20. Margot
20
MARGOT
W e’ve been on the road for a while now, leaving the city lights behind us and trading them for long, dark stretches of highway that seem to stretch endlessly ahead. I haven’t said much. I’ve been too caught up in the storm behind my ribs, too focused on keeping myself from unraveling completely. My fingers won’t stay still, tapping lightly against my thigh as the silence between us deepens.
Eventually, I turn to him, my voice barely louder than the hum of the tires against the asphalt. “Where are we going?”
Grayson doesn’t take his eyes off the road. “A friend’s place. It’s out of the way. No one will find us there.”
I exhale, pressing my fingertips to my temple like I can massage the stress out of my skull. “And then what? I can’t just disappear. I have a life. A company. A future.”
His hands tighten on the steering wheel, his knuckles stark white against the leather. “I’m not asking you to disappear. I’m getting you out of the blast zone until we figure out how to take control again.”
I’m quiet for a moment. The rhythm of the highway is steady, almost hypnotic. Then I glance sideways at him, trying to read his expression. “Why are you doing this, Grayson?”
He flicks his eyes toward me, just for a second. There’s something in the way he looks at me, something fierce, and maybe a little afraid.
“Because someone has to look after you,” he says, his voice quiet but firm. “And I’m not about to trust anyone else with that.”
I hold his gaze, my breath catching in a way I don’t entirely understand. He looks away first, but the shift between us lingers. Something unspoken and heavy settles into the space, riding along with us in the silence.
By the time we pull off the main road, dawn is just beginning to break. Soft pinks and pale gold stretch across the sky, spilling light through the gaps in the trees. The gravel crunches beneath the tires as we wind up a narrow, tree-lined path that seems to lead nowhere. And then the cabin appears.
It’s nestled deep in the woods, half-hidden by towering pines and framed by overgrown brush. The porch light glows faintly, like someone had turned it on expecting us, even though we both know no one’s home.
I study the place as we park. “This belongs to your friend?”
Grayson nods as he cuts the engine. “Carter. He’s out of the country for a while. Told me I could use it if I ever needed to disappear.”
“Discreet,” I murmur, stepping out into the cool morning air. “Very off-the-grid.”
“That’s the idea,” he says as he moves to grab our bags from the back.
I follow slowly, wrapping my arms around myself as I take in the thick woods surrounding us. It’s the kind of place that feels like the world has forgotten it exists, which might be exactly what we need right now.
Inside, the space is warm and lived-in, with stone and cedar everywhere and a faint smell of woodsmoke that clings to the air. The kitchen is neat and well-stocked, and there’s a wide fireplace that takes up most of one wall. It’s quiet. Still. A sharp contrast to everything we left behind.
I walk a few paces in, letting my eyes sweep over the room. “Okay. We’re here. Now what?”
Grayson sets the bags down and turns to face me. “Now, we rest. Then we decide how to end this.”
I cross my arms and lean against the edge of the counter. “And Perfectly Matched? We’re just going to leave it dangling while we hide out in the woods?”
He doesn’t flinch. He was expecting this.
“No,” he says simply. “We’ll find a way to fight back. Just not from the middle of a media firestorm.”
Before I can answer, his phone buzzes in his pocket. He glances at it, his mouth already twisting like he knows he’s not going to like what’s coming.
He steps away to answer, pacing a few feet toward the fireplace.
“Yeah?” he says, voice clipped.
A pause.
Then he groans, rubbing the back of his neck. “What do you want, Olivia?”
I can’t hear her response, but whatever she says makes his jaw tense. His posture shifts.
“Tell Elliot his love life is not my emergency,” he mutters. “Not right now.”
More silence. His expression darkens slightly.
“I didn’t forget,” he says sharply. “I know I have less than a month, Liv. Don’t start.”
That catches my attention.
I frown, straightening a little, watching him with narrowed eyes. Less than a month for what?
But he doesn’t explain. And I don’t ask…yet.