Page 51 of Matched with the Grumpy Secret Prince

Loud. Jarring. Unforgiving.

We freeze.

The moment shatters.

His breath is heavy against my cheek, his grip still firm on my waist. But his phone keeps ringing, and reality comes crashing back down around us.

I don’t know which of us pulls away first, but suddenly, there’s space between us—too much space, too fast, and I hate it.

Graham clenches his jaw, pulling his phone from his pocket and glancing at the screen. His entire expression changes.

“I—” His voice is rough, as if he’s as thrown off as I am. “I have to take this.” Graham heads outside before I can respond.

I nod, stepping back quickly, forcing myself to breathe, to think, to do anything but wish we hadn’t stopped.

He answers the call, voice clipped. “Yeah?” I hear him say as he walks out, but I don’t hear the rest.

Because I’m already turning away.

Already running.

Already wondering why I ever thought I could stay away from him.

The moment Graham steps back into the flower shop, I know something’s wrong.

The air around him feels… different.

Gone is the warmth from just minutes ago, the intensity that had drawn me in, the quiet way he had looked at me like I was something he couldn’t help but want. Instead, his jaw is tight, his movements stiff, and?—

He won’t look at me.

I straighten, heart pounding as I watch him walk toward me. There’s something final in his steps, like he’s already halfway gone, and I don’t know why, but it sets off every alarm in my body.

“Graham?” I say carefully. “What’s wrong?”

He doesn’t answer right away. Instead, he pulls a file from his bag and hands it to me. I know what’s in there before I even hold it: the designs and drafts.

My fingers close around it on instinct, but my chest tightens when I see what’s inside—everything.

I was right. All the designs. The seating arrangements. The outdoor setup plans for Ethan and Riley’s wedding.

Everything we worked on.

Everything we were supposed to finish together.

I blink up at him, my stomach dropping. “What—what is this?”

His voice is even. Too even. Like he’s forcing himself not to waver. “That’s all you need.”

My grip tightens on the file. “Graham, slow down.” My voice wavers despite my best efforts. “Just—just tell me what’s going on.”

He exhales, rubbing the back of his neck. “I can’t.”

“Can’t or won’t?”

His jaw tenses. “Both.”

I stare at him, heart hammering, panic clawing its way up my throat. This isn’t happening.

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