Ch 3: A Question of Hearts

Janet sat by the window of her room, sipping tea and holding Mr. S's latest letter in her hands. He wrote;

To Lady J,

"If this story is ours to write, perhaps the ending doesn't matter. It's the journey—the twists and turns—that make it worthwhile. What we create here, between the lines of this correspondence, feels more real than anything I've known.

You asked me what I would do if I were a prince trying to win the heart of my beloved. My answer is simple: I would listen. I would know her dreams, fears, and the songs that make her heart dance. I would give her a space to be herself.

What about you, Lady J? If you were the one holding the pen, what kind of love story would you write?"

Yours,

Mr. S

His words lingered in her mind, weaving a strange blend of curiosity and excitement. It wasn't often that someone saw the world as she did—a blend of whimsy and realism. Yet, this exchange felt like a mysterious adventure like a shared secret that made her days a little brighter.

Meanwhile, her friend and colleague, Emma, burst into the room.

"Janet, you're coming to the library gala tomorrow, right? You can't just keep hiding in your cocoon!" Emma declared.

Janet hesitated. She wasn't one for public gatherings, but something about the library gala struck a chord. Perhaps it was fate nudging her to attend.

Meanwhile, Sam found himself drowning in corporate chaos. Meetings, launches, and interviews consumed his days. But late at night, in the quiet solitude of his penthouse, he thought about the letters. About Lady J. Her words challenged him in ways no business rival ever could. Somehow it was more exiting to him than any of his expensive sport cars.

Later that evening, the library gala for the new authors were staged. Perhaps one of the biggest in that year. The library buzzed with life as guests filled the grand hall for the gala. Janet arrived early, nervously clutching a glass of champagne. She found comfort in the familiar rows of books, trying to find something interesting.

Sam arrived later, his sharp suit and commanding presence turning heads. He was quite demanding among girls, though he found them distracting and paid no attention to them.

As fate would have it, Janet, distracted by a passing server, accidentally bumped into Sam, spilling champagne down the sleeve of his pristine suit.

"I… I'm so sorry!" she stammered, her voice trembling as her cheeks flushed.

Sam's patience, already worn thin by the day, snapped.

"Do you even watch where you're going?" he snapped, his tone sharp enough to cut through the bustling noise of the gala.

Janet froze, the sting of his words rooting her to the spot. Emma, noticing the commotion, hurried over.

Emma was dumbfounded when she recognised the man infront of him. "Oh, you're Sam Foster! The CEO, right? I've seen you on TV!" she exclaimed, drawing attention from nearby guests, including Janet.

Janet froze. Sam Foster? The Sam Foster she'd seen in magazines? The realization hit her like a thunderbolt. As she slowly got out of the gala to avoid any further complications.

Emma and Janet returned to their shared apartment. But Janet suddenly felt a bit of rage.

"I said sorry, yet that guy screamed at me infront of all those strangers. What a mean guy he is?"

Emma tried to calm her. "You know how these high-powered types are—no patience, no manners. Forget about him."

But Janet was furious. She just couldn't stop thinking about her rather uneventful encounter with Sam Foster. And whilst she was triggered by his actions, she didn't realise who it was.

Meanwhile, back at his penthouse, Sam sat by the window, nursing a drink and replaying the moment in his mind. Guilt gnawed at him. He had overreacted, letting his stress dictate his actions. He sighed, staring out at the city lights.