Page 59 of In Love With Mr. Wrong

We sit in silence for a long beat. Outside the window, the city stretches wide and indifferent.

Finally, I say, “Your employment with Perfectly Matched is terminated effective immediately.”

Jared flinches.

“You’ll receive a severance equal to your contract’s early release clause. Your access was revoked the moment you stepped into this room. And our legal team will monitor future communication to ensure no confidential data is ever used again. If it is…”

“I won’t,” he says quickly. “I swear.”

“…if it is,” I continue, “you’ll be hearing from someone less polite than me.”

He nods slowly, jaw clenched.

“I’m sorry,” he says. “I know that doesn’t fix it.”

“No,” I say. “But it’s a start.”

Security arrives to escort him out. He doesn’t fight it, doesn’t say goodbye. He just walks out, shoulders tight, like a man who knows exactly what he’s lost. The door clicks shut behind him. For a long moment, Olivia and I just sit there. Then she speaks.

“There’s something else.”

I turn toward her. “You’ve got to be kidding.”

“No,” she says. “Before we revoked his access, I traced the last file he opened. It was a placeholder for our upcoming elite relaunch, something internal, unpolished. But he flagged it. And I think PulseMatch wanted it.”

I nod slowly. “They’re still watching.”

“They know we’re planning something bigger. Smarter. And they’re positioning to intercept.”

I lean back in my chair, run a hand through my hair, and exhale hard.

“They’re not done,” I say.

“No,” Olivia replies. “They’re just getting started.”

***

Later that night, I walk through the front door of our apartment to find Margot sitting cross-legged on the couch, surrounded by menus, color palettes, and a Pinterest board that would terrify the average person. She looks up and sees my face.

“Jared?” she asks.

“Gone,” I say. “Fired. Severance, security escort, full wipe.”

She lets out a slow breath. “How’d he take it?”

“He took it like a man who realized too late he was being used.”

She nods. “And PulseMatch?”

“They’re watching our next move.”

Margot sets down her tablet and rises from the couch, walking toward me barefoot, her silk pajama pants brushing the hardwood as she moves.

“Then we don’t give them one,” she says softly. “Not yet.”

I pull her into my arms and rest my forehead against hers.

“We will,” I whisper. “But on our terms.”

---