All That Went Unsaid
Sophie Esinberg is on the verge of losing everything she has worked so hard to build. When her best friend offers her a risky, ride-or-die opportunity, Sophie reluctantly agrees, even though it pulls her into a world she despises: wealth, privilege, and glamour.
Everything goes according to plan until she meets Raymond Reynolds. He is charming, infuriating, and captain of the U.S.A Football Team. And oh, he is also the boy who broke Sophie's heart seven years ago.
As unresolved feelings resurface and time draws them back together, Sophie and Raymond struggle to move on from a past that refuses to stay buried. Facing love again means confronting their deepest fears and the truths that once tore them apart. For both of them, healing may require risking their hearts one more time.
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Chapter 2
"Welcome to Les Prix d'Excellence Jeunesse, Mr. Reynolds," a girl about my age purred, her voice laced with a fake sweetness of a tired concierge.
I accepted the card with my room number painted in golden italics, managing only a tight-lipped smile before nodding curtly and turning away.
Life, as I've come to learn, is a capricious journey. Never did I imagine standing here today, as captain of the U.S. football team, representing my country on the grandest stages. It was a dream I scarcely dared to embrace, made possible by one person.
I couldn't disrespect what she'd taught me or the changes she'd wrought in me. It was her influence that guided me, her teachings echoing in my decisions. So, I followed my heart and pursued my passion.
Navigating the hotel lobby, I headed for the elevator, glancing at my keycard before pressing the button for the twenty-second floor. I retreated into my thoughts, seeking respite from the clamour of fame and expectation.
As the elevator slowed to a stop, I walked through the deserted lobby toward the hotel penthouse. Inside, my belongings lay neatly arranged, a testament to the efficiency of the hotel staff. Exhaustion weighed heavily on me; I'd arrived from Munich just an hour ago for the International Football Association meeting, before jetting here.
Changing into more comfortable attire, I collapsed onto the bed. The television flickered to life, a news channel covering the event that brought me here.
The reporter stood outside the hotel amidst a throng of fans, banners waving fervently. The "Les Prix d'Excellence Jeunesse" was touted as the year's most anticipated event, celebrating nominees under forty excelling in their respective fields.
"Celebrities, sportspersons, artists, scientists, and entrepreneurs have descended upon the prestigious event of the year, 'Les Prix d'Excellence Jeunesse'. This eagerly anticipated gathering celebrates individuals under forty who have demonstrated excellence in their respective fields. The atmosphere outside the venue buzzes with fervour as fans congregate, eagerly showing their support."
The reporter shifts her attention to a jubilant girl holding a "We Love You William" banner. "It's clear you're rooting for William," she says, turning towards the camera with enthusiasm. "And we're talking about none other than William Gatterman, captain of the Australian Cricket Team."
The girl leapt with excitement, shouting, "He's going to win!"
Amidst the fanfare, the reporter notes the escalating excitement among the crowd, prompting the hotel to bolster security measures due to the surging number of attendees.
"Among the early arrivals are notable nominees such as William Gatterman, captain of the Australian Cricket Team, and our own charismatic Raymond Reynolds, captain of the U.S. football team."
"In the business category," the reporter continues, "we have Yel-en Dang, CEO of Aurora from China, Enighbam Longhach, CEO of Vostro series from Germany, and Levin Lockhard, CFO of Borealis from Finland."
"In the science category," she adds, "we have the promising and youthful-"
With a sigh, I turned my attention to the plush bathroom, its marble surfaces gleaming under soft and ambient lighting. Stepping into the spacious shower, steam began to rise, enveloping me in warmth and momentarily soothing my restless mind. The week's schedule promised a Mixer Party at eight tonight, which would give me some time to explore.
Dressed in a maroon V-neck t-shirt and dark jeans, I laced up my sneakers and stepped out of my room. After exploring some parts of the Hotel, I stumbled upon a library and started walking towards it. Although I have not been particularly fond of books, I did read them when I find myself on the verge of boredom.
Among the shelves, my footsteps faltered as I as I took in the appearance of the person standing in front of me.
In a simple black dress that tantalizingly grazed above her knees, her dark-brown hair cascaded in a neat ponytail. Red lipstick accentuated her lips, making them all the more enticing.
I clenched my fists struggling to maintain composure, battling the overwhelming urge to reach out and feel the silkiness of her skin. Did she still taste the same? Like strawberries and summer evenings. I wanted to touch her again, to feel the warmth of her skin against mine. To lose myself in her. Again.
My heart skipped a beat as beads of sweat formed on my brow and I struggled to steady my breath. She remained engrossed in her reading, oblivious to my presence, while I stood captivated and transported back seven years in an instant.
In that moment, it felt as though only she and I existed in the room. My senses tingled in a moment fraught with unspoken history; after seven years, she still held the same inexplicable power over me.
Looking back, I realised that life was a heap of moments. Some were happy, filled with laughter and warmth. Others were full of sorrow, tainted by loss and regret. But most were empty, lost in the blur of daily routine.
