All That Went Unsaid | Complete (18+)

Chapter 12

Sophie Esinberg's POV

The rest of the night passed in a blur of clinking glasses, murmured conversations, and the low hum of jazz that tangled itself into the corners of the ballroom. But despite the swirl of glittering gowns and champagne smiles, Raymond never left my side—a presence that felt as much a comfort as a curse.

After Daniel unceremoniously disappeared into the sea of tuxedos, chasing down PR Company Directors with the single-mindedness of a man starved for attention, I was left floundering. For a moment, I stood there in my heels and borrowed grace, unmoored and painfully aware of my solitude.

And then there was Raymond.

His presence, solid and still as a mountain beside me, brought a strange kind of ease. Not relief—never that—but something quieter, more dangerous. Familiarity. Like muscle memory. Like a home you were exiled from, only to return years later and find it untouched, still whispering your name.

With him by my side, I didn't feel invisible. I felt... seen. And yet, being seen by the only man who once dismantled me from the inside out was nothing short of torture. No matter how maddeningly well-tailored his suit was, or how his cologne curled around me like a memory I hadn't asked for.

My instinct was to run. To put as much distance between us as the ballroom allowed, maybe even fake an emergency and vanish into the night like the dramatic heroine I swore I'd never be. But when I attempted a half-hearted argument about not wanting to spend the evening glued to his side, he—of course—countered with calm logic.

I didn't know anyone here.
Daniel had abandoned me.
He, at least, wasn't a complete stranger.

And somehow, infuriatingly, he was right.

So, we struck a silent truce. No fighting, no rehashing the past, and absolutely no pretending that this was anything more than a strategic arrangement. Two adults, coexisting politely in the same social bubble, until my actual date returned—or the earth finally opened up and swallowed me whole. Whichever came first.

Being escorted around the gala by Raymond Reynolds was like stepping into an orbit I had no business entering—his world, gleaming and effortless, where handshakes held power and smiles were currency. He walked with the easy confidence of a man who knew exactly where he belonged, and to my dismay, he made sure I was comfortable within it.

People kept coming—executives in sharp suits, women in satin who wore their envy like perfume, and fans who blurred the line between admiration and possession. And yet, Raymond remained beside me, anchoring me with small touches and the occasional whisper that made my skin prickle in ways I wish it wouldn't.

At one point, a model—unreasonably stunning and wholly aware of it—sashayed over in a dress that could bankrupt someone. Her eyes barely grazed over me before settling on him, all honeyed smiles. She invited him to join her table with a voice like silk.

But Raymond didn't flinch. Instead, he reached down and intertwined his fingers with mine, a move so casually possessive it sent a shiver up my spine.

"I'll be sitting at her table," he said smoothly, that maddening dimple appearing as he smiled at me. "You're welcome to join us—if there's space."

I didn't even have time to react. She blinked, offered a tight smile, and slinked away with all the grace of a cat denied cream.

My heart was still stumbling over itself long after she left.

I kept scanning the crowd for Daniel, hoping he'd magically emerge from the sea of powerful faces. But he was nowhere to be found. Sharks in tailored suits swirled around me, laughing too loudly, sipping from crystal, and carving out deals with napkin sketches. Still, no sign of Dan.