” I replied.
“Still France.”
Emily greeted my parents warmly, promising she would take care of me as if that had ever been in doubt.
Watching her stand in our modest living room felt like two worlds briefly overlapping. Wealth and simplicity shaking hands politely.
Then it was time to leave.
The drive to the airport felt surreal, like the beginning of a chapter I hadn’t read yet.
Business class felt even more surreal.
Soft seats. Quiet lighting. The gentle hum of engines beneath everything. Emily grinned like a conspirator when she saw my expression.
“Told you,” she whispered.
Clouds drifted below us like a second sky.
France waited on the other side.
The summit venue looked like ambition had built itself a palace.
Glass towers reflected sunlight in sharp angles. Flags from different countries fluttered along the entrance. Luxury cars lined the driveway like polished ornaments.
Inside, the hotel rose upward in layers of marble, gold accents, and quiet elegance. Chandeliers spilled warm light across polished floors. The air smelled faintly of expensive perfume and fresh flowers.
People moved everywhere. Conversations in different languages braided together into a constant hum of ambition.
I had never seen so many powerful people in one place.
Some greeted me with polite warmth. Some barely noticed me. Some looked past me like I was part of the furniture.
Emily never let me feel lost.
She introduced me to associates of her late parents, mentors, partners, industry leaders. She moved through rooms like she carried a map only she could see.
And every time she glanced back to make sure I was still beside her, I realized something simple and steady.
No matter how big the world became, we still looked out for each other.
I didn’t know yet that somewhere inside this glittering maze of people and possibilities, my life was about to change forever.
The ballroom shimmered with voices, movement, perfume, and possibility, and somewhere in the middle of all that living, breathing ambition, my attention snagged on a single still point.
A man.
Or rather, the back of a man.
It was ridiculous how quickly my brain began building a story from shoulders and posture alone. He stood near the edge of a conversation circle, tall enough that the light from the chandeliers touched the top of his head before anyone else’s. His suit fit like it had been designed with mathematical precision, the kind of tailoring that didn’t wrinkle or fold or ask for attention. It simply existed and made everything else look underdressed.
Broad shoulders. Narrow waist. The clean, confident line of someone who had never once doubted the direction he was walking.
There was a quiet authority in the way he stood, weight balanced effortlessly, one hand in his pocket as if rooms rearranged themselves to make space for him. Even from behind, he looked composed, deliberate, carved out of certainty.
I caught myself thinking something absurd: You already know he’s handsome.
The way people orbited him made it obvious. Conversations leaned toward him. Laughter tilted in his direction. Women lingered just a fraction longer when they spoke to him. Men nodded with careful interest. No one rushed him. No one interrupted him.
He didn’t chase attention. Attention gathered.
He shifted slightly, turning just enough that I saw the sharp line of his jaw in profile, the hint of dark hair catching warm light.
My pulse did something traitorous.
He was about to turn fully.
And then someone stepped in front of him, greeting him with enthusiastic familiarity. The moment snapped shut like a door.
Before I could even pretend not to stare, Emily appeared at my side and tugged me gently toward another group of people.
Later that afternoon, during a networking session, I spotted him again across the glass terrace. He stood near the railing, overlooking the city like it belonged to him. The wind moved his suit jacket slightly, just enough to show the effortless way he carried himself.
Again, that magnetic circle of people surrounded him. Investors, executives, admirers. A quiet gravity field.
He lifted a hand as if to gesture, then began to turn.
My breath paused.
A waiter crossed my path with a tray of drinks. By the time the path cleared, he had turned back toward his group.
The next morning, I caught sight of him in the lobby. Sunlight poured through the tall windows, sketching gold across marble floors. He walked through it like he had somewhere important to be, stride long and unhurried, confidence stitched into every step.
I slowed, pretending to examine my phone.
He approached the elevators and angled slightly, ready to turn.
A group of photographers rushed past, blocking the view completely.
At lunch, he appeared again near the buffet tables, surrounded by conversation and quiet admiration. I saw the curve of his neck, the confident tilt of his head as he listened to someone speak.
He began to pivot.
Emily called my name from across the room.
By the time evening rolled around, it felt like the universe was playing an elaborate game of hide-and-seek with a man I hadn’t even met.
Every glimpse ended the same way. Almost. Almost. Almost.
I started laughing at myself. Imagining a face to match the silhouette. Building a stranger from fragments.
And somehow, that made him even more interesting.
Gala night arrived like a crescendo.
Emily’s gown shimmered, the fabric hugging her figure before falling in graceful waves to the floor. Her hair swept elegantly to one side, revealing diamond earrings that caught the light with every movement.
My dress was midnight blue, soft and fluid, the neckline dipping just enough to feel daring. The fabric moved like liquid whenever I walked, and for the first time since arriving, I felt like I belonged in the room instead of orbiting it.
The ballroom glowed. Music drifted through the air like silk ribbons. Crystal glasses chimed softly. Cameras flashed discreetly from the edges of the room.
And then I saw him again.
Same broad shoulders. Same effortless posture. Same circle of people surrounding him like he was the quiet center of a storm.
This time Emily stood beside me.
Luck, finally, decided to cooperate.
I leaned slightly toward her. “Who is that man everyone keeps orbiting?”
She followed my gaze without hesitation. “Oh. That’s Colton Greene. You know him, right?”
The name hit like a dropped glass.
Colton Greene.
The billionaire bachelor. The one whose name floated across headlines, interviews, business articles, social media clips. The man I had seen from a distance a hundred times but never expected to share oxygen with.
I stared back at him with new awareness buzzing in my chest.
Of course he moved like that. Of course rooms shifted around him. Of course attention followed him like a loyal shadow.
Emily shrugged lightly. “I’ve interacted with him a few times. Polite enough. Feels a bit rehearsed, though.”
I laughed softly, accusing her of keeping secrets. She rolled her eyes and insisted it had simply never come up.
Eventually the conversation drifted elsewhere.
I told myself I would stop staring. That I would research him later. That admiring him from a distance was enough.
I had almost given up on seeing his face in person.
And then he turned.
Completely.
His eyes met mine across the room.
And the world narrowed into a single, suspended moment.
- Writer
