All That Went Unsaid | Complete (18+)

Chapter 11

Sophie Esinberg's POV

I could do this. I could survive this night. More than survive, I could win. I could leave this glittering circus of fake laughter and clinking glasses with investors who actually cared about clean water and not just champagne fountains. That was the goal. That was all that mattered.

"That's a noble cause, Sophie," David said, his voice dipped in syrupy condescension. "I must say, I never imagined someone so stunning could also be so... driven. Beauty with brains what are the odds?"

He chuckled then, low and drawn out, the sound crawling over my skin like something with too many legs. I smiled tightly, pressing my fingers into the stem of my wine glass just to keep from recoiling. In the last twenty minutes, his eyes had swept across my body like a scanner set to 'predator'. Six times. I counted.

But I didn't flinch. I didn't snap. I buried it.

Just like I buried his suggestive chuckles, his too-long stares, the way he licked his lips after complimenting my "ambition." I kept talking—about nanotech filters and scalable community models and biocompatible membranes. Because that's why I came here. Not to make friends. Not to feel safe. I was here to find someone who believed in the science more than the spectacle.

David, meanwhile, launched into a story about an award he'd received for donating to some monkey rescue program in Arizona, his voice swelling with self-congratulation. I let my gaze drift. Across the gala hall, sequins sparkled like distant stars. Laughter rolled like fog. People moved through the space in curated elegance, knowing smiles tucked behind their champagne flutes.

Find someone. Find a familiar face. But none emerged.

I was doing fine, technically. Smiling, nodding, maneuvering this conversation like a tightrope walker in heels. But the rope was fraying. I felt it. My patience, my composure, everything was thinning by the second.

Where the hell is Daniel when I need him?

David's voice cut through my spiral. "I can introduce you to some of the directors on our board, they're here tonight."

That snapped my attention back.

"You can pitch your project to them," he added, his words sugar-slick and his mouth curving into something between a smirk and a leer. Then he winked. Winked.

My stomach twisted.

"That would be amazing," I said, forcing my lips into a smile I no longer recognized. Hope fluttered like a trapped moth in my chest, colliding violently with unease. "Thank you, that's really kind of you."

"Of course. I think I saw Beckett heading toward the lawn." He turned, balancing his champagne flute with ease, and reached out with his other hand, resting it firmly against my bare back, right where the fabric of my gown dipped low.

His palm was warm, possessive. Claiming. I froze. Just for a breath. Just long enough to pretend it didn't matter.

My heart thudded but not with excitement, with warning. Loud, primal, unmistakable. A rhythm I couldn't dance to, only endure.

I swallowed it down. Don't be dramatic. Don't ruin your chances. I reminded myself of all the hours spent on this pitch, of the villages depending on this project. I could not afford to misstep.

So I walked with him.

The room around us glittered and spun men in tuxedos, women in floor-length gowns, their laughter echoing off marble and gold. They moved like actors in a play I hadn't rehearsed for, each of them comfortable in their roles. Masks, real and metaphorical, glinted in the warm lighting. They belonged here.