Chapter 33 — The Attention

( Sophie’s pov)

The next morning, I woke with a sensation I couldn’t name.

Not quite dread.

Not quite anticipation.

Something in between — like standing on the edge of something that might either save me or hurt me, and not knowing which.

I showered slowly, letting the water run hot against my skin. It felt like it peeled off layers I wasn’t ready for the world to see yet — hesitation, fear, self-doubt.

When I dressed, I chose a soft ivory blouse and a muted gray skirt. Business professional, but quiet. It seemed fitting. I didn’t want to make an entrance. I wanted to slip in and survive the day.

The commute passed in a blur — buses, sidewalks, the rush of city noise — and when I reached the agency, the lobby was already busy.

But the moment I stepped inside, I felt it.

Eyes.

Not malicious.

Not judgmental.

But aware.

I told myself it was paranoia.

Leftover nerves.

Overthinking.

But then I walked down the hall past the glass-walled conference rooms, and I saw something that made my breath catch.

Lucian.

Inside one of the rooms.

On the phone, brow furrowed, voice tight with controlled intensity.

He saw me.

He didn’t smile.

He didn’t wave.

But he looked.

And the look landed on me like a physical thing.

Like he was already thinking about me before I entered his peripheral.

Like I had interrupted a mental track where I already existed.

I kept walking.

Not fast…

but faster than casual.

My desk was a sanctuary — or usually was. But today the open office felt like a tank of swirling currents.

I dropped my bag onto the chair and exhaled.

Focus.

Just focus.

Emails.

Deadlines.

Reports.

Numbers.

I clicked open a document and tried to drown myself in work.

It lasted… maybe fifteen minutes.

Then:

“Sophie?”

I jumped.

Adrian.

Standing there, holding a slim binder of project materials.

“May I?” he asked, gesturing to the empty chair beside my desk.

“Of course — yes.” I sat up straighter, suddenly aware of everything — posture, hair, breathing.

He sat. Calm. Grounded. Like always.

“I looked over your revised demographic outline,” he said. “There’s something in it I want to discuss.”

“Yes, sure.”

He opened the binder. His fingers were steady when pointing to a particular section — consumer engagement projection curves.

“These figures,” he said, “they suggest not just insight into demographic tendencies, but a genuine emotional understanding of user immersion cycles.”

I nodded — but inside, I was unraveling just a little.

Because Adrian didn’t talk to me like I was a junior analyst.

He spoke to me like I was a partner.

An equal.

Even if I didn’t feel like one.

He continued, his voice quiet but unwavering:

“That kind of perceptive patterning is rare. It’s usually found in people who have witnessed human behavior closely — very closely — at cost.”

My breath caught.

What did he mean by that?

Did he sense something?

Did he… know?

But then he looked at me — and there was compassion, not intrusion.

“I’m not asking,” he said softly. “I’m just acknowledging.”

Something in my throat tightened.

“Thank you,” I whispered.

He nodded once — like sealing a silent understanding — then rose.

“Your work matters,” he said. “Make sure you remember that.”

And then he walked away — leaving behind a stillness I couldn’t decode.

Later in the day, during a mid-level marketing review, I sat across from Cassian.

He wasn’t even in the meeting.

But he wandered in midway, with a cup of tea in hand, like he belonged anywhere he decided to exist.

When he saw me — really saw me — his eyes lit up.

Not romantically.

Not flirtatiously.

But warmly.

“Hey,” he whispered across the table.

I smiled, shyly. “Hi.”

“What are we doing?” he asked, glancing at the presentation.

“Behavioral trend analysis.”

“Sounds thrilling,” he whispered dramatically, making me snort before I could stop myself.

He grinned — like he’d just been rewarded.

Then, during Q&A, one of the senior staff asked me to expand on an insight I’d written. I froze for half a second — breath stalling — old doubts crawling up my spine.

And before I could self-destruct, Cassian casually said:

“You should hear Sophie explain it verbally — she’s brilliant when she speaks through her thoughts.”

Heat rushed to my cheeks.

He had no idea what those words did to me.

Maybe he did.

But I didn’t know.

I began to speak — hesitant at first — then steadier.

The room listened.

Really listened.

By the time I finished, people were nodding, murmuring approval.

Cassian winked — just slightly.

Not flirty.

Encouraging.

Like he was lending me confidence without demanding repayment.

Around three in the afternoon, I went to the design floor to review interface layouts.

And there — like gravity — I walked straight into Lucian.

He turned as though pulled by the force of my arrival.

“You again,” he murmured.

“Me again,” I replied, surprising myself.

His gaze sharpened — assessing — impressed.

“What do you think of this?” he asked, gesturing to a large concept spread across the wall — mock-ups, color logic, feature flows.

I examined it.

And the truth came out of me before I could edit it:

“It’s bold… but maybe too masculine in tone. You’ll capture dominance… but risk losing emotional accessibility.”

He blinked.

Then smiled — slow.

The kind of smile that says:

Ah.

There you are.

“You felt that, didn’t you?” he asked.

“Not felt,” I corrected. “Observed.”

He stepped closer — not touching, but near enough that my awareness ignited.

“I like how your mind works,” he said. “You don’t just process. You penetrate.”

I flushed. “I analyse.”

“No,” he murmured. “You perceive.”

A breath shivered through me.

He saw the part of me I’d buried.

The intuitive part.

The daring part.

The part Ryan had once mocked.

The part my mother had dismissed.

Lucian valued it.

And that terrified me.

Because it woke something.

By the end of the workday, I was exhausted — not physically, but emotionally. Being perceived — differently by each brother — took its toll.

Adrian saw my strength.

Lucian saw my fire.

Cassian saw my vulnerability.

And I didn’t know what to do with any of that.

On the way home, I texted my friend Mara:

Can someone be three different people around three different men?

She replied:

Yes. But the real question is — which of those three are you when you’re alone?

I froze on the sidewalk.

The city buzzing around me.

Which Sophie was real?

The capable one?

The daring one?

The soft one?

I didn’t know.

Not yet.

At home, I fell onto the couch and closed my eyes.

I thought of the brothers again.

And I realized something that made me sit up slowly—

They each spoke to a different wound in me.

Adrian — to the part of me that thought I was worthless professionally.

Lucian — to the part of me that thought I was meant to be quiet.

Cassian — to the part of me that thought I was unlovable.

And though I wasn’t ready to admit it — not even to myself — I was beginning to heal in their presence.

But healing is complicated.

Because healing can also turn into attachment.

And attachment can be dangerous.

I had promised myself — no entanglements.

But promises made in pain rarely survive exposure to hope.

And these men — these brothers — they brought something dangerous into my life…

Not romance.

Not desire.

Not attention.

Possibility.