Page 14 of Her Naughty Billionaire

The attendees, clad in their finest, eye us curiously. Among the glances, some show open admiration for Sophia, while others are more appraising, especially when their gaze shifts to me.

"Victor Thorn," I overhear one man whisper to his partner, "how did he get a ticket to this?"

Another voice, dripping with insinuation, says, "Heard he had to get his hands dirty to be here."

I stiffen momentarily, but Sophia's fingers gently squeeze my arm, a silent plea to ignore the naysayers. Taking a deep breath, I focus on her, guiding her toward our table.

She smiles, her eyes meeting mine, the connection unmistakable. "I'm here for the children, Victor, not them. And honestly? I'm glad you pulled whatever strings you did to get us here."

The acknowledgment, coming from Sophia, carries a weight that no deal or business conquest ever has. A soft chuckle escapes my lips. "I would've done anything to see that look on your face." And for the first time tonight, I realize I truly mean it. For her, I'd do it again.

As we move through the room, Edmund Carrington, previously dismissive, steps forward with a broad grin, offering his hand. "Victor! A surprise to see you here. And Sophia, always the shining star."

His wife, Penelope Carrington, who's never given me the time of day, sweeps close, her heady, rose-infused perfume enveloping me. "Mr. Thorn," she purrs, touching my arm, "what a pleasant surprise. You and Sophia make a striking pair."

While this newfound attention should feel like a victory, a niggling sense of annoyance bubbles beneath the surface. My plan is working, but I feel caught between the satisfaction of my plan's success and the hollowness of its results. Is this what I truly wanted? Merely the shadow of respect and acceptance?

Stealing a glance at Sophia, her poised grace amidst the glittering crowd, I can't help but wonder if perhaps the real prize isn't in the admiration of these people but in the genuine connection building between the two of us.

Finally, a server approaches us, holding a tray with glasses of champagne. I take two, handing one to Sophia. Our fingers brush briefly, and there's an unmistakable spark.

A steward, recognizing Sophia, steps forward. "Ms. Carter, your table is this way."

We follow him, winding our way through the room. I can't help but notice the many eyes on us, some filled with intrigue, others with thinly veiled disapproval. Sophia, for her part, seems unaffected, maintaining her poise and elegance.

The steward stops at a table near the center of the room adorned with a centerpiece of blooming roses. The small gold placard reads, "Reserved for Carter & Guest."

"Your table, Ms. Carter." The steward pulls out a chair for Sophia.

"Thank you," she murmurs, gracefully taking her seat. I sit beside her, our chairs just inches apart.

For a moment, an awkward silence envelops us. The weight of our arrangement, the attention we've garnered, and the undeniable tension between us all combine to make the atmosphere thick. We both sip our champagne, the bubbles offering a brief respite.

Sophia leans back, studying me with an intensity that's both intriguing and unnerving.

"So," she finally says, her tone casual but her eyes betraying a hint of vulnerability, "you've maneuvered your way into the most coveted event of the year. Made quite the statement. What's next?"

I meet her direct gaze without faltering. “Tonight isn't about posturing,” I state, my voice steady and assured. "It’s about understanding the world you come from. And perhaps seeking something genuine amidst all this."

She smirks, her eyes narrowing slightly. "Are you saying you want a genuine connection with me, Thorn? Or is this just another strategy in your grand game?"

Meeting her gaze, I answer with unwavering assurance, "Perhaps it began as a strategy, but now, it's becoming something more." Our eyes remain locked, and in the midst of the surrounding chatter and clinks of luxury, an electric charge pulses between us.

The intensity of our gaze feels like a silent challenge. But after a few prolonged seconds, Sophia's facade begins to crack slightly.

Drawing in a deep breath, she says, "Alright, let's try it your way. One evening of genuine conversation."

I can't help the smirk that tugs at the corner of my lips. "That's all I'm asking for."

Her eyes narrow playfully, a challenge lurking within. "You better make it count then."

Leaning back with a confident tilt to my head, I respond, "I always do."

A server arrives with our meals, placing the roasted duck in front of me and the seafood risotto before Sophia. The scents mingle, momentarily filling the space between our banter.

Sophia glances at her plate, then back at me, her playful demeanor still present. "Let's start simple. Tell me something real.”

I pause, considering her challenge. Taking a sip of wine, I meet her eyes, allowing a genuine memory to surface. "Alright. Growing up, I had a small, blue bicycle with a torn seat and rusty handlebars. Every weekend, I'd ride to the edge of the city just to watch the stars. In those moments, I felt... limitless."

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