Page 28 of In Love With Mr. Wrong

"You’re staying for dinner, aren’t you?" I ask Gen.

She lifts a brow. "Did I give the impression that I was leaving?"

Margot sighs dramatically and tosses a throw pillow at her. "I’ll find something edible. You bring more scandals."

"Deal. And maybe later we can talk about how I’d style your baby bump, hypothetically, of course."

Margot chokes. I spit my tea. Gen just grins, all mischief and lipstick, and I know in that moment: she definitely saw the notebook.

19

MARGOT

Genevieve saw the notebook. I’m almost certain she read it. I didn’t catch her in the act, but I feel it in my bones. In the way she smiles as she sips her tea, all teeth and trouble. In the way she said, "And maybe later we can talk about how I’d style your baby bump, hypothetically, of course," like it’s a dare wrapped in silk. Her words hit me like a slap wrapped in chiffon.

I laugh, too loud, too sharp, and nearly drop my tea. My face burns, and I feel Grayson stiffen beside me. Genevieve Clarke doesn’t say anything without intention. And if she sees that notebook, if she reads even a single line, I might as well draft the press release now.

After Genevieve leaves, I pace the hallway of the cabin like it’s a war room, arms crossed tight over my chest, the silence broken only by the occasional groan of the old wooden floorboards beneath my steps. Every scenario plays in my mind. A cryptic tweet. A blind item on Deuxmoi, an anonymous gossip account that specializes in celebrity rumors and scandalous tips, the kind that always sound just vague enough to be denied but specific enough for the internet to explode. A very suspicious tip dropped anonymously to a gossip columnist. The woman once turns an influencer breakup into a weeklong media circus. What would she do with this? The thought makes my stomach turn.

Grayson slides the door open, his silhouette framed by the fading mountain light. The soft creak of wood knocks me out of my spiraling thoughts, dragging me back into the moment. He doesn’t say anything right away. Just leans against the frame, watching me, like he knows exactly where my mind’s been wandering.

"We should head back to Manhattan," I say quietly. "Tomorrow. Maybe even tonight."

He steps inside, his brow furrowed. "You sure? I thought the point of hiding out here was to give you space."

"It was." I stand, crossing to him, resting my palm against his chest. "But the algorithm’s fixed. The leak has been contained, for now, and if Genevieve says anything, I want to be ready to respond, not holed up in a cabin pretending it’ll all blow over."

He nods slowly. "Alright. If you’re ready, I’m with you."

We pack in a kind of practiced silence, like we’ve done this a hundred times before, except this time, it’s different. There’s weight to every motion. Every folded sweater, every zipped bag, feels like a quiet declaration of moving forward. Grayson loads the car while I double-check the back bedroom, making sure the notebook is buried deep in my suitcase. I pause at the window for a moment, watching the light disappear behind the trees.

"You okay?" he asks as I slip into the passenger seat.

I nod. "I just want to get back. I want to walk into that building with my head high. Fix the damage. Finish what I started."

He reaches for my hand across the center console. "And I’ll be right there, beside you."

The drive back is quiet, headlights cutting through the dark like a path ahead I didn’t realize I needed. One I’m finally ready to take.

***

The next morning, sunlight spills across the floor of our Manhattan apartment, and everything feels sharp with purpose. We’re unpacking what little we brought, folding sweaters and untangling chargers, when Grayson looks up from his duffel bag.

"You’re quiet," he says. "That usually means you’re planning to burn something down."

"Not burn," I murmur, folding a cashmere sweater with a little more force than necessary. "Just... disinfect."

He smirks. "You mean Alana and the traitor formerly known as Jared."

I meet his eyes. "They knew exactly what they were doing. Sabotaging the algorithm? Undermining everything we’ve built? They wanted to destroyPerfectly Matchedfrom the inside."

"And they underestimated you."

"They always do." I set the sweater aside. "HR has the files. Legal’s already flagged the violations. By noon, they’ll be out and scrubbed from our systems."

Grayson steps closer, his expression softening. "You okay?"

"No," I admit. "But I will be."

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