Page 91 of In Love With Mr. Wrong

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Crane is already waiting by the time I arrive atPerfectly Matched’soffice. He’s seated in the private boardroom, lean, composed, suit immaculate, the city spilling out behind him through a floor of glass. He looks like he owns the building, like he’s been here all along. Like this isn’t the first time he’s come to clean up someone else’s mess.

Olivia stands a few feet away, arms crossed, her expression unreadable but unmistakably annoyed.

“Bold move,” I say as I walk in.

He stands smoothly, offering a faint smile. “You didn’t return my call.”

“I was busy managing the fallout of a smear campaign.”

“Then I figured I’d show up and offer an extinguisher.”

I don’t shake his hand. I just take a seat at the table and gesture for Olivia to begin. She launches into a tight rundown of the leak, timing, access logs, files cross-referenced. We’re down to a list of five possible internal sources. Four of them are long-time, trusted employees.

The fifth? A new legal assistant hired through a firmPerfectly Matchedused for corporate restructuring last quarter.

“She’s been squeaky clean on paper,” Olivia says. “But the metadata shows her terminal accessed the flagged doc four hours before the language showed up onPulseMatch’ssocial campaign.”

“Coincidence?” I ask.

Crane leans forward, tapping a finger against the screen. “Unlikely. Eleanor’s strategy has always involved planting seeds she can later deny pulling.”

Olivia eyes him. “And what makes you so familiar with Eleanor’s strategy?”

“I was her strategy,” he says dryly. “At least for a while.”

I bite down a comment and turn back to Olivia. “Trace her communication. If she’s forwarding anything, even internally, I want a report. And shut down her system access. Quietly.”

She nods and leaves the room with military precision. Crane watches me for a moment.

“You’re handling it well,” he says.

“Is that your way of saying you’re impressed?”

“It’s my way of saying your mother underestimated you.”

I let that sit between us for a moment, then ask, “Why are you really here?”

He doesn’t flinch.

“Because she made you a liability the second she exposed the truth about your name. And now that the world knows you’re not a King, I’m not interested in pretending I’m invisible.”

“You were never invisible,” I murmur.

“No,” he says quietly. “Just silent. And I won’t be anymore.”

He slides a small envelope across the table.

“What’s this?”

“Background on the firm that vetted your new legal hires,” he says. “One of their senior partners sits onPulseMatch’ssilent investor board. I don’t think the girl’s working alone.”

I study him for a moment, letting the weight of that revelation sink in. The lines are starting to connect. Eleanor isn’t just playing publicly, she’s still working angles from the inside, manipulating levers that were set in motion long before any of us saw them.

“You knew this and didn’t say anything sooner?”

Crane doesn’t blink. “I suspected. Now I’m certain. And I didn’t come empty-handed.”

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