Unlikely Sparks

Sophia glanced at the coffee cup in her hand, the warmth seeping through her fingers as she stared out of her office window. The morning sunlight spilled across the city skyline, painting everything in a soft golden glow. It was a new day, but the weight of last night’s dinner still pressed heavily on her chest.

Ethan Carter.

She couldn’t escape the memory of his calm, sharp eyes scrutinizing her across the table. He was infuriatingly composed, the perfect image of someone who always had the upper hand. And now, thanks to their meddling grandparents, she was supposed to marry him. The very idea made her blood boil. How could she, a free-spirited creative, be tied to someone so rigid and calculated?

Her phone buzzed, snapping her out of her thoughts. She picked it up and frowned at the notification. An email. **From Ethan Carter.**

---

Across town, Ethan sat in his office, his fingers hovering over his keyboard. He knew Sophia was already furious about the arranged marriage; her sarcastic remarks during dinner had made that abundantly clear. But work didn’t wait for personal drama, and as much as he disliked it, he had to reach out to her about a collaborative project their departments were assigned to.

**Subject:** Campaign Coordination

_Sophia,_

_We need to schedule a meeting to discuss the parameters of the upcoming campaign. Please send me your availability._

_Ethan Carter_

Short. Direct. Professional. Just like him. He hit send and leaned back in his chair, exhaling a long sigh. The memory of her fiery glare during dinner crept into his mind. She was unlike anyone he’d met—defiant, unpredictable, and entirely too interesting for his liking. But this wasn’t about liking. It was about honoring his grandparents' last wish.

---

When Sophia saw his email, she rolled her eyes. "Of course," she muttered. His tone was as dry as toast, and it annoyed her more than it should. But work was work. She fired off a curt reply.

---

**Subject:** RE: Campaign Coordination

_Ethan,_

_Fine. Tomorrow at 3 PM. Boardroom 5. Let’s keep this brief._

_Sophia Blake_

---

The next afternoon, the boardroom felt like a battlefield. Ethan sat on one side of the long table, his notebook open, while Sophia paced the room, her heels clicking against the polished floor. She gestured animatedly as she explained her creative vision for the campaign.

“So, we’ll focus on a storytelling angle,” Sophia said, her voice firm. “Something emotional, something relatable. People don’t want numbers; they want connection.”

Ethan leaned back in his chair, his expression unreadable. “Connection is important, but we also need measurable results. Emotional doesn’t always translate to effective.”

She stopped pacing and turned to him, crossing her arms. “Are you saying people don’t care about stories?”

“I’m saying stories alone won’t sell a product,” he replied evenly. “There needs to be balance.”

Their eyes locked, the tension between them palpable. For a moment, the room felt too small, the air charged with unspoken energy. Sophia opened her mouth to argue, but something in Ethan’s calm, steady gaze made her pause.

“Well,” she said finally, her tone softening just a fraction, “maybe we can find that balance. If you’re willing to compromise.”

Ethan raised an eyebrow, surprised by her shift in tone. “Compromise, huh? That’s a new word for you.”

She smirked despite herself. “Don’t get used to it.”

---

Later that evening, Ethan found himself at a quiet park near his apartment. The weight of the day lingered, but so did the image of Sophia standing in that boardroom, her passion for her ideas blazing like fire. She was infuriating, yes, but there was something else too—something that unsettled him in a way he couldn’t quite define.

He sat on a bench, watching the fading sunset. His phone buzzed in his pocket. A message. From her.

Sophia:

Maybe you’re right. Numbers can be helpful. But don’t let it go to your head.

Ethan stared at the message, a faint smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

Ethan:

Noted. Don’t let compromise become a habit.

Her reply came almost instantly.

Sophia:

You wish.

He chuckled softly, shaking his head. For the first time since their grandparents’ announcement, the future didn’t feel quite as daunting.

Back at her apartment, Sophia flopped onto her couch, her phone still in her hand. She read Ethan’s last message again, her lips curving into a reluctant smile. Maybe, just maybe, there was more to him than she’d thought. But she wasn’t ready to admit that yet—not even to herself.

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