Page 26 of In A Mood For Mr. Wrong

Grayson nods as he cuts the engine. “Carter. He’s out of the country for a while. Told me I could use it if I ever needed to disappear.”

“Discreet,” I murmur, stepping out into the cool morning air. “Very off-the-grid.”

“That’s the idea,” he says as he moves to grab our bags from the back.

I follow slowly, wrapping my arms around myself as I take in the thick woods surrounding us. It’s the kind of place that feelslike the world has forgotten it exists, which might be exactly what we need right now.

Inside, the space is warm and lived-in, with stone and cedar everywhere and a faint smell of woodsmoke that clings to the air. The kitchen is neat and well-stocked, and there’s a wide fireplace that takes up most of one wall. It’s quiet. Still. A sharp contrast to everything we left behind.

I walk a few paces in, letting my eyes sweep over the room. “Okay. We’re here. Now what?”

Grayson sets the bags down and turns to face me. “Now, we rest. Then we decide how to end this.”

I cross my arms and lean against the edge of the counter. “And Perfectly Matched? We’re just going to leave it dangling while we hide out in the woods?”

He doesn’t flinch. He was expecting this.

“No,” he says simply. “We’ll find a way to fight back. Just not from the middle of a media firestorm.”

Before I can answer, his phone buzzes in his pocket. He glances at it, his mouth already twisting like he knows he’s not going to like what’s coming.

He steps away to answer, pacing a few feet toward the fireplace.

“Yeah?” he says, voice clipped.

A pause.

Then he groans, rubbing the back of his neck. “What do you want, Olivia?”

I can’t hear her response, but whatever she says makes his jaw tense. His posture shifts.

“Tell Elliot his love life is not my emergency,” he mutters. “Not right now.”

More silence. His expression darkens slightly.

“I didn’t forget,” he says sharply. “I know I have less than a month, Liv. Don’t start.”

That catches my attention.

I frown, straightening a little, watching him with narrowed eyes. Less than a month for what?

But he doesn’t explain. And I don’t ask…yet.

21

GRAYSON

It’s quiet in the cabin, the kind of silence that settles deep in your bones. The fire crackles lazily in the hearth, casting flickering shadows across the worn wooden walls. I push the last bite of reheated lasagna around my plate and glance across the table at Margot. She's curled up in an oversized hoodie, her hair a little messy, the tension in her shoulders finally starting to ease. We needed this, time away, space to breathe, a buffer between us and everything Liam set in motion. For a moment, it almost feels normal, peaceful.

Margot laughs at something I say, soft and low, and damn if it doesn’t make my chest ache. I don’t remember the last time I heard her sound that unguarded. Then her cell phone chimes. A single notification. Her smile fades. The second Margot’s face drains of color, I know whatever Liam sent isn’t just a threat, it’s personal. I don’t wait for her to react. I move, coming around the counter to stand behind her, my eyes scanning the screen as tension knots in my chest. The images hit me like a gut punch. Margot, looking younger, her expression unreadable in each frame. But Liam? He’s unmistakable. The way he’s holding herwrist, the way he’s leaning in too close, his hand on her back like he owned her.

My jaw clenches so tight it aches:I never forget what’s mine.The words beneath the pictures make my blood run cold.

Margot inhales sharply, snapping the laptop shut like she can erase what we just saw. She presses the heels of her palms against her eyes, taking slow, steady breaths.

"Margot…"

"Don’t." Her voice is clipped, but not angry. Just… tired. "I don’t want to talk about it."

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