Matchmaker Mayhem

Ava had been ready to call the gala a success—or, at the very least, a tolerable level of disaster—when Ethan, in his trademark overconfident fashion, grabbed the microphone and made an announcement that turned her stomach into a freefall.

"Ladies and gentlemen," Ethan began, his grin wide enough to rival the Cheshire Cat’s, "to close out this extraordinary evening, we’ve decided to add a little excitement to the program."

Ava froze mid-step, her champagne glass hovering inches from her lips. "What is he doing now?"

Ryan, who had been trailing her with his usual air of amused detachment, groaned softly. "Whatever it is, I already know I’m going to hate it."

Ethan, oblivious to the growing sense of dread rippling through Ava, continued, "As you all know, matchmaking isn’t just about intuition or algorithms. It’s about courage, creativity, and—most importantly—competition. Which is why Ava Lee and I have decided to close out this evening with a friendly duel!"

Ava choked on her sip of champagne. "We what?"

The crowd buzzed with excitement, cameras flashing and murmurs spreading like wildfire. Ethan basked in the attention, looking far too pleased with himself.

"That’s right!" he crowed. "Two wildcard clients. One matchmaker each. One chance to create the perfect connection. And the best part? You, the audience, will decide who wins!"

Ava’s heels clicked loudly against the polished floor as she stormed toward the stage, dragging a very reluctant Ryan in her wake. "I never agreed to this!" she hissed, the edges of her frustration sharp enough to cut glass.

"Oh, come now," Ethan said, handing her the microphone with a mock-innocent smile. "Don’t be a spoilsport. The people love a little drama."

"You’re out of your mind," Ava snapped, her voice low enough to keep the audience from overhearing. "This is a gala, not a reality show."