Distracted by the relentless pursuit of my goals, and the pressure to fit in. I stopped living in the present. Mind always busy with to-do lists and what-ifs. Only worries consumed my thoughts. And amidst all that, I forgot to savour the now, the fleeting seconds that could never be reclaimed.
When I close my eyes and drift back to that time in high school, I think about her. When I had her by my side, her presence turned the mundane into something special, making even the emptiest moments worthwhile. Her laughter was my lifeline, sweeping away the worries of life. In those moments, all I wanted was to keep that smile on her face forever, mostly because it made me feel like I belonged. I did not merely exist in the world but belonged.
That I belong to her.
I didn't realize what I had, what she meant to me, until she was gone and it was too late. Then, in the quiet moments of reflection, I always reminded myself of all that I had missed. It was the smallest of moments, the ones that seemed insignificant to most, but to me, they were everything.
I missed our late-night talks, the kind that stretched into the early hours, where every word felt like a caress. I missed our study dates, the comfort of her presence beside me, the way her hand would brush against mine, igniting sparks that lit up my soul. I missed walking down the hallway, our fingers entwined, the world fading away, leaving just us. I missed the heat of her body next to mine, the rhythm of our hearts beating in unison. I missed her teaching me, her voice gentle and patient, her laughter filling the silence of the library. I missed her sarcastic comebacks, the sharp edge of her wit that always caught me off guard. I missed everything we did, every stolen moment, every shared dream.
I missed the sparkle in her eyes when she talked about her dreams, a light that had the power to brighten even my darkest days. And most of all, I missed the taste of her lips on mine, a kiss that had the power to transport me to a place where time stood still and we were the only thing that mattered.
When I was with her, I was me. I didn't care about my bad-boy reputation. I didn't care about disobeying my father. I didn't give two shits about anything in the world. I had no worries.
And now, here she was. In front of me, and I couldn't even move. It felt like I was glued to the ground. I wanted to talk to her, apologize for all that went down between us. But most of all I wanted to feel the comfort of her arms around me.
She probably wouldn't want that from me.
I was trying to summon the courage to go talk to her. Just say hi, maybe. Isn't that what ex-lovers do, after all? Exchange a few pleasantries and move on with life. I knew deep down that no matter how much I might still wanted her, she didn't feel the same.
After taking a deep breath, I finally made up my mind and forced my legs to move. As the distance between us closed, my heartbeat raced. With every step, I had to take a deep breath to steady myself. My steps halted as I stood two feet from her. She soon realized my presence and looked up. Her light brown eyes gazed at me.
One glance, and those beautiful brown eyes knocked the air from my lungs. My heart started doing some crazy dance, and a lump formed in my throat. Her eyes widened with realization, and pure shock painted her face.
" Hey," those words slipped from my lips as her gaze locked onto mine.
"Hi," she replied, her eyes holding me captive.
"How are-" My words were abruptly interrupted by someone else.
"There you are!" We both turned to the sound of the voice.
"Hey, sweetheart," a guy walked towards us and then his arms encircled Sophie's waist, his lips pressing gently against her temple.
"Uh, hey, Justin," she responded, her eyes darting everywhere but towards me. An uneasy tension settled between us.
I clenched my jaw.
Of course she had moved on. It had been seven fucking years.
"Uh-maybe we should catch up sometime. See you around? " I managed to ask.
"I hope not," she said with a tight-lipped smile. Her words cut through me as she turned away, the other guy's arm still around her waist, and they left the library together.
I stood there unable to process the flood of emotions crashing over me as I watched her disappear into the bustling lobby.
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8.0
Blurb
**She's promised to his brother... but branded by his touch. And now the past refuses to stay buried.**
***
**SIENNA**
I thought I buried that night.
The night I gave myself to a stranger. Reckless and wild. No names. No rules. No future.
Just heat. Desperation. A body that made me forget who I was supposed to be.
Now I wear his brother's ring. Planning a future with the man I'm supposed to love.
Then he walks into my engagement party and everything shatters.
Landon Callahan. The black sheep. The rebel. The man who touched me before I knew his name.
He acts like I never existed. Like that night was nothing.
But I remember every breath. Every broken rule. Every moment I came alive.
I should walk away. Should marry Noah and forget.
But Landon has always been the fire I was never meant to touch twice.
*** **
**LANDON**
She was never supposed to be his.
The night I had her, I didn't ask her name. Didn't want to know.
I just knew I'd never forget the way she looked at me. Like I was the only thing she ever wanted.
Then I walk into the engagement party I should have skipped. And see her standing beside my brother.
Now I'm back in the world I swore I'd left behind. And she's the one thing I can't outrun.
She wears his ring. Smiles like she hasn't been in my bed. Pretends I never made her come undone.
But I remember. And so does she.
One night should have been the end.
Instead it was only the beginning.
Because I don't let go of what's mine. Not even for my brother.
7.1
I was living as a ghost in a run-down trailer park, trying to outrun a past that would kill me if it ever caught up. Then the storm hit, and a dying monster collapsed through my door, bringing the smell of copper and the promise of a very different kind of death.
I tried to defend myself with a cheap butcher knife, but Darius didn't just disarm me—he acquired me. Before the rain even stopped, I was drugged and whisked away on a private jet, waking up in a luxury penthouse that was nothing more than a high-tech cage overlooking the city skyline.
