She ran her hand through her hair, her voice shaking. "I’m... I’m so sorry. When I wrote my article—"
Darcy grimaced. "What article?"
Elizabeth blinked. Then she remembered.
"The article," she repeated. "Oh God. It’s still online."
She turned abruptly and reached for her laptop. Darcy remained still, confusion flickering across his face as she opened it and began navigating furiously. She spoke in a low but steady voice as she explained everything about the article, what she had written, and how she had published it in anger before he arrived. By the time she finished, she had deleted the post and the accompanying tweet.
When she looked up, her face was pale. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know. I swear I didn’t know. I thought I was doing the right thing, giving people the truth. But I was wrong. I was foolish. I was manipulated.”
Darcy didn’t speak right away. He just watched her, his expression unreadable.
Elizabeth’s voice dropped to a whisper. “I should never have trusted him. I should never have published the article. What Caroline and Mrs. Hurst said... it just pushed me over the edge.”
Something flickered in his eyes. He gave a slow, tired breath and glanced toward his pocket, where his phone still rested.
“I didn’t connect the dots until now,” he said quietly. “The calls I got tonight were from the board. Probably legal too. I’ve been ignoring them all evening.”
Elizabeth froze. “Because of... the article?”
He nodded. “That’s the only explanation that makes sense. There’s no reason I should be getting several work-calls this late. I didn’t know it was your article—not until now. Not until you said it.”
The silence that followed wasn’t loud, but it pressed in close. Dense with consequences and words that came too late.
“About tonight… I need to apologize for that too,” Darcy said quietly. “I overheard Caroline and Louisa as I came back in.”
He looked at her fully now, no deflection in his gaze.
“Yes, I created my TrueNorth account as an experiment. After what happened with Wickham… after all of that, I stopped believing people could be trusted. I mean, the moment he betrayed me, it made something in me break. It made connection feel risky. Fragile. I didn’t trust anyone.”
He paused, his voice softening just enough to let something through.
“I concluded I was not cut out for dating or love. But then I started talking to you. To the stranger called Bazile. And it felt different. Like I could breathe again. I didn’t even realise how much I missed that kind of honesty.”
Elizabeth wrapped her arms around herself. Her voice refused to come. But the warmth spreading in her chest was sudden and unsteady, like light through a cracked door.
“When I found out it was you,” Darcy continued, “I told myself I could keep going. Finish the three dates, thank you politely, and walk away. But I was lying to myself.”
A faint, almost self-conscious smile tugged at his mouth.
“As of the frozen yogurt shop, I was already gone.”
She opened her mouth, tried to speak, but the words tangled behind the weight in her throat.
“When I couldn’t stop thinking about you after that, I knew I couldn’t wait. That’s why I hurried the third date. And when I asked if we could keep seeing each other, I meant it. Not to throw you off. Not for damage control. And definitely not out of pity. I meant it.”
His confession just lingered there, suspended in the air, fragile and heavy all at once. As if anything said afterward might bruise the weight of it. Elizabeth swallowed several times before she could gather enough breath to speak.
Her throat tightened. “I assumed the worst. My prejudice against you wouldn’t let me see past my own bias. What happened at the gala, and when you said I wasn’t handsome enough to tempt you, stuck with me. It shaped everything I thought of you.”
“I didn’t mean that,” he said slowly. “I just wanted to get Bingley off my back. I’m sorry. I was under pressure to deliver TrueNorth. I didn’t want to dance. I wanted to disappear.”
“You don’t need to apologise,” she said softly. “I should be the one doing that. I let anger ruin a good thing.”
“You had every right to be angry,” he said, gentler now. “You were misled. And when you realised it, you didn’t just run. You acted. You took responsibility. You tried to do what you thought best.”
She shook her head, blinking fast. “I just… I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t have… I didn’t mean to…”
