Matchmaker Mayhem

The tension in the air was palpable the moment Ava stepped into the convention hall the next morning. The usual lively chatter among competitors felt different—less friendly, more whispered, more guarded. It was the kind of shift that set off immediate alarm bells in her mind.

Ryan noticed it too. His casual stance became more alert as he scanned the room, his fingers lightly tapping against his coffee cup. "Something’s off," he muttered, leaning in so only she could hear.

Ava frowned. "You feel it too?"

Ryan nodded, his sharp gaze flickering toward a group of competitors huddled near the espresso bar, whispering behind their hands. When one of them—Camille, a French matchmaker Ava had actually liked—caught sight of her, she quickly looked away, her lips pressing into a tight line.

Ava’s stomach sank. Oh, great.

Before she could ask what was going on, a familiar smug voice cut through the crowd.

"Well, if it isn’t Paris’ most controversial matchmaker."

Ava turned to find Ethan Chase standing near the grand staircase, arms crossed over his chest, looking far too pleased with himself.

"Ethan." She forced her voice to stay neutral. "What have you done now?"

Ethan smirked, his posture relaxed but eyes gleaming with mischief. "Me? Oh, Ava, you wound me." He placed a hand over his heart mockingly. "I merely pointed out an interesting theory to our fellow matchmakers."

Ryan stepped forward slightly, positioning himself closer to Ava. "Spit it out, Chase," he said coolly.