23. End-of-year gala
Samantha
The MatchMapping teams have been working around the clock for weeks. Alexander seems satisfied with what has been accomplished. The parameters have been adjusted, the models tested, and the first internal feedback is encouraging.
But now comes the waiting. Waiting for user reactions. And that is the most delicate phase—the one in which everything can still tip. Reputation moves faster than data.
Alexander is determined to speak at MatchMapping’s year-end gala. The employees will be there. The investors too. Three weeks before the IPO, this is not just a celebration, it’s a gamble. A public stress test.
For the occasion, he gave me a dress.
It’s stunning. Yet as I stand in front of the mirror, an unwelcome thought crosses my mind: did he feel ashamed of my clothes, too simple, too inexpensive for his world? I push the idea away at once. But it lingers.
As if he sensed it, he lifts my chin.
“You’re beautiful no matter what you wear,” he tells me. “But when I saw this dress… I thought of you.”
He talks about the simple, elegant cut, the black velvet, the lapis-lazuli blue silk chiffon that catches the light the way water catches pigment. He says it’s a work of art.
And I realize that what moves me most isn’t the dress, it’s the way he looks at me. As if I were already something precious. And it frightens me, because I can feel how much I care about him. How much power he already has over me.
*
When we arrive, camera flashes blind me. Until now, we had avoided the press. But with the IPO approaching and the rumors still swirling, staying invisible is no longer an option. I know my smile matters tonight, more than I would like. Every expression will be read. Interpreted. Priced.
Inside, Alexander introduces me. Colleagues. Investors. Conversations hum around us.
Valuation. Growth. Market confidence. All the words that decide who matters.
I stay quiet and listen. I try to follow along, because understanding his world is also a way of loving him.
But everything feels so different. I feel like a fish out of water. Not quite in my place.
“What do you do for a living?” asks a woman in her forties, the wife of one of the investors.
“I’m a painter,” I reply, almost relieved that she’s speaking to me.
“Oh, how wonderful!” she gushes. “Do you know Estelle Yoril?”
Estelle Yoril?
“Um… no, I don’t think so.”
“She’s an incredible artist. Her work is very highly valued right now. You should look her up. And you—what’s your valuation?”
“I’m just starting out,” I say simply, aware that, for her, my work only has value once it can be priced.
I should be used to that look, to this way of measuring art like a financial asset, but I can’t help finding it terribly reductive.
Alexander’s hand brushes against mine. A discreet gesture, almost an apology for a world that isn’t his. I reassure him the same way. Here, emotions stay hidden.
“Have you ever exhibited in a gallery?” another woman asks.
Eva de La Tour, if I’m not mistaken.
Her gaze is curious, genuinely interested.
“Yes. Three of my works are currently at the Levasseur Gallery.”
“Really? That’s a remarkable address. Cédric Levasseur only shows artists he truly believes in.”
The indirect compliment touches me more than I want to admit. It almost reconciles me with this world… until a man turns toward me.
“And what do you think of MatchMapping?”
He is tall, impeccably dressed, his gaze too calm. The kind who observes before judging. A professional skeptic.
“Have you ever used the app?”
I feel Alexander stiffen beside me.
The air around us seems to tighten, as if the conversation has shifted in nature. This is no longer small talk. It’s a test. Of loyalty. Of narrative.
“When MatchMapping was created, I had already met the man of my life.” A safe truth.
He smiles. A polite, calculated smile.
“And do you think the algorithm was flawed? That it needed to be changed?”
Alexander’s jaw tightens. I sense the tension radiating from him. In that precise moment, I understand that whatever I say can be taken apart, twisted, used. That this won’t be a simple conversation.
I take a breath.
“I think the old algorithm worked for a lot of people. Its success rate proves that. But I also think it never would have brought Alexander’s profile and mine together.”
Around us, a few heads turn. Gazes sharpen. Interest spikes.
“We do have things in common, yes. But not enough to fit into a rational compatibility. And yet… here we are. Engaged and happy.”
I could stop there. I know I’m taking a risk, but I keep going anyway, because I can’t stand the idea of someone attacking Alexander or his work.
“If the goal is purely statistical performance, then there was no reason to change anything. But if the goal is to truly connect people, then you have to accept losing a little control and accept the unknown.”
The silence that follows is brief—but dense.
*
Later, when we finally find ourselves alone, Alexander leans toward me.
“You were perfect,” he murmurs.
In his eyes, I see something more than pride. Gratitude. And a trace of fear—because I just stepped onto his battlefield.
He kisses me gently.
Someone captures the moment. The photo spreads almost instantly, and the story writes itself.
The couple who inspired MatchMapping’s new model. The artist and the CEO. An unexpected alchemy.
I don’t yet know what that image will set in motion.
But I do know one thing: that night, I didn’t just smile for him.
I chose to embrace the light—and with it, the risk that comes along.