It was all an experiment.
That’s what they’d said. Louisa with her smug mouth. Caroline, gleaming with satisfaction like she’d delivered the punchline to a cruel joke.
The match. The dates. The late-night chats that had once made her feel seen. The smile he gave her at the frozen yoghurt café, the way he’d leaned in just slightly, asking her out on their third date like it was the most natural thing in the world.
Was that all planned as part of his experiment?
She could almost picture him laying it all out like a to-do list, step by step, mapping the whole thing as if it were just another controlled variable. An experiment. The word curled in her mind, sharp and sour. Something was burning in her chest—so strong she could almost smell it. The taxi driver must have sensed it too, because he made no attempt at small talks.
By the time she reached her apartment, she was boiling. Her hands trembled as she shoved her key into the lock. The door swung open and she stepped inside, dropped her bag to the floor with a thud.
For a second, she just stood there in the middle of her living room—motionless, fuming.
Her mind kept circling back to the moment Darcy walked back into the living room at Bingley’s. She’d wanted to say something then—to meet his eyes and challenge him, unfiltered and sharp. But not in front of Caroline. Not with Louisa watching like it was theater. And certainly not for his benefit. If she was just a test, then she had no intention of performing for them.
But now?
Now she would speak.
She grabbed her phone off the couch, opened the TrueNorth app, and pulled up the chat.
Her fingers worked faster than her mind made the words up.
“I found out tonight that this was all an experiment to you. Caroline Bingley told me—whether out of jealousy or sheer malice, I don’t know. But oddly, I’m thankful. Because now, finally, I have closure.
Last time we saw each other, you asked me out, and I asked you a fundamental question—one you had no answer for. No explanation whatsoever.
For days, I kept second-guessing myself. I thought maybe I’d read too much into your silences. That I could have overreacted. That maybe there was something—anything—to explain what you did. Even when every gut instinct and bit of evidence screamed otherwise, I still gave you the benefit of the doubt. And for a second, I thought—maybe. Just maybe there’s something real here. Some version of you that exists beyond the code, the pride, the coldness, and the selfishness.
But as fate would have it, I learned tonight that it was all research. You claiming you want more. You acting like you ever cared. It was just an experiment. I was just another part of your algorithm’s sample size. A variable in your precious dataset.
What was the plan? Did you find out what I knew and think, ‘Oh, let’s toss poor Elizabeth a relationship pitch to throw her off’. Make me feel chosen so I’d stop asking questions? You think that lowly of me?
You should check your character, sir. You don’t care about people’s feelings. You treat anyone outside your world like a tool. A user to analyse. A pawn to manipulate.
But I’m not a pawn. And I won’t be silenced.
Joke’s on you, Fitzwilliam Darcy.”
Instinctively, she read the message over in a quick proofread to avoid typos, argued with her inner voice that it felt more like a letter—or worse, an email—than a message for a chat app, but she let her finger hover over the blue arrow.
Send.
She didn’t wait for a response. Didn’t give herself the space to regret it. Instead, she closed the app, held down the icon until it trembled—and deleted it.
Gone.
Still, it wasn’t enough.
She glanced toward her desk, her laptop sitting there like a quiet dare.
The article.
The one she’d written. The one she hadn’t published. The one that felt like a loaded M16.
Elizabeth marched over, flipped the lid, and woke it up from sleep. The document opened before her, words staring back at her like a reflection.
Her heart thudded.
