Chapter 11
1110words
James's heartfelt declaration hung between them like a tangible thing. He remained perfectly still, hardly daring to breathe, his legendary self-control completely abandoned. For perhaps the first time in his adult life, he had placed himself entirely at someone else's mercy, with no contingency plans or exit strategies.
Sophia studied him with that penetrating gaze that had unraveled mathematical mysteries. There was something almost playful in her expression now—a spark of mischief that made her look younger, more carefree than her public persona ever allowed.
She laughed then—not her polite social laugh, but something genuine and musical that seemed to resonate with the starlight around them.
"James Trent," she began, her tone carrying an affectionate amusement, "you've commandeered global billboards, contemplated acquiring century-old luxury brands, and essentially created a shadow corporation dedicated to my support… all leading to this rather formal 'application'?"
His ears burned at her teasing assessment, but he didn't flinch from it. Instead, he nodded with the solemn determination of someone making a sacred vow. "Yes," he admitted, his voice rougher than usual. "Every action, every decision… was to earn the right to stand beside someone as extraordinary as you."
Sophia moved toward him, her white dress seeming to gather starlight with each step, the mirrored floor beneath her creating the illusion that she walked across the very cosmos itself.
She stopped just before him, close enough that he could detect the subtle jasmine of her perfume, close enough that he could see himself reflected in her intelligent eyes.
She lifted her hand—not toward the display case of memorabilia, but directly to his hand, which was clenched so tightly at his side that the knuckles had gone white with tension.
Her touch was cool against his overheated skin, but carried a calming influence that immediately began to unravel the knot of anxiety in his chest.
He startled slightly at the contact, his fist automatically unclenching. With an instinct that bypassed conscious thought, he turned his hand to gently capture hers, marveling at how something so delicate could possess such strength.
"Considering the extraordinary lengths you've gone to," she said, allowing her hand to remain in his, her smile deepening with genuine warmth, "mastering fan algorithms, creating crisis management protocols, engineering increasingly elaborate 'coincidental' meetings… rejecting you now would be almost cruel, wouldn't it?"
James's head snapped up, his expression shifting from nervous anticipation to stunned disbelief. The hope that bloomed across his features was so raw, so unfiltered that it transformed him completely—the calculating businessman replaced by someone almost boyish in his joy.
Sophia watched this transformation with tender amusement. This powerful man, rendered speechless by simple happiness, stirred something protective in her. She tightened her fingers around his and spoke with quiet certainty:
"Yes, James. My answer is yes."
That single syllable contained universes of meaning, the culmination of his elaborate campaign and the beginning of something entirely new.
With a sound that was half laugh, half sob, he drew her into his arms, holding her with a reverence that belied the strength of his embrace. The stars continued their dance around them, silent witnesses to the moment when calculation gave way to genuine connection.
Three months after their surprisingly intimate wedding, The Financial Times published their long-sought exclusive interview with James Trent.
The conversation took place in his redesigned office, where the imposing mahogany desk had been replaced by a more collaborative seating arrangement. Despite this softer setting, the reporter—a seasoned journalist who had interviewed presidents and prime ministers—found herself uncharacteristically anxious in the presence of the notoriously private CEO.
After covering the expected topics of market strategy and corporate governance, the reporter carefully ventured into personal territory: "Mr. Trent, if you don't mind my asking… there's been tremendous public interest in your relationship with Professor Sullivan. The general perception is that you pursued her quite… determinedly. Would you say that's accurate?"
She braced for the standard deflection or the icy stare that had ended careers of journalists who probed too deeply into his private life.
To her astonishment, James's typically guarded expression transformed at the mention of his wife. A genuine smile—something financial reporters had speculated might be physically impossible for him—appeared on his face. He glanced toward his assistant with a slight nod.
Kevin, understanding the unspoken instruction, wheeled in what appeared to be a small display case that had featured in numerous social media speculations.
The case opened to reveal an astonishingly comprehensive collection of Sophia-related memorabilia—everything from academic journals featuring her early papers to limited edition merchandise from her brief entertainment career. The photographer abandoned all pretense of journalistic detachment and began snapping photos like an excited tourist.
With surprising good humor, James lifted a leather-bound notebook labeled "Strategic Acquisition: Operation Starlight" and began reading entries with the same gravity he might use for quarterly projections:
"Phase One: Secure premium advertising space in seventeen global financial centers to display target's commercial work, creating unavoidable visibility and public association."
"Phase Two: Initiate strategic investment in all commercial entities associated with target, ensuring contractual language positions her as primary global representative with unprecedented compensation package."
"Phase Three: Establish minority stake in all creative projects, with contingency legal team prepared for immediate response to reputation management issues."
"Phase Four: Create legitimate organizational structure for ongoing support initiatives, with direct oversight of all operations…"
He continued through several more increasingly elaborate "phases," maintaining perfect corporate seriousness throughout. When he finally closed the notebook, he looked directly at the reporter and added with deadpan delivery: "The ROI has exceeded all projections."
The interview room fell into stunned silence. The reporter's carefully prepared follow-up questions evaporated as she tried to process whether the notoriously ruthless businessman had just described wooing his wife in terms of a corporate acquisition strategy—and whether he was actually making a joke.
When the interview was published, #TrentAcquisitionStrategy instantly dominated social media. The internet exploded with reactions:
"BREAKING: James Trent actually has a sense of humor and it's SENDING ME"
"This man really created a whole-ass corporate strategy document for dating. I'm deceased."
"Billionaire dating tactics: Step 1 - Buy literally everything associated with your crush"
"Why am I finding this weirdly romantic? Like yes it's excessive but also… he TRIED so hard?"
James reviewed the social media analytics report with the same attention he gave quarterly financials, a small smile playing at the corner of his mouth.
Mission accomplished. The world now understood that his greatest achievement had nothing to do with market share or profit margins.
