James closed the door to his apartment, the silence immediately enveloping him after Liana's departure. For three days, his sister's vibrant presence had filled the space with conversation and laughter. Now, at 6:47 AM on Monday, the contrast felt stark, almost oppressive.
He leaned against the door, his mind replaying their parting words at the rideshare.
"Remember what you promised," Liana had said, her expression serious despite the early hour. "Handle the Sophia situation. Today."
James had nodded, kissing her cheek. "I will. Safe travels."
Now, alone in his apartment, he glanced toward the coffee table where the faceless portrait still sat—a disturbing reminder of the conversation he could no longer postpone. The painting captured something uncomfortably accurate: his carefully maintained exterior and the turbulent emotions beneath.
As he prepared for work, selecting a charcoal suit and deep blue tie, James rehearsed what he would say to Sophia. Diplomatic deflection had failed; only direct confrontation remained. The thought was distinctly uncomfortable for someone who'd built his professional reputation on smoothing rough edges and navigating difficult personalities without conflict.
At 7:30, showered and dressed, James gathered his briefcase and keys. He paused at his door, listening for sounds from across the hall. Sophia previously explained she typically left for her studio around eight, giving him a narrow window to catch her before work.
He knocked firmly on her door, determined to maintain boundaries while being clear about the unacceptable nature of her behavior.
The door opened almost immediately, as if she'd been waiting. Sophia stood before him in a paint-splattered silk robe over pajamas, her dark curls pinned haphazardly atop her head. Her expression brightened visibly when she saw him.
"James! Good morning. Did you and Liana enjoy the rest of her birthday? Would you like coffee? I just made a fresh pot." She stepped back, gesturing inside her apartment.
"No, thank you," James replied firmly. "I can't stay. I need to speak with you about something important."
Sophia's smile faltered slightly, but she maintained an air of hopeful anticipation. "Of course. What is it?"
James met her gaze directly. "Sophia, we need to establish clearer boundaries. Your behavior lately has become concerning."
Her expression froze. "Concerning? I don't understand."
"The painting of me without a face. The constant monitoring of my schedule. Knowing details about my sister's birthday and our dinner plans. These things cross appropriate boundaries between neighbors."
Sophia's cheeks flushed, her posture becoming defensive. "I was just being observant. Artists notice things others don't. The painting was a gift—an artistic interpretation of a moment I witnessed."
"That's part of the problem," James explained carefully. "The level of observation feels intrusive. You've been tracking my movements, my expressions, details of my personal life. It makes me uncomfortable."
"I never meant to make you uncomfortable," Sophia protested, though her eyes betrayed her understanding. "I thought we had a connection. After that night when you came home so upset—"
"That's exactly what I mean," James interrupted. "Using a moment when I was vulnerable as inspiration for art feels invasive. I need you to stop. No more gifts, no more monitoring my schedule, no more unexpected visits."
Sophia's eyes filled with tears. "Are you saying you'll report me to the police if I don't back off? Is that really necessary?"
James hadn't intended to escalate to that level, but Liana's warning echoed in his mind. "I hope it won't come to that. I value my privacy, Sophia. If you respect that, there's no reason for further action."
She stared at him, hurt and humiliation washing over her features. "I thought... I thought you were just being polite when you turned me down before. That maybe you needed time."
"I was being honest," James said gently but firmly. "My life is complicated in ways I can't explain. That hasn't changed, nor will it. I'm asking you to please respect my boundaries."
Sophia wrapped her robe tighter around herself, a physical gesture of withdrawal. "I understand. I'll... I'll keep my distance." Her voice hardened slightly. "You can return the painting if you don't want it."
"Thank you for understanding," James replied, ignoring the comment about the painting. "I should get to work now."
As he turned to leave, Sophia called after him, her voice smaller. "She's lucky, you know. Whoever has you so complicated."
James paused but didn't turn back. "Have a good day, Sophia."
