Page 2 of Matched with the Grumpy Secret Prince

I laugh lightly, glancing around my penthouse. “Something like that. Business is great. I’ve got all the high-profile clients and events in the swankiest venues. Everything I’ve worked for.”

“Hmm,” he hums knowingly.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” I ask, raising an eyebrow even though he can’t see me.

“Nothing,” he says, but there’s a teasing edge to his voice. “Just wondering if you’re actually happy or just ticking off boxes.”

I stiffen slightly, his words cutting closer to the truth than I’d like to admit. “Of course I’m happy,” I say quickly, though even to my ears, it sounds defensive.

He’s quiet for a beat before he says, “You know, I felt the same way when I was in New York. I had the job, the apartment, the parties. But none of it ever felt… right.”

I frown, sinking onto one of the kitchen stools. “That’s why you left?”

“Yeah,” he admits. “The pressure from Mom and Dad, the constant grind—it was too much. So, I came back to Bardstown. Took a breath. Figured out what I really wanted. And now, here I am, getting married to the love of my life.”

His words hang in the air, and I can’t help but feel the weight of them. I’ve achieved everything I set out to do when I left Bardstown. I built a life on my terms, one that’s polished and successful. But why does it still feel like something’s missing?

“You’ll figure it out, Soph,” Ethan says gently as if he can read my thoughts. “You always do.”

“I hope so,” I reply softly, pushing myself to stand and finally pour myself a glass of water since I’m now parched. I get a glass from the shelf and open my fridge, reaching for my lemon-infused water jug before pouring myself some and taking a few sips as Ethan speaks.

“You will,” he says firmly. “And in the meantime, you’ll come home for the wedding, we’ll have the best time, and everything else can wait.”

I smile faintly, the knot in my chest loosening. “Okay,” I say. “I’ll be there.”

“Good. And Soph? It’ll be great to have you back. We’ve all missed you.”

The call ends, but his words linger.We’ve all missed you.

I take another long sip of my water, staring out at the Manhattan skyline. Seven years ago, I left Bardstown to start over, to build something better for myself. I thought if I worked hard enough, I could create the life I always dreamed of. And I did.

But now, I can’t shake the feeling that the life I left behind might hold the pieces I didn’t realize I was missing.

The call with Ethan leaves a warm buzz in my chest. Another family wedding. It feels like it’s been a while since I’ve had something like this to look forward to—something that isn’t tied to a client or a deadline. I’m so used to seeing strangers get proposed to and planning the wedding of their dreams, but this one hits home, and I’m so excited about it.

As I set my phone down on the counter and rinse out my glass before placing it back on the shelf, I can’t help but smile. Ethan is getting married. I still can’t quite believe it. The same Ethan who used to sneak frogs into the house and make ridiculous bets about who could climb the tallest tree is settling down.

How time flies. With a sigh, I head to my bedroom and peel off my fitted blazer and pencil skirt, tossing them onto the chair inthe corner. My feet ache from a long day of running around in heels, and all I want right now is to wash off the day’s tension.

I step into the bathroom, the tiles cool beneath my feet, and turn on the shower. Steam quickly fills the space as I step under the warm spray, letting the water run over me. I close my eyes, the noise of the city fading away as I soak in the quiet.

Ethan’s words replay in my mind:You’ll figure it out, Soph. You always do.

I want to believe him. I really do. But if there’s one thing I’ve learned in New York, it’s that nothing comes without a fight.

After a few more minutes, I step out of the shower and wrap myself in a plush towel, the cool air biting my damp skin. At this point, my skincare routine is practically muscle memory: cleanser, toner, serum, moisturizer. Each step feels like a small act of self-care, something I can control when everything else feels uncertain.

I walk back into the bedroom, grab my silk robe, and tie it loosely around my waist. My laptop waits for me on the desk, the screen glowing with my calendar for the week.

I sink into the chair, scrolling through emails while dabbing under my eyes with the last of my serum. The rhythm of work is comforting and predictable. It’s what I’m good at, what I’ve built my life around.

But for the first time in a long time, it feels… hollow.

I shake off the thought, forcing my attention back to the screen. A new notification pops up—a reminder to finalize the itinerary for the Preston event next week. I type a quick note to myself,adding it to the list of things I need to wrap up before the weekend.

I glance at my planner, the pages neatly filled with color-coded appointments and tasks. My life is a perfectly curated machine, running smoothly on deadlines and ambition.

But as I lean back in my chair, staring out at the city lights twinkling beyond my window, I can’t help but feel like there’s something I’ve forgotten how to plan for. Something I didn’t even realize I’d been missing.

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