Chapter 6
869words
The first trailer for Sophia's sci-fi epic dropped, featuring a brief but smoldering moment where she and her co-star huddled together amid futuristic ruins, their gazes locked in what could only be described as electric chemistry. Though barely two seconds long, the scene practically melted server farms worldwide.
The "shipping" community exploded instantly, with slow-motion edits and romantic compilations flooding every platform. #FireSophia and #CosmicLoveStory trended globally within hours.
Despite his rational brain understanding it was fictional, watching Sophia pressed against another man with that soul-searching gaze ignited a primal jealousy in James that threatened to consume him whole.
Back at headquarters, Kevin finished his daily briefing and immediately sensed the temperature drop. James was fixated on his tablet, repeatedly watching a looped gif of The Moment that shippers were obsessing over, his finger pressing the screen with enough force to threaten its structural integrity.
"This actor," James's voice maintained an artificial evenness that was more alarming than shouting, "Leon. What's his upcoming schedule look like?"
Kevin felt his stomach drop—surely they weren't about to blacklist one of their own investments? "Leon's booked solid for the next eighteen months, sir. Two major franchises waiting on him."
"I see." James's response was clipped. As tempting as it might be to make a few calls and ensure Leon spent the next decade filming yogurt commercials in Antarctica, he knew such pettiness would be beneath him—and worse, would earn Sophia's contempt if discovered.
But the jealousy churning in his gut demanded an outlet, some way to mark territory without crossing ethical lines.
Within the hour, the "Sophia Global Official Fan Club" published a meticulously worded statement:
[Community Guidelines Reminder: Let's celebrate the artistic integrity of performances rather than projecting romantic narratives onto professional collaborations. We encourage appreciating Sophia's craft without creating speculative relationship content that may cause discomfort to the artists involved.]
The language was diplomatically flawless, but anyone with half a brain could read between the lines: BACK OFF, SHIPPERS.
The shipping community retreated like a tide, while Sophia's dedicated fans cheered the "mature stance" of their official club.
Next, James himself began materializing at every industry event where Sophia was scheduled to appear.
At an exclusive jewelry showcase where Sophia represented the brand, James "coincidentally" attended as a "valued collector." Impeccably dressed in Savile Row's finest, he occupied a prime seat in the front row, positioned with perfect sightlines to both Sophia and anyone attempting to approach her.
Throughout the presentation, his focus remained laser-locked on her, his commanding presence creating an invisible force field that deterred even the boldest industry players from approaching.
During a humanitarian awards ceremony where Sophia presented, James secured the most visible table directly in her line of sight, impossible to miss whenever she looked out at the audience.
His face became an open book of reactions: warming when she smiled, darkening when she engaged with others—particularly male others. He made no effort to disguise these shifts, wearing his possessiveness like a badge.
These maneuvers, while never technically inappropriate, broadcast a clear message to everyone in their shared circles: she was under his protection, his attention, his… claim.
Entertainment journalists, who could smell a developing story like sharks detect blood, began circling with speculative pieces. However, given James's reputation for burying publications that crossed him, their reporting remained frustratingly oblique.
Sophia, with her Fields Medal-winning intellect, naturally observed the pattern forming.
The constant presence of those intense eyes, combined with the suspiciously specific "community guidelines," struck her as both amusing and—though she was reluctant to admit it—oddly warming.
During a film festival, she encountered him in a private corridor between events. He seemed unusually subdued, simply watching her with an intensity that bordered on physical touch. Those typically calculating eyes now held something that looked suspiciously like… hurt?
Sophia felt a sudden mischievous impulse. She paused, cocked her head slightly, and offered him a subtle smirk: "Busy schedule these days, President Trent? You seem to be making more public appearances than I am, and I'm the one getting paid for it."
James hadn't prepared for her to initiate conversation—especially not with that playful edge. His ears burned traitorously hot, saved only by the corridor's merciful low lighting.
He cleared his throat, struggling to maintain composure: "…Just coincidental timing. Supporting your career is the club's primary function, after all."
"Oh?" Her eyes sparkled with dangerous amusement. "Just duty, is it? Nothing more personal driving all this… support?"
James found himself utterly speechless, his legendary negotiation skills abandoning him completely. The man who could stare down hostile boards and government officials was reduced to schoolboy nervousness by a simple question.
Observing his transparent attempt to appear unfazed, Sophia found herself genuinely intrigued by this new side of the infamous "Merciless Trent." Rather than press her advantage, she simply offered a knowing smile and glided past him.
James remained frozen in place, her subtle perfume lingering in the air like an invisible thread still connecting them, his heart performing gymnastics in his chest.
Somehow, that brief exchange had completely neutralized the jealousy that had been eating at him for days.
