Page 44 of Matched with the Grumpy Secret Prince

It starts slowly, but within minutes, it builds into a steady rhythm—the kind of downpour that soaks you to the bone in seconds.

Sophie finally glances up, her expression blank as she looks toward the door. “I’m done here,” she says shortly, grabbing her bag.

“You can’t go out in that,” I say, gesturing toward the rain.

She doesn’t respond, her jaw tightening as she slings the strap of her bag over her shoulder.

“Wait it out,” I try again, my tone firmer this time. “You’ll get soaked.”

She turns to me, her eyes cold. “I can’t stand being in the same place as you right now, Graham.”

The words hit me square in the chest, but I don’t let it show. “Fine,” I say tightly, stepping aside to let her pass. “But don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

She pushes the door open, the bell jangling sharply, and steps into the rain without hesitation. I watch as she crosses the parking lot, her silhouette blurred by the downpour.

And then I see it—her car.

The left front tire is completely flat.

I shake my head, letting out a frustrated sigh as I grab my jacket and step outside. The rain hits me like a wall, cold and unrelenting, soaking through my shirt in seconds.

Sophie stands by her car, staring at the tire like she’s willing it to fix itself.

“You’ve got a flat,” I call out, my voice barely carrying over the sound of the rain.

She looks up at me, her expression defiant. “I know.”

I walk closer, shoving my hands into my pockets. “Do you have a spare?”

“Yes.”

“Then let me help.”

“No,” she snaps, shaking her head. “I’ll figure it out. You don’t have to do everything, Graham.”

I exhale sharply, trying to keep my patience. “Sophie, you can’t fix a tire in this weather. Just let me take you home.”

“I’ll call Mia,” she says stubbornly, pulling out her phone.

I clench my jaw, the frustration building as she dials. I watch her for a moment longer, then turn on my heel and head back to my truck.

But as I start the engine, something stops me.

I glance in the rearview mirror, watching as Sophie crouches beside the car, clearly struggling to figure out what to do. Why can’t she just call for help?

With a growl of frustration, I kill the engine and step back into the rain.

I’ve had enough. The rain comes down harder as Sophie kneels by her car, fumbling with the jack, her hair clinging to her face in wet strands. She doesn’t see me coming until I’m standing right in front of her.

“Sophie!” I shout. The downpour has soaked me to the bone, and I’m so frustrated I can barely think straight.

She doesn’t even look up. “Go away, Graham. I told you I don’t need your help.”

I crouch beside her, my voice sharp. “What are you doing?”

“Fixing my tire,” she snaps, struggling to get the jack in place.

“In the middle of a storm? With no gloves, no proper tools, and no idea what you’re doing?” I bark, grabbing the jack from her hands.

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