She wasn’t sure what she felt. Intrigued? Suspicious? Maybe both. Definitely not indifferent.
Who exactly was Wickham?
And what did he know?
Elizabeth slouched deeper into her couch, phone in hand, her thumb hovering just above the keyboard as she toyed with the idea of replying to this mystery man. There was something about him—something in the half-smile of the man in the profile picture, and the name, Wickham. It tugged at her curiosity like a loose thread.
He looked like someone with stories. The kind people only told when they knew they had facts.
She stared at the message again.
There was a pull in it. Not just gossip, but the suggestion of something real. Something deeper. And if there was a chance to get an inside scoop on Fitzwilliam Darcy, the man behind the so-called empathy engine, how could she possibly pass that up?
It would make a perfect follow-up. No, better. It would be the takedown of the year.
Her fingers moved before her mind fully caught up. She clicked on reply and typed.
“What do you know about Fitzwilliam Darcy?”
But even as she hit send, another question sparked in her mind. One she hadn’t asked herself until now.
What do I actually know about Fitzwilliam Darcy?
Journalistic muscle memory kicked in. Elizabeth reached for her laptop, opened a new tab, and typed his name into the search bar.
Fitzwilliam Darcy, TrueNorth
The search results were disappointingly thin: a handful of recycled press releases, his name buried in startup roundups, a Wired profile locked behind a paywall, and a Forbes blurb that tossed out his ten-billion-dollar fortune like spare change. One TechCrunch article dubbed him "the quiet architect behind the empathy engine"—whatever that meant. A few photos surfaced, mostly from conferences or award nights, and his net worth got more mentions than his personality. Only one piece stood out. It was a lifestyle blog that had once named him among the top twenty most eligible bachelors in New York.
She found another thread and followed a link titled "The Two Minds Behind TrueNorth," but it might as well have been called “All About Bingley.” The article was a photo reel of Bingley at events, Bingley on panels, Bingley grinning beside microphones like a politician who’d just kissed a baby. Darcy was mentioned only once, almost begrudgingly: “Fitzwilliam Darcy, co-founder, prefers to remain out of the spotlight.”
She tried searching for his social media. Nothing. No LinkedIn. No verified Instagram. Not even an X account. At least, not under his real name.
It was like trying to Google a shadow.
She leaned back with a frown.
The man had built a company around human connection, and yet he’d managed to keep himself completely disconnected.
Why?
She couldn’t think of an answer to the question, but it made Wickham’s message all the more intriguing. She shivered with anticipation and checked her screen—no response yet. He wasn’t even online. Still, her fingers tingled as she stared at their messages, imagination already racing ahead. He had reached out first. Surely, he would reply.
And when he did, she’d be ready.
***
"I honestly don’t know which part I find funnier," Jane said as she took a slow sip of the yoghurt Elizabeth had handed her. She had just walked in from work, dropped her bag by the door, and claimed the only other free seat in the living room that wasn’t buried in throw blankets and half-read books. “Maybe it’s the fact that you joined TrueNorth to mock it, or that you’ve somehow found someone on there who actually makes you giggle.”
Elizabeth didn’t answer immediately. She was mid-text, tapping back something quick and witty to Mr. F, who had just made a joke about his childhood obsession with spelling bees. With a satisfied smile, she hit send and finally turned her attention to Jane.
"I have to admit," Elizabeth said, tossing her phone onto the coffee table, "it’s not exactly what I expected."
Jane raised an eyebrow. "You mean the part where you’re actually enjoying yourself?"
Elizabeth smirked. "I mean, he’s sharp. Not the kind of guy who texts ‘hey’ and disappears for three hours. He asks good questions. Makes good points. Doesn’t try too hard. And he’s funny. Like, actual funny, not just ‘I-watch-The-Office-on-repeat’ funny."
Jane blinked. "So you like him?"