The elevator ride to the parking garage gave James time to process the conversation. It had gone as well as could be expected—uncomfortable but necessary. Whether Sophia would actually maintain appropriate distance remained to be seen, but he'd made his position clear.
By the time he reached his car, his thoughts had already shifted to the workday ahead. Victoria had scheduled an early morning briefing about a new project—global expansion for their largest tech client. The complexity and scale would require extensive strategic planning, perfect for his new role as Chief Strategic Officer.
As he navigated through morning traffic, James felt a weight lift from his shoulders. One complicated situation addressed; now he could focus on the more intriguing complexity awaiting him at the office.
Three weeks later, James stood in his office doorway at 9:17 PM, surveying the nearly empty floor. Most employees had departed hours ago, leaving only security, the occasional ambitious associate, and the executive team still working on the global expansion project.
The past weeks had been a welcome immersion in work. Sophia had kept her word, maintaining a formal politeness during their infrequent encounters in the building. The faceless portrait remained in his apartment, now stored in his closet—an uncomfortable reminder he wasn't quite ready to discard but didn't want to display.
More importantly, the project with Victoria had consumed his professional focus. They'd settled into a new working dynamic—still formal but with the subtle shift in authority his promotion had brought. Trying to be close or near her became impossible, he rarely saw her, or Victoria maintained her distance, careful never to recreate the electric moment when their fingers had touched over the coffee mug. Yet James had noticed her watching him during meetings, her gaze lingering when she thought he was absorbed in his work.
Tonight marked a critical juncture in the project. The Asia-Pacific presentation for the global expansion was scheduled for tomorrow morning, and Victoria had sequestered herself in her office to review the final numbers.
James gathered the revised projections he'd been working on and headed toward Victoria's office. As he approached, he noticed Amara still at her desk outside Victoria's door, looking increasingly frazzled as she tried to organize presentation materials.
Amara had recently been transferred from the marketing department just three weeks ago, replacing James's former position as Victoria's executive assistant. She was bright and eager but still learning Victoria's exacting standards and complex preferences.
"Everything alright, Amara?" James asked, pausing at her desk.
She looked up, relief washing over her features at the sight of him. "Mr. Mitchell! I'm trying to finalize these presentation binders for Ms. Sharp, but she keeps sending revisions, and I can't seem to get the formatting exactly right."
James glanced at her computer screen, immediately spotting several formatting issues that would certainly trigger Victoria's displeasure. "Those margins aren't what she prefers, and the font weight on the headers is inconsistent."
"I know," Amara sighed. "She's already sent this back twice. I thought I fixed everything, but there's always something else."
James checked his watch—9:22 PM. The presentation needed to be perfect by morning, and Victoria would likely be working until midnight. Amara looked close to tears.
"I can help," he offered. "I handled these presentations for years before my promotion."
Amara bit her lip, hesitating. "That's very kind, Mr. Mitchell, but you're the Chief Strategic Officer now. Ms. Sharp might not approve of you doing administrative work."
James smiled slightly. "Let me worry about that. Send me the files, and I'll clean up the formatting while you handle the printing and binding."
"Are you sure?" Amara asked, hope evident in her voice.
"Positive," James replied, already pulling up a chair beside her. "Victoria—Ms. Sharp—would rather have perfect materials than stand on ceremony."
As James began correcting the formatting issues, Victoria's office door opened. She emerged with a stack of marked-up documents, her expression shifting from concentration to surprise when she spotted James at Amara's desk.
"James? Is there a problem with the APAC projections?" she asked, her tone carefully neutral.
James looked up, meeting her gaze steadily. "No problem. I'm just helping Amara with the presentation formatting."
Victoria's eyebrow arched slightly. "I wasn't aware that fell under the Chief Strategic Officer's responsibilities."
"It doesn't," James acknowledged. "But Amara is still learning your preferences, and we need these materials ready for tomorrow."
Victoria turned to Amara, who nervously straightened in her chair. "Ms. Sharp, I apologize for the delays. Mr. Mitchell offered to help with the formatting while I handle the printing."