All That Went Unsaid | Complete (18+)

Chapter-10

Sophie Esinberg's POV

The shop sat on the corner of Rue de Charonne like a secret whispered only to those who knew where to look — a boutique with gold calligraphy etched on frosted windows, glowing warmly against the cool afternoon sky. Inside, chandeliers dripped crystals over velvet armchairs and pale marble floors. The air smelled faintly of jasmine and expensive silk. This wasn't just shopping. This was couture.

"I'm in heaven," Justin whispered dramatically as we stepped inside, his eyes already gleaming. "Actual heaven."

Daniel smirked, shoving his hands in his pockets. "It's just a store."

"No, Daniel. It's a temple," Justin corrected, reverently trailing his fingers over a rack of beaded gowns. "Respect the altar."

I let out a small laugh, distracted by the surreal beauty of it all — sequined dresses that shimmered like champagne, flowing chiffon in dusty blues and rich emeralds, racks of delicate tulle and sculpted bodices. Paris had a way of making you feel like you were trespassing into someone else's fairy tale.

A tall woman with a sleek black bun and blood-red lipstick approached us with the elegance of a ballet dancer. Her name tag read Clémence.

"Bonsoir. Welcome to Maison de Soleil," she greeted us in a voice so smooth it almost sounded rehearsed. "May I help you find something in particular?"

"A gown," Justin declared. "For her. Masquerade ball. Think elegance with a touch of mystery. A whisper of danger. And slits, preferably." He winked at me.

Clémence gave a knowing smile. "Of course. Right this way."

We followed her past racks that could make any Vogue editor weep, until she stopped in a quiet corner where the lighting was softer, the fabrics more delicate. "These are from our limited collection for exclusive events," she said. "Let's begin?"

The first gown was a pale gold number that floated like spun sugar. Strapless, with delicate embroidery near the waist and layers of sheer organza that fell to the floor like mist. In the mirror, I looked... nice. Like a bridesmaid at a royal wedding. Pretty, safe, forgettable.

"You look like you're about to bless a child," Justin said flatly.

Daniel chuckled. "It's... gentle."

"Exactly. Gentle isn't the vibe," Justin muttered. "We're going for 'mysterious goddess with a touch of revenge'. Not 'I bake lemon tarts for a living.'"

I rolled my eyes but didn't disagree. "Next."

The second one was black satin. Slit very high, neckline plunging so deep it nearly hit my navel. Strappy back, practically backless. In theory, it was stunning. On me? It screamed effort.

I stepped out and immediately regretted it when Daniel's gaze flickered — just for a second — before he looked away. Justin let out a low whistle.

"Oh, honey, you could kill someone with that slit."

Daniel cleared his throat. "It's... bold."

"You hate it," I said, hands on hips.

"No," Daniel said too quickly. "You look amazing. Just... it's not you." He didn't mean to, but those words cut through my ribcage with quiet intimacy. I turned back to the fitting room before he could say anything else.

Clémence knocked once, then entered with the next dress draped across her arms like a sacred artifact. "Perhaps," she said softly, "this one."

The gown was maroon — rich like wine and velvet nights. It had a high neckline in the front, but the back dipped low, revealing just enough spine to make someone stare. The slit hit mid-thigh, teasing movement with every step. No shimmer, no beads — just elegance in clean lines and perfect tailoring.