“Some people ask questions not to learn, but to be noticed.”
It was said just as Jane was tugging her back into her seat, and she hadn’t heard it in the moment. But now, alone withher phone and a bellyful of indignation, it echoed with startling clarity.
People were eating it up.
Comments ranged from "Preach" to "Finally, someone said it" to "This is why I deleted Hinge"—the implication being that sarcastic women like her were the reason dating had become unbearable.
Elizabeth narrowed her eyes at the glowing praise. He hadn’t simply insulted her or humiliated her. He’d weaponized mild charm against a room full of eager onlookers—then dropped the line with perfect timing. She hadn’t even heard it when he said it. The room had erupted in laughter, and Darcy had walked away looking like the sensible one. To many, it wasn’t just a win. It was a mic drop.
She stood, wobbled slightly, then paced back and forth across the six feet that passed for her living room. She wasn’t heartbroken. She wasn’t even properly angry. But something about it, a simmering need to respond, to reclaim the moment, to set the record straight, wouldn’t let her rest.
She sat. Opened her laptop.
New Document.
Love by Numbers: When Tech Bros Try to Code Chemistry
She typed fast, fuelled by wine and injustice.
“My name is Elizabeth Bennet, and last night I watched a man tell a room full of strangers that love should be logical. He said it like it was noble. Like it was brave. He said it after dismissing me. Not directly, not with my name, but with that same surgical smile he used to sell emotional compatibility algorithms to the rich and lonely.
He said people ask questions to be seen, not to learn. It was neat. It was clever. It was designed to humiliate—and it worked. But what he doesn’t realise is this: I have never neededto be told I’m visible. I know I’m visible. And I know when someone is trying to look through me.
So let’s talk about TrueNorth. Let’s talk about monetising intimacy. Let’s talk about the difference between compatibility and convenience. Let’s talk about what happens when a man builds an empire to explain why he’s alone–”
She stared at the screen, the cursor blinking in time with her heartbeat. She didn’t know what to type next. The writing on her screen read more like rambling than anything close to an article.
She hesitated.
Not out of fear. But becausethis, this moment, this article—it wasn’t revenge. It was something else. It was power. And power, she knew, was most satisfying when wielded with precision.
Deciding the article could wait for more finesse—and maybe a little more digging—Elizabeth shut her laptop and reached for her phone. One swipe, and she found the app she was looking for. Her fingers moved quickly, almost too easily, as the words spilled out.
“Imagine thinking Fitzwilliam Darcy is emotionally intelligent. Trying to code romance. Lol. Logging off. #BigDataBigDelusion”
She stared at the line. Her thumb hovered just above the blue “Post” button, trembling slightly. She drew in a breath, paused for a heartbeat, then pressed send.
A small, satisfied smile tugged at her lips. Revenge was not always loud. Sometimes it was a single tweet.
She set her phone to Do Not Disturb, staggered toward her room, and climbed into bed, searching for the one kind of peace that not even Fitzwilliam Darcy could interrupt.
***
Elizabeth woke to her phone vibrating violently on the nightstand. It had been chiming with notifications all morning, but she’d buried her face in the pillow and refused to deal with it. The call, unfortunately, had no snooze button.
She groaned. Rolled. Squinted. It was a call with her mother’s name blaring across the screen in all caps. She had saved it that way to remind herself that her mother’s random calls were always a bad omen. The good calls—if they could be called that—always came from her dad’s number, with her mom chiming in only after she and her father had exchanged hellos.
She answered with a croak. “Hello?”
There was no reply, just breathing and inaudible murmuring. A second later, the call shifted from a single voice to a full chorus—it was her sisters.
“Elizabeth!” her mother barked, triumphant and appalled. “Why did you insult a billionaire in public? No wonder you're still single!”
“Mum, good morning to you too,” Elizabeth muttered, sitting up and rubbing her face.
“I googled him,” Mrs Bennet announced, barely acknowledging the pleasantries. “He is worth ten billion. Ten billion, Elizabeth. And you…you speak to the most eligible bachelor in America like that? Which young man will want a woman who thinks sarcasm is a personality?”
Someone chuckled at the other end.
