Page 2 of In Love With Mr. Wrong

"It was ready. It was the bright moment," she replies, calm but defensive.

"We are supposed to roll it out together."

“We've been ready for three days, Greyson. You wanted to wait until we had media scrips memorized and talking points drills into our spines."

"That's called strategy," I sigh.

"No," she says, "It's called hesitation."

A beat passes. Just enough space for the truth to hang between us.

"You don't trust the algorithm," she adds quietly.

"Not really." "It's not the algorithm I don' trust," I say. "It's the idea that love can be solved like a math equation."

"You think I don't know that? You think I don't ask myself that every time I stare at the data?" She replies.

I hear the fatigue in her voice now. The weight behind the steel and I hate that I didn't hear it sooner.

"I just wanted to do it together," I say, softer now, “not like this." "I know," she whispers. "But sometimes I move fast because I'm scared if I stop, I'll lose my nerve. And I needed to know this worked."

"You didn't need to prove anything to me."

"I wasn't trying to," she says. "I was trying to prove it to myself." That lands harder than it should, because I know that feeling too. The one that says if you stop moving, everything might fall apart. "Next time," I say, "we do it as a team. “That's the deal."

"Deal," she replies. There's a pause, one of those once where I can almost feel her leaning against something, holding her breath the way she does when she's finally letting herself feel the moment. "I love you, King," she says. No drama, just honesty.

I smile, letting the warmth of it settle in my chest. "I know." And yeah, I love her too. God help me, I love the hell out of her, even she she doesn't wait for me. Especially then.

I carry my coffee to the window wand let the light settle over me. The city stretches out like a living thing, restless and glowing and completely unaware that Margot Evans is about to turn it upside down. She's going to be on national television this morning. I already know the segment: a live interview, cameras, light, anchors eager to turn her into a story. the woman who built the future of love. They'll ask about the algorithm, about numbers and patterns and results. But what they won't see, what they'll miss entirely, is the woman underneath all of it. The one who hums when she's concentrating, who always bites the inside of her cheek before she speaks something vulnerable. Who believes, so deeply, that love deserve a better chance. She believes in love like it's a science and a miracle all at once., and she built something extraordinary because of that belief.

And I? I fell in love with her before the code. Long before the platform. Before the projections and the pitch decks and the glowing user data. I loved her when she was Margot, the girl who sat across from me at the boardroom table and challenged everything I thought I knew, with fire in her eyes and logic as her sword. And I still love her now. Fiercely. Constantly. Even when she moves too fast, even when she leaves me behind, chasing stars.

I set my mag down and grab my jacket. She didn't ask me to be there today, but she shouldn't have to. is she's walking into the spotlight, I'll be in the shadows. Steady, waiting, rooted. Because this morning isn't just about the algorithm, it's about her and there's nowhere else I'd rather be.

3

MARGOT

I’ve done interviews before. Product launches, pitch competitions, panels on innovation in tech. But nothing like this. Nothing where the world is suddenly watching you like you’ve invented fire.

My heels click across the sleek studio floor as the producer waves me into place. There are three cameras trained on the couch, a tray of untouched croissants on the side table, and a host with perfect teeth and a smile designed to disarm. Grayson sits just off set, in a chair he dragged closer without asking, his hands folded casually, his presence anything but casual. He’s here. He came. And that should settle something in me, but I don’t have time to linger on it.

The red light flashes. We’re live. The host, Samantha Keane, known for her sharp interviews onGood Morning Today, smiles at the camera, then turns to me with practiced charm. The studio around us gleams with polished white surfaces and pale gold accents, the set designed to feel both high-tech and inviting. A towering wall of LED screens behind us scrolls through headlines and snapshots from the algorithm’s most viral matches.

“Joining us this morning is Margot Evans,” Samantha begins, her voice smooth and lively. “The co-founder and co-founder and one of the minds behindPerfectly Matched, the revolutionary matchmaking platform that’s already changed the dating landscape overnight. Margot, thank you for being here.”

I step forward toward the low glass table, adjusting the mic clipped to my blazer lapel, trying not to trip on the subtle rise of the platform as I lower myself into the white leather chair. The set is sleek but deceptively warm, all soft edges and curated calm. I glance around, camera one, camera two, a boom mic hovering above, the low murmur of producers through tiny earpieces. I’ve studied this kind of environment, but it feels different from the inside. More intimate. More exposed. My pulse hammers beneath my skin, a steady beat of nerves that I’m trained enough to hide, but not ignore. I can feel the weight of the lights, the expectation, the millions of unseen eyes on the other side of the screen.

I adjust the hem of my blazer as I sit, a small, precise gesture that gives my hands something to do. Breathe in, count to three. I remind myself I’m ready. That this is mine. Still, there’s a tightness in my chest that refuses to budge, a whisper of doubt even in the wake of success.

I offer a composed smile, legs crossed, spine straight, hands relaxed over my knee. "Thank you for having me."

As the questions begin, about user volume, accuracy rates, retention patterns, and how we achieved such a dramatic engagement curve in the first twenty-four hours, I draw from muscle memory. I know these answers like I know my own pulse. I’ve lived and breathed this technology for years. Because I have. Each word lands with practiced precision, but I still let the warmth in. This isn’t just code and data, it’s people. I nod to the screen behind me as it flickers through photos of matched couples.

There’s Sara and Luis, she’s a florist in a sleepy Oregon town, he’s a retired marine who hadn’t dated in a decade. The algorithm paired them based on communication style and mutual independence. They wrote us last month to say they were expecting twins. Another photo fades in: Caleb and Theo, both in their mid-thirties, both serial first-daters who never made it past date three. The algorithm matched them based on humor calibration, lifestyle cadence, and emotional resilience. They’re now living together in Seattle, and their engagement video went viral. Then there’s Priya’s favorite, Ines and Jordan. She’s a high-powered litigator with zero tolerance for inefficiency. He’s a jazz pianist who doesn’t own a clock. The system flagged their rare compatibility around stress response and intellectual pacing. They emailed us a video of them laughing through a cooking disaster, flour in their hair, love in their eyes.

The host smiles at my joke about swiping left becoming a thing of the past, and I allow myself a real laugh. Because right now, everything feels possible.

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