Page 25 of In Love With Mr. Wrong

I nod slowly, my stomach tightening. "She’s aggressively courting our elite clients. Offering zero-commission trials. Guarantees of perfect pairings. She’s... positioning herself as the next ‘data-forward’ alternative toPerfectly Matched."

Margot’s face tightens. "Which means she’s capitalizing on our crisis."

And just like that, the warmth between us gives way to the cold edge of reality. We’re not just dealing with scandal anymore, we’re being hunted.

17

MARGOT

Ibarely sleep that night. Grayson holds me like he means it, like he’s all in, but even his steady warmth can’t keep my mind from spiraling. By morning, I’m outside on the tiny porch of the cabin, bundled in one of Grayson’s oversized hoodies and holding a mug of peppermint tea between my hands. The air is crisp, the kind that wakes you up better than caffeine, and the trees rustle in the soft breeze. It’s deceptively peaceful.

Inside, I hear the floorboards creak. A moment later, Grayson steps out, shirtless, chest bare, golden in the morning light, his abs sharply defined and completely, unfairly distracting, rubbing the back of his neck and squinting into the light like he hasn’t fully accepted the concept of morning yet. I swear the man looks like he was handcrafted to ruin women’s concentration. One glimpse and my thoughts short-circuit, because really, who needs peace and quiet when he walks out looking like that?

"You’re up early," he says, his voice still gravelly with sleep.

"Couldn’t sleep," I reply, not bothering to lie. I gesture with my mug. "Tea’s hot if you want some."

He stretches, and it’s entirely unfair how good he looks this early, barefoot, tousled, completely unaware of how distracting he is.

"Give me five minutes and coffee, and I’ll be human again," he says, pressing a kiss to my temple before disappearing back inside.

By the time I follow him in, I’m already dreading what’s waiting on my laptop. The cabin creaks beneath our footsteps, old oak floorboards groaning under even the lightest movement. The smell of woodsmoke lingers in the air, mingling with the scent of tea and whatever Grayson attempted to burn last night in the name of dinner. I set my mug down on the kitchen counter and trail my hand along the worn surface of the table, grounding myself in the space.

Grayson moves with casual ease, ducking to open the old cabinet that always sticks, tugging it open with a grunt. The windows rattle softly from the wind outside, and the soft crackle of the fire adds just enough warmth to keep the chill at bay. It’s cozy, in a wildly inconvenient way, a place meant for peace, now turned into a war room. And sure enough, it’s all there, emails piling up. Notifications, warnings, withdrawal requests, names I know well, clients we’ve worked with personally, slipping away like sand through fingers.

Vivian Carlisle. Julian Ross. Even Tanaka, who once sent me flowers after a successful match. All expressing concern. Doubt. Disappointment. And Natalia Crane? She’s everywhere. Her name’s on every business blog, every industry whisper thread, every inbox ping. A new platform. Slick branding. Aggressive marketing. She’s everything I fear, ruthless, data-literate, and charismatic.

"She’s offering one-on-one consultations to the clients we lost," Olivia texts. "She’s promising them full refunds, hand-tailored matches, and priority placements if they switch to her system."

I stare at the screen, jaw tight.

"How many have gone over?" I ask.

Olivia responds within seconds. "Ten. Maybe more by the end of today."

I press my fingers to my temple. The pressure behind my eyes pulses like a warning. Grayson walks in holding two mugs. He sets one next to me and leans over to kiss the top of my head.

"More bad news?" he asks.

I nod without looking up. "She’s gutting us."

He slides into the chair opposite me. "Then we fight back."

His voice is calm, but I can see the fire behind his eyes.

"I’m tired, King," I admit, fingers tightening around my coffee. "I’m tired of trying to fix things I didn’t break. Tired of the fallout. The lies. The pressure."

"So we take the pressure and turn it into leverage," he says. "You’re not out of moves. Not yet."

He’s right. I know he is. But knowing doesn’t erase the weight of it all pressing down on me like it wants me to crack. And the worst part? For the first time in my career, I don’t know if I’m winning. But I do know one thing, Natalia Crane thinks she’s clever. She hasn’t seen me on the offensive yet. She will.

I let out a low, tired laugh as I sip my tea. "I wanted a quiet place to hide out. Somewhere calm, maybe boring. And instead, I get scandal, sabotage, pregnancy, and a new rival trying to eat us alive."

Grayson lifts a brow. "Admit it. You’d be bored out of your mind with quiet."

"Maybe," I murmur. "But I wouldn’t mind boring for a few hours. Just once."

Grayson leans back in his chair, watching me with that half-smile that always makes it hard to stay mad.

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