However David's hands were soft where James's looked strong. His laugh was too quick, too eager to please, lacking the reserved warmth that made James's rare smiles feel like personal victories. And when David had walked her to her door after their second coffee meeting, Sophia had felt nothing when he'd kissed her goodnight, no flutter of excitement, no spark of possibility.
Just emptiness where obsession used to live.
The realization that James had somehow ruined her for other men should have been terrifying. Instead, it only solidified her conviction that he was worth fighting for, worth the risk of pushing boundaries one more time.
Sophia picked up her latest sketch, another fragmented study of James's hands holding his keys and stared at it with growing frustration. For months, she'd been content to observe, to capture stolen moments and build fantasies around brief hallway encounters. But three weeks of forced distance had taught her something crucial: passive observation wasn't enough anymore.
Elise's joking suggestion echoed in her memory: Maybe you should just have your way with him and move on.
At the time, it had seemed like an impossible fantasy. But as Sophia sat surrounded by evidence of her artistic and romantic stagnation, the idea began to take on a different character entirely. Not impossible, just difficult. Not fantasy, strategy.
James was attracted to her; she'd seen enough glimpses of heat in his eyes to be certain of that. His rejection had been about boundaries, about emotional intimacy and romantic pursuit. But physical attraction was simpler, more basic. And physical attraction could be leveraged if she was bold enough to try.
The thought sent nervous energy coursing through Sophia's system, making her hands shake slightly as she set down her sketch. She'd never been the type of woman who seduced men directly, who took charge of physical encounters with confidence and certainty. But perhaps that was exactly what the situation required, a complete departure from her previous approach.
If James saw her as invasive and concerning when she pursued him romantically, maybe she needed to shift the dynamic entirely. Make it about physical need rather than emotional obsession. Make it impossible for him to intellectualize his way out of the attraction she knew existed between them.
Sophia stood and walked to her bathroom mirror, studying her reflection with new eyes. She wasn't classically beautiful like the polished women James probably dated professionally, but she had assets she'd never fully utilized. Dark hair that caught light in interesting ways, expressive eyes that men seemed to find compelling, a body that was slim but curved in the right places.
The plan that began forming in her mind was both simple and terrifying in its directness. No more watching from doorways or sketching from a distance. No more hoping for accidental encounters in the hallway. She would create an opportunity, something that would put her in close physical proximity to James without seeming manipulative or invasive.
An emergency. Something that would make him feel compelled to help her, to come into her space, to let his guard down long enough for her to show him what he'd been missing.
The idea was dangerous, potentially disastrous if executed poorly. But as Sophia continued staring at her reflection, she felt the same sense of purpose that had sustained her through three weeks of forced separation from James. She'd tried following conventional wisdom about backing off and moving on. Now it was time to try something different.
Something bold enough to match the intensity of what she felt for him.
James was fumbling with his keys outside his apartment door, still riding the endorphin high from his workout despite his distracted state, when movement in his peripheral vision caught his attention. He turned to see Sophia Reyes approaching from the elevator, looking unusually pale and unsteady on her feet.
"Sophia?" he said, pocketing his keys as concern immediately overrode his preoccupation with Victoria. "Are you alright?"
She paused about ten feet from her own door, one hand pressed to her forehead in a gesture that looked genuinely distressed. "I'm... I think I'm..." she began, then swayed dramatically before her eyes rolled back and she began to collapse.
James reacted on pure instinct, dropping his gym bag and lunging forward to catch her before she hit the floor. Sophia's body went completely limp in his arms, her weight settling against him with what felt like genuine unconsciousness. Her skin was clammy, her breathing shallow, and James felt a spike of real alarm as he adjusted his grip to support her properly.
"Sophia? Can you hear me?" he said urgently, but she remained unresponsive, her head lolling against his shoulder.
Think, James commanded himself, pushing aside the panic that threatened to cloud his judgment. Get her somewhere safe, check her vitals, call for help if necessary.
Her apartment was closer than his, and James could see her keys clutched in her free hand. Moving carefully to avoid jarring her, he maneuvered them both toward her door, supporting her weight against his chest as he worked to extract the keys from her loosened grip.
The lock turned easily, and James managed to get them both inside Sophia's apartment, kicking the door closed behind them as he looked around for somewhere to settle her safely. Her living room was cluttered with art supplies and sketches, but there was a couch that looked sturdy enough to support her.
As James carefully lowered Sophia onto the cushions, he noticed scattered sketches on the coffee table and immediately felt his stomach drop with recognition and deep discomfort.
His own face stared back at him from multiple angles; profile studies, close-ups of his hands, detailed renderings of his eyes and mouth. The accuracy of detail suggested long-term, systematic observation that made his skin crawl.
This is exactly why I warned her to stay away, James thought, his unease spiking as he took in the evidence of her continued obsessive behavior. The sketches were invasive, unsettling, proof that Sophia had been watching him far more than he'd realized.