Grayson
GRAYSON
B ack in New York, the headquarters of Perfectly Matched hums with power. Not just the surface-level buzz of a successful company, but something deeper. Earned. Solid. Unshakable. The kind of power that comes from surviving fire and walking out the other side with your hands still steady. The expansion is official. The deal is done. We’re bigger than we’ve ever been, stronger than anyone thought we’d be. And now, with Margot and me at the helm, the company doesn’t just belong to the legacy, it belongs tous.
Margot stands at the front of the boardroom, completely in her element. Confident, poised, sharp as ever. She commands the room with ease, no wasted words, no second-guessing. She’s not just running the meeting, she’s running the show.
Sunlight floods through the floor-to-ceiling windows, catching on the diamond ring on her finger, the one I slid onto her hand beneath the Paris skyline. Every time I see it, I feel it again: that moment, that yes, that quiet certainty that we’re building something real.
I sit beside her, one arm resting over the back of her chair, my posture easy. Relaxed, maybe, but never unfocused. I know exactly what we’ve built, and I know exactly who’s sitting next to me while we run it. My partner, in every way that matters.
Cassian leans back in his chair across from us, a lazy smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth as he drops a file onto the table with a little too much flair.
“You’re going to love this one,” he says, clearly enjoying himself.
Margot arches a brow, flipping open the folder like she already knows better than to trust him. She reads the name, and to my surprise, a laugh escapes her, a soft, genuine sound that makes me glance over, even though I’ve heard it a hundred times. It still gets me.
“Prince Alexander of Monaco,” she reads, amused. “Really? We’re matching royalty now?”
Cassian shrugs like it’s the most obvious next move. “Why not? He’s rich, brooding, emotionally guarded. Practically made for us.”
Isabella, sitting beside him with her usual air of effortless cool, lifts her coffee and gives us a wicked smile. “Can’t wait to see this disaster unfold.”
Margot sighs, but there’s a flicker of that familiar fire in her eyes, the kind that always shows up right before she leans into the challenge. “Here we go again.”
I reach for her hand, tangling my fingers with hers beneath the table, just a quiet connection in the middle of controlled chaos. She glances at me, and I can’t help the smile tugging at my mouth.
“This is just the beginning,” I murmur.
Her fingers squeeze mine. “Let’s make history.”
And we will, because this isn’t just a company anymore. It’s not just a success story or a legacy preserved. It’sours. Built on risks, on second chances, on late nights and long fights, and love. The kind that doesn’t back down, the kind that changes everything and now we get to write the next chapter.