Page 67 of In Love With Mr. Wrong

Olivia appears in the doorway of my home office, tablet in hand, flawless in a navy jumpsuit like she just stepped out of a campaign war room. Because, in a way, she has.

“We’re live in ten,” she says. “Instagram, Twitter, LinkedIn. All three accounts. I’ve scheduled the post, and I’ll be monitoring reaction in real time. Just say the word.”

Margot breathes out. “Say it.”

Olivia doesn’t hesitate. A single tap. And just like that, the world knows.

The post is simple, elegant, unmistakably us. A soft black-and-white photo of the sonogram resting on Margot’s lap, one hand over her small bump, my hand gently covering hers. No faces. Just presence. Connection. The caption reads:Love. Legacy. New life. Grayson and I are thrilled to share that our story is growing – Margot.

Within minutes, it explodes. Olivia’s tablet lights up like a Christmas tree. Comments, shares, reposts. News outlets pick it up within the hour. At first, it’s beautiful. People are rooting for us. Clients post heart emojis. Former matches tag us in congratulations. Even a few elite clients, like Senator Mallory, of all people, repost the announcement with quiet approval. But then the cracks start to show:Grayson King impregnates CEO before final merger; Matchmaking hypocrisy? Margot Evans bends the rules for love; Perfectly Matched... or Perfectly Scripted?; Baby Before Business: Is This the End of Professionalism?

Margot stiffens with every headline Olivia reads aloud.

I grab the tablet and hand it back. “That’s enough.”

She nods and retreats to her corner of the room, fingers flying across the screen. Margot wraps her arms around her stomach and pulls her knees in tighter.

I move toward her, crouch down. “Look at me.”

She does.

“This doesn’t define us. Not the spin. Not the headlines. Just this, me and you and our daughter. That’s real.”

Her eyes shine, and for a second, she just nods and presses her forehead to mine.

“You’re too calm,” she says softly.

“I’m saving it,” I murmur. “For whenPulseMatchinevitably tries to set the internet on fire.”

***

They don’t even wait a full twenty-four hours. By evening, PulseMatch has launched a full-blown attack. Paid articles. Bot-driven hashtags. A full press release dripping with sanctimony about“maintaining professionalism in emotionally charged industries.”And the worst? A fake leak.

A mocked-up screenshot of our internal dashboard, with fabricated data “proving” we used a modified algorithm to match ourselves.

“It’s absolute fiction,” Olivia snarls, pacing the office as we regroup. “But it looks legit to anyone who wants to believe it.”

Margot’s silent now, too quiet. Her jaw’s tight, arms crossed, eyes distant. I don’t wait. I grab my phone, storm into the kitchen, and dial our PR firm.

“Kendra. Full statement, approved by legal. I want it ready in twenty minutes.”

“Already drafting,” she replies. “But Grayson, do you want to respond in print, or…”

“In person.”

I hang up and turn back to Olivia and Margot. “I’m going on air.”

Margot blinks. “What?”

“We’ve done everything by the book. You’ve built a company with integrity. We didn’t manipulate a damn thing, and I’m not going to let a competitor slander you while you’re carrying our daughter.”

“You think this will stop it?”

“No. But it changes the narrative. It plants doubt in their smear campaign. And it reminds the world who the hell we are.”

There’s a pause.

Then Margot exhales and says, “Then I’m going with you.”

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