Chapter 5
1199 Words
Sophia’s POV
He looked at me like he had been expecting someone else.
That was the first thought that slipped into my mind. Not surprise. Not curiosity. Not irritation.
Recognition.
It flickered across his face so quickly I almost convinced myself I imagined it. But the air shifted. Subtle. Electric. Like the moment before rain touches pavement.
He stood slowly.
Not rushed. Not startled. Just deliberate, like every movement had already been decided long before I walked into the room.
For a heartbeat, neither of us spoke.
The quiet wrapped around us, thick and intimate, the soft lighting casting long shadows across the polished floor. The city glowed faintly through the tall windows behind him, France stretching out like a glittering secret.
I suddenly became aware of everything at once. The sound of my heels on the floor. The rhythm of my breathing. The ridiculous awareness of my own hands, unsure of where they should exist.
“You came.”
His voice was calm. Deep. Certain. As if there had never been a possibility that I wouldn’t.
I lifted my chin slightly. “You invited me.”
A pause.
Not awkward. Not tense.
Measured.
His mouth curved faintly, not quite a smile. More like approval.
“I wasn’t sure you would accept.”
The irony of that almost made me laugh.
This man had sent someone to wait outside my room like attendance had already been confirmed.
I took a few steps into the room, stopping a careful distance away. Close enough to speak without raising my voice. Far enough to keep my sanity intact.
“You went through a lot of trouble for a hallway apology.”
His eyes softened, just slightly. “If that was all I wanted, the card would have been enough.”
My heartbeat did a dramatic leap it had not been authorized to perform.
Silence stretched again, but this time it felt different. Less like uncertainty. More like anticipation holding its breath.
He gestured toward the seating area beside him. “Will you sit?”
I did.
Because apparently my brain had clocked out for the evening and left my body in charge.
The sofa was soft, sinking slightly beneath me, and suddenly the space between us felt much smaller than it had when I was standing.
Up close, he looked less untouchable. Still composed. Still polished. But there was something else now. Something quieter. More human.
He studied me for a moment, as if deciding where to begin.
“I owe you an explanation.”
My fingers tightened slightly around each other in my lap. “You don’t owe me anything.”
“I do,” he said simply. “I’ve been rude to you these past few days.”
The memory flashed instantly. The polite conversation. The sudden withdrawal. The embarrassment that had lingered longer than it should have.
“You were busy.”
“That’s not an excuse.”
His honesty caught me off guard. No deflection. No corporate diplomacy. Just a straightforward admission.
“I don’t like being impolite,” he continued. “And I don’t like leaving things unfinished.”
Unfinished.
The word settled between us like it had weight.
My voice came out softer than I intended. “We spoke for less than ten minutes.”
His gaze held mine. Steady. Intent. “Yes.”
The way he said it made it sound like those ten minutes had mattered.
Which was absurd.
And yet.
He leaned back slightly, exhaling as though choosing his next words carefully.
“When we spoke, you said something.”
I frowned. “I said a lot of things.”
“You said you didn’t believe success should make people unreachable.”
My breath caught.
I had said that. Casual. Offhand. A passing comment in a conversation I assumed he barely remembered.
“You walked away immediately after,” I said quietly.
“Yes.”
“Why?”
The question left me before I could filter it. Too direct. Too curious. Too honest.
His gaze dropped briefly to the table between us, then returned to mine.
“Because you were right.”
My heart stumbled.
“And I didn’t like how much I agreed with you.”
The room went very still.
A strange warmth spread through my chest, unexpected and impossible to categorize.
He continued, voice quieter now. “You said it without knowing who I was. Without wanting anything from me. Without trying to impress me. That doesn’t happen often.”
I swallowed. Suddenly aware of the way the city lights reflected in the glass behind him.
“So you avoided me?”
“I removed myself from a conversation that was becoming… distracting.”
The word lingered.
Dangerous. Charged. Suspiciously honest.
My pulse picked up speed again, like it had just remembered its job.
“That’s a dramatic reaction to a conversation.”
“It wasn’t the conversation.”
His eyes held mine again.
This time the silence felt heavier.
Thicker.
Like the air had changed density.
My voice dropped to barely above a whisper. “Then what was it?”
He didn’t answer immediately.
Instead, he watched me.
Really watched me.
Like he was memorizing something.
And then he said quietly, “You.”
The word landed like a stone in still water.
Ripples everywhere.
My brain short-circuited. Completely. Spectacularly.
“I don’t even know you,” I said, the words tumbling out clumsily.
“Exactly.”
The corner of his mouth lifted again, but this time there was no amusement in it. Only something softer. Something far more unsettling.
“You don’t know me. You don’t need anything from me. You didn’t approach me. You didn’t try to extend the conversation. You simply… spoke to me like I was a person.”
The simplicity of the statement hit harder than anything dramatic could have.
He leaned forward slightly, elbows resting on his knees, voice low and steady.
“Do you know how rare that is in my world?”
I didn’t trust my voice anymore, so I shook my head.
His gaze softened again.
“That day, I realized I wanted to continue the conversation.”
My breath caught.
“But I didn’t trust the timing,” he added. “Or myself.”
The honesty in his voice felt like standing too close to a flame.
“So you waited three days?”
“Yes.”
My heart fluttered traitorously. “Why now?”
His answer came without hesitation.
“Because you stopped trying to talk to me.”
I blinked.
“What?”
“I watched you,” he said calmly. “You never approached me again. Never tried to get my attention. You treated me exactly the same as every other attendee.”
Heat rushed to my face. “Were you expecting me to chase you?”
“No.”
A beat.
“I was hoping you wouldn’t.”
Confusion tangled with curiosity inside my chest. “Why?”
His voice dropped even lower.
“Because it told me I wasn’t imagining you.”
The room went impossibly quiet.
The city lights flickered behind him, distant and dreamlike.
My heartbeat was loud enough to be embarrassing.
- Writer
