Chapter 34 — The Weight Of Attention

( Sophie’s pov)

Sleep didn’t come easily that night.

I lay awake long after midnight, staring at the ceiling, listening to the hum of the refrigerator and the occasional car passing on the street outside. My mind replayed the day — Adrian’s steady gaze, Lucian’s electric challenge, Cassian’s disarming warmth.

It would be so much simpler if they were just handsome.

Just wealthy.

Just powerful.

But they weren’t.

They were shaping the way I saw myself.

That was the frightening part.

The next morning, I arrived at the office determined to be normal.

Professional.

Neutral.

Invisible.

That lasted approximately three minutes.

Because in the hallway leading to the analytics department, I heard voices.

Male voices.

Three of them.

My heart did a strange flip.

They were talking.

About me.

I stopped just before the corner — not intentionally eavesdropping — but accidentally overhearing.

Lucian’s voice first:

“She’s got something. “Don’t pretend you don’t feel it too.”

Cassian chuckled softly:

“Feel it? Lucian, you’re practically vibrating whenever she walks in the room.”

Lucian scoffed.

“I’m not— I don’t— That’s ridiculous.”

Cassian:

“Sure.”

Then Adrian’s voice — calm, but with a hint of warning:

“Let’s remember she’s a colleague. A talented one. Whatever you feel — keep it respectful.”

Lucian:

“I am respectful.”

Cassian:

“You’re intense.”

Adrian:

“And intensity can overwhelm someone who’s been hurt.”

Silence.

Lucian responded quietly this time — almost reluctantly:

“…I’m aware she’s been hurt.”

Cassian:

“We all are.”

Adrian:

“Then treat her like a person. Not a conquest. Not a puzzle. Not a project.”

There was another silence — heavy, thoughtful.

Lucian exhaled.

“…Fine.”

Cassian nodded.

“I like her. Not… romantically. I just… like who she is. She’s real.”

Adrian responded:

“Yes. She is.”

I pressed my back to the wall, breath trembling.

They were talking about me.

Not my work.

Not my skills.

Me.

I suddenly didn’t know how to walk around that corner and pretend I hadn’t heard everything.

So I did something strange.

I walked the long way around.

Avoidance: 1

Courage: 0

I made it to my desk.

Focused on my breathing.

Focused on spreadsheets.

And then —

“Morning.”

I looked up.

Adrian.

Of course.

He set a small paper cup of coffee next to my keyboard — not like a romantic gesture — but like a thoughtful one.

“You don’t drink the sugary kind, right? Just milk?”

I blinked.

“How did you know that?”

“You had one yesterday,” he said simply. “And I pay attention.”

He said it like a harmless fact.

But it landed like a confession.

“Thank you,” I murmured.

“You’re welcome.”

He left without lingering.

I stared at the cup.

A ridiculous part of me wanted to cry.

Not because of the coffee.

Because of the consideration.

Later, during the product prototype review, I found myself seated next to Lucian. It wasn’t assigned. It just… happened.

He smelled like cedar and something darker, like black pepper and quiet danger.

His voice was low when he leaned toward me.

“Watch this pitch. It’ll annoy you.”

I blinked. “Why?”

“You’ll see.”

The presenter — a senior marketing lead — began going through their proposal.

And Lucian was right.

It did annoy me.

Because the concept was shallow.

It targeted users like cattle — not humans.

After five minutes, I huffed an irritated breath.

Lucian smirked.

“Knew it.”

“Knew what?”

“That you wouldn’t tolerate lazy thinking.”

He sat back in his chair, and I realized —

He had predicted my response.

Understood it.

Valued it.

Not everyone sees intelligence as appealing.

Some men find it threatening.

Some find it irrelevant.

Lucian found it magnetic.

Then came Cassian.

Lunch break.

I hadn’t planned to eat with anyone. I usually took my lunch outside, on a quiet bench near the side of the building.

I thought I would be alone.

I wasn’t.

Cassian appeared beside me, carrying a sandwich, a notebook, and a dangerously charming grin.

“Is this seat taken?”

“No.”

“It is now,” he declared cheerfully, sitting.

I shook my head.

“You don’t ask permission, do you?”

He shrugged.

“Only when it matters.”

We ate quietly for a moment.

Then he asked — softly:

“Can I ask you something personal?”

My stomach tightened.

“I… maybe?”

He nodded, accepting that boundary.

Then he asked:

“Did the person who hurt you make you feel less than you are?”

I froze.

Absolutely froze.

My lips opened, but the words got stuck in my throat.

He continued, voice gentle:

“You don’t have to answer. I just… see it sometimes. In the way you shrink yourself when you speak. The way you choose your words like they’re fragile. Like someone once taught you that being silent was safer than being honest.”

My throat felt tight.

I whispered:

“Yes.”

Cassian didn’t look triumphant at being correct.

He looked devastated.

“I’m sorry,” he said quietly.

“Why?” I asked.

“Because someone should have protected you, not dimmed you.”

Warm tears filled my eyes — unwanted, unexpected.

And Cassian —

He didn’t look away.

He stayed right there.

Soft.

Present.

Real.

That evening, as we all left the office, I found myself walking behind the brothers — unnoticed — as they spoke.

Adrian:

“She’s starting to open up.”

Lucian:

“She’s starting to show who she actually is.”

Cassian:

“She’s starting to believe in herself.”

Then Lucian said something I will never forget — not for as long as I live.

“I don’t care which one of us she gets close to — as long as she becomes the version of herself she was meant to be.”

That hit me like thunder.

Because for the first time…

I realized something.

This wasn’t a romantic game.

This wasn’t a triangle.

This wasn’t possession.

This was transformation.

When I reached home, I didn’t collapse onto the couch.

I stood in front of the mirror.

Looked at myself.

Really looked.

For years, I saw a woman who had been left.

A woman who had been betrayed.

A woman who had been replaced.

A woman who had been deemed “not enough.”

But slowly — terrifyingly — I was beginning to see…

Something else.

Because Adrian believed in my capability.

Lucian believed in my brilliance.

Cassian believed in my humanity.

But the most important belief —

the one I felt trembling into existence —

was not theirs.

It was mine.

I whispered —

not to convince myself —

but to finally acknowledge:

“I am not broken.”

And for the first time,

I almost believed it.