“Of course not,” she said. “Because God forbid a man like you—who controls the algorithm, the narrative, the press releases—should ever be forced to say something real.”
He said nothing.
“You spoke of your sister. Your uncle and aunt.” Her voice sharpened. “But someone who lived almost his entire life with your family—your father’s godson—he doesn’t matter?”
Her voice was rising now, and a few people had begun to glance in their direction. Darcy swallowed, his eyes breaking contact, flickering toward the turned heads.
“I—”
“I could never date someone like that,” she cut in, her voice steady. “Someone who decides people are either useful or disposable. Someone only capable of liking someone once the algorithm tells him it’s safe.”
His face didn’t shift, but the temperature in the room dropped.
“You said you liked me,” she went on, “but you didn’t think that when we first met.‘Not handsome enough to tempt me.’”
Darcy’s jaw tensed at the words, his eyes widening in surprise.
“Oh, don’t pretend you didn’t say it to scorn me,” Elizabeth declared. “And now, all of a sudden, the app pairs us, and you decide you like me? You like the woman you once dismissed as someone merely seeking attention.”
She gave a sharp, humourless laugh.
“I’m sorry, sir, but you don’t know me. Not really. Forget that we chatted about books and music and a few harmless things. You know my stats. My hobbies. My sarcasm on a good day.”
Her voice sharpened, steady and unyielding.
“But the part of me that asks questions—the part that refuses to look away when things don’t add up—that is the part you want to silence.”
“That’s not—”
“I don’t believe in curated connection,” she said. “And I definitely don’t believe in a man who can take care of his sister with one hand and delete someone else’s life with the other.”
For a moment, neither of them spoke.
Then Darcy stood, slow and deliberate.
“I thought we were on a date,” he said quietly. “I didn’t realise I was under interrogation.”
“Why do you think I joined the app in the first place?” Elizabeth asked. “Do you think it was because I was love-starved? Because I believed in yourcode-is-loveidea?”
She shook her head.
“No. I wanted to see what it was all about. And voilà—I ended up face to face with the man behind the curtain. Call it poetic justice… or call it this: whatever you planned, I saw straight through the charade.”
Darcy exhaled, something pained flickering across his expression.
“So this isn’t just a rejection,” he said softly. “It’s a verdict as well?”
Elizabeth rose too, holding his gaze. “It’s both.”
He studied her one last time, something tightening in his jaw—but he didn’t protest.
He only said, “Goodbye, Elizabeth.”
And with that, he turned and walked out.
She stood alone in the café for a few more seconds, letting the sound of the city seep through the glass.
Her pulse was high. Her breath shallow.
