Chapter 4
956words
The fan club—with billionaire CEO James Trent himself as president and unlimited resources at its disposal—had become the stuff of legend in fan communities worldwide.
It operated with corporate efficiency and Wall Street budgets while maintaining impeccable ethics—promoting thoughtful support rather than blind worship, focusing on Sophia's achievements rather than gossip, and earning respect even from rival fandoms.
For the anniversary, they'd taken over the city's most prestigious cultural center—a venue typically reserved for galas attended by heads of state.
The space had been transformed into a temple of sophistication—massive 8K screens displayed a curated montage of Sophia's finest moments, while Michelin-starred pastry chefs provided endless delicacies. Each attendee received a "gift bag" worth more than most people's monthly salary. The affair resembled a Cartier launch party more than a fan meet-up.
James had been uncharacteristically anxious for weeks leading up to the event.
He'd cleared his calendar of billion-dollar negotiations, scrutinized every line of the event plan, micromanaged every aspect of the venue design, and even debated the precise angle of floral arrangements with the celebrity florist.
Kevin watched his boss inspect fan banners and custom lightsticks with the intensity usually reserved for reviewing acquisition contracts, and found he could no longer even summon surprise.
"Kevin, will Sophia find this program too structured? Should we make it more casual?"
"The signature dessert—is the sweetness level appropriate? Have the chef prepare alternatives just in case."
"My welcome address—does it sound too corporate? Should I incorporate more… what's the term… 'stan culture' enthusiasm?"
Kevin: "…" Sir, you're James Trent, the man The Wall Street Journal called "The Ice King of Finance," not some teenager running a fan account from their bedroom!
Sophia typically avoided fan gatherings, but her manager Emma had been insistent: "This isn't your typical fan club with the screaming and crying. They're incredibly professional, and with Trent Corporation backing them… we can't just ignore them. Plus, their charity initiatives in your name have built three schools and funded cancer research. They're doing real good."
Thinking of the millions channeled into meaningful causes, Sophia had reluctantly agreed. Still, when her car pulled up to the venue, even she was taken aback by the scale and elegance of the affair.
James stood at the entrance in a bespoke Tom Ford suit that probably cost more than a decent car, hair perfectly styled, looking every inch the business titan he was. He attempted casual confidence, but his slightly too-rigid posture and unusually bright eyes betrayed his inner turmoil.
"Professor Sullivan, welcome." He extended his hand, his voice dropping to that rich baritone that emerged when he was genuinely moved.
"President Trent," Sophia returned the handshake with a light touch, her eyes taking in the spectacular venue before settling back on him with a genuine smile. "Quite the celebration you've put together."
That small smile and simple acknowledgment made every sleepless night and million spent feel absolutely worth it. His heart hammered against his ribs with embarrassing enthusiasm.
The evening unfolded flawlessly—emotional video tributes, ceremonial cake cutting, luxury prize drawings… Through it all, James's attention remained fixed on Sophia, cataloging her every micro-expression. When she suppressed a laugh at a particularly clever fan compilation, he found himself grinning like an idiot.
Finally came the main event—the presentation of the annual fan achievement awards.
To absolutely no one's surprise, the ultimate "Super Fan of the Year" award went to none other than the club president himself.
When the MC announced "James Trent," the room exploded with knowing laughter and thunderous applause. Everyone present was well aware of the billionaire's year-long campaign of outrageous support that had redefined what it meant to be a "dedicated fan."
James inhaled deeply and made his way to the stage with measured steps. To the casual observer he appeared confident, but those who knew him could see the almost military stiffness in his normally fluid movements.
Sophia took the custom crystal trophy from the presenter—an exquisite piece shaped like a celestial body surrounded by orbiting stars, engraved with "Where Her Light Shines, Stars Bow." She studied the man before her—the same man financial papers called "ruthless" and "merciless"—now standing like an earnest schoolboy awaiting praise, his eyes shining with barely contained excitement and something that looked suspiciously like… bashfulness?
She found it both amusing and oddly endearing. She'd encountered countless people attempting to curry favor—offering money, opportunities, empty flattery. But he was different—clumsily yet sincerely immersing himself in her world, supporting her with such earnest enthusiasm it bordered on comical.
"President Trent," Sophia extended the trophy, her smile warmer than her usual public expression, "your support has been remarkable. This award is well-earned."
James accepted the award with both hands, unable to completely control the slight tremor in his fingers.
He clutched it like a holy relic, the cheers and applause fading to white noise as his entire world narrowed to Sophia's smiling eyes.
He opened his mouth to deliver his carefully rehearsed speech, but found every word had vanished from his mind. Instead, he simply bowed deeply—a gesture of profound respect rarely seen from a man of his stature.
"Thank you," his voice carried through the speakers with unexpected emotion, "The honor is entirely mine."
The crowd erupted in delighted screams and applause. Sophia observed his solemn expression that failed to mask his obvious joy, and finally allowed herself a genuine, unguarded laugh.
In that moment, James Trent knew he would buy an actual star and name it after her if she so much as hinted at wanting one.