He didn't just want my silence; he wanted total control. When I begged to check on my sick grandmother, he threw a manila envelope on the table filled with surveillance photos of her at her nursing home.
"I own the board of that facility," he said, his voice cold as ice. "One call from me, and she dies alone on the street."
He vetted my life in that trailer park down to my medical records and childhood diaries, convinced he had every lever of power needed to keep me obedient. He forced me into silk dresses and expected me to be his domestic pet, a quiet girl waiting for him to return from his world of shadows and blood.
I played the part, letting him pull me into his lap and bury his face in my neck, pretending to be the broken girl he thought he’d bought. I watched his security cameras, calculated his blind spots, and waited for the moment his exhaustion outweighed his instinct.
Darius thinks he knows me because he saw where I lived, but he’s never been more wrong. His investigators found the pauper, but they completely missed the princess with an Ivy League degree and a family name that carries more weight than his illegal empire.
He thinks he’s the one holding the leash, but he has no idea who he’s actually brought into his home. The game has just begun, and this time, the "asset" is going to be the one who burns the house down.
7.8
Helen was finally brought back to the luxurious Gallagher estate as their long-lost blood relative.
But her new family didn't welcome her; they looked at her with undisguised disgust.
The matriarch mocked her stench of poverty, while her step-sister Candice treated her like a feral animal. The patriarch, Fredy—who had built his empire by betraying Helen's mother—tried to break her spirit. He blackmailed Helen into attending a high-society gala by threatening to cut off her grandmother's medical funds.
At the gala, Candice squeezed into a diamond-encrusted gown, desperate to seduce the guest of honor, Damian Montgomery. Damian was the most powerful man in New York, and he was currently tearing the city apart looking for a mysterious woman named Jane.
Overhearing this, a sick, greedy smile spread across Candice's face. She planned to impersonate Jane to claim Damian's wealth and completely crush Helen under her heel.
"Hide in the corner tonight. Don't you dare try to speak to anyone important!"
They all thought Helen was just a helpless, uncultured country girl they could easily manipulate and step on to secure their stolen legacy.
What they didn't know was that Helen was the real Jane. She was the lethal shadow who had saved Damian in the woods, shattered his grip, and robbed his highly guarded vault just the night before.
Helen calmly adjusted her simple black dress and stepped into the ballroom, ready to tear their stolen world apart.
7.3
For three years, I was the perfect, invisible wife. My husband, Jaden, called the songs I poured my soul into "trash," then secretly fed them to his pop-star mistress to make her famous.
Then one night, after being drugged at a gala, I woke up in a stranger's bed. It wasn't just the betrayal that shattered me; it was the soul-deep certainty that this powerful, dangerous man was my true fated mate.
I fled home in a panic, only to find a message on Jaden's phone confirming my worst fears. His mistress, the woman singing my songs on the radio, was pregnant with the baby he'd always told me I was too weak to carry.
The nightmare deepened when I learned the identity of the man from the hotel. He was Carter Mcclain, the ruthless Alpha King-and my husband's older brother.
He looked at me with eyes that knew my secret, his cruel smirk promising that my life was now a game for his amusement.
Jaden had stolen my music, my dream of a family, and my future, leaving me trapped between his betrayal and his terrifying brother.
He thought he had broken me, leaving me with nothing. He forgot he left me with the rage that wrote the songs. And I was about to write their final, brutal verse.
8.5
Alexandrea woke up with a splitting headache in a strange hotel bed, terrified to find a brutally handsome, half-naked stranger beside her.
Before she could even scream, the door burst open. Her adoptive mother, Ivette, stormed in with a swarm of reporters and flashing cameras.
"How could you disgrace our family name like this?"
Ivette sobbed, putting on a theatrical performance of a heartbroken mother. It was a setup to completely ruin Alexandrea's reputation in front of New York's elite.
For ten years, Alexandrea had lived in a house of horrors. Her back and arms were covered in silvery scars and puckered cigarette burns left by Ivette's vicious abuse.
Yet to the public, Ivette had carefully crafted Alexandrea's image as a wild, ungrateful, and manipulative liar.
Trapped under the duvet, Alexandrea was drowning in shame, her voice lost in the storm of accusations.
She didn't understand why her adoptive family hated her so much, treating her worse than a stray dog while using her brother's future to keep her chained.
But what she understood even less was the stranger beside her.
Instead of panicking, the man slowly sat up, his presence alone silencing the frantic room. He was Ace Griffith, the billionaire heir who owned half of Manhattan.
He wrapped his suit jacket around her trembling shoulders, looked Ivette dead in the eye, and dropped a bomb.
"I will be marrying her."
Then, he carried Alexandrea away from her ten-year prison, ordering his men to dig up the Terry family's darkest secrets and her true identity.
8.2
Zarah never imagined marrying a stranger-especially a cold billionaire with a dark past.
Forced into a contract marriage to save her sick mother, she agrees to one year without love.
But secrets, jealousy, and forbidden feelings begin to blur the rules.
When the contract ends... will love survive?