All That Went Unsaid | Complete (18+)

Chapter 19

 Sophie Esinberg's POV

Two days after the award function, the charm of Paris had begun to fade, replaced by the dull rhythm of goodbyes and the heavy clink of suitcase wheels dragging across marble floors.

Most of the gala's attendees had flown out already, their designer heels and velvet tuxedos now just memories etched in passing Instagram stories. Only a handful of guests remained—those indulging in extended vacations or, like us, tying up loose ends. The opulence of the hotel had dulled to a soft hum of departure.

Daniel, Justin, and I were packing up the suite in near silence, our things sprawled across the room like traces of the whirlwind week we had just lived through. Daniel was methodically folding his clothes with an eerie kind of efficiency, a man who seemed to keep time with the ticking clock. Justin, on the other hand, was dancing around in socks, attempting to stuff a small Eiffel Tower snow globe into an already-bursting carry-on.

Their flight back to the States was at five, and with Paris traffic being its usual unpredictable mess, we were aiming to leave for Charles de Gaulle by three. My flight to Ethiopia—just two hours later—felt like both an escape and an exile. I planned to spend the extra time buried in a book at the airport lounge, something indulgent and entirely removed from my reality. My mind was fraying at the edges. I needed the comfort of fiction more than ever.

I had been avoiding Raymond.

Avoiding him like a coward, if I'm being honest. Ever since the kiss. That devastating, soul-splitting kiss that still burned on my lips like it had been seared there. I hadn't even seen him since that night, hadn't replied to his texts, hadn't dared to knock on his door even once.

I hoped the silence sent a message.

Because that kiss? It was a problem. It was a detonation.

It wasn't sweet or hesitant like the ones we used to share in his car after football games. No. This kiss was different. Hot. Heavy. Real. It was him, now—not the boy who'd once broken my heart but the man who'd become far too good at kissing like he knew exactly what he was doing. And I was terrified. Because if he kissed me again, I wouldn't survive it.

When Sharon walked in on us, clearly at the wrong time, I did the only thing my heart could fathom—

I bolted.

Ran like hell. Slammed the door to his penthouse behind me and fled back to my suite, trembling. And there, with my suitcase half-packed and my breath locked in my throat, I collapsed into the hotel armchair and nearly spiraled into a full-blown anxiety attack.

And then—thank God—Justin knocked.

One look at me and he knew. He didn't ask right away, just pushed a bottle of water into my hands.

And I told him.

Told him everything.

Told him about the investor meeting, the award ceremony, the sting of losing, the way Bethany had humiliated me. Told him about the chaos boiling inside my brain—about how I felt like I was losing my lab, my work, my entire identity.

And then I told him about the kiss. Every goddamn detail. His fingers in my hair, the rasp of his breath against my jaw, the way time had disintegrated beneath our mouths.

Justin didn't judge. He just listened. That's what he always did. It's what made telling him easier than telling Daniel. With Justin, I didn't have to justify why I felt things. I could just feel them.

Daniel... he was different. Always trying to fix. Always disappointed when I wasn't okay. He was my best friend and I loved him for it, but I also knew that his love came with rules—timelines, checklists, expectations. I hadn't told Daniel anything about the kiss. Hell, I could barely look at him without guilt stabbing me in the ribs.