The Matchmaker (by Sophie Smith) novel Chapter 103

CHAPTER 103

The light from the projector screen spilled across the floor in soft strips, casting fragmented shadows that swayed with each movement below. Megan shifted in her seat, turning just enough for her profile to slip into view.

Saphita’s entire body snapped still.

Her heart stuttered, the rhythm faltering as icy recognition clawed up her spine. Her breath caught–shallow, brittle–as her gaze locked on Megan’s face. Time fractured. The shape of her jaw. The tilt of her mouth. It’s her.

A jagged thrum built in her chest, sharp and unrelenting.

No… no, no. That can’t be her. Not here.

Her fingers trembled, curling instinctively into fists against her thighs. The air grew thin around her, pressing in like a rising tide. Without warning, her mind–link flared open, riding the tailwind of panic before she could stop it.

‘No, no, no. Why is she here?‘

Nikolas turned, sharply, his eyebrows knotting in alarm. His voice slipped through the bond, clipped and warm. ‘Saphira? What’s wrong–why have you gone pale?‘

She swallowed, pulse roaring in her ears, and turned toward him slowly. Her lips parted as if to answer–but no words came. She gave a small shake of her head, not trusting her voice, not yet. Her shoulder brushed his lightly in silent signal.

‘Later,‘ she linked, the thought strained and tight. ‘I need to stay focused. I’ll fill you in once she’s gone.”

Nikolas hesitated. His gaze swept her face, reading the tension etched in every line of her posture. Then, with quiet certainty, he gave a nod.

‘Okery,‘ he linked gently. I’m here for you. Always.‘

A breath hitched in her throat as he reached out and laced his fingers through hers. She gripped his hand–not desperately, but with a quiet urgency that tethered her back to herself. The warmth of his palm grounded her, even as her skin buzzed with the static of unearthed memory.

Below, Zafira shifted in her seat. Her tone carried the steady calm of someone coaxing story from silence. “Tell me about the Matchmaker,” she asked.

Megan straightened, brushing a loose strand of hair behind her ear. “I was the outcast of my pack,” she said evenly, voice cool but controlled. “Always the one on the outside looking in.”

Saphira narrowed her eyes. Her thumb rubbed absently across the edge of Nikolas’s knuckle, her body still taut, still listening.

“They accused me of having an affair with a mated wolf,” Megan continued. “It wasn’t true, but the rumour stuck. They sent me to the Matchmaker to be rid of me.”

A flicker ran through Saphira’s jaw–muscle twitching.

“I got matched almost immediately,” Megan added, folding her hands neatly in her lap. “But he and I agreed it wouldn’t work, so I was out within days.”

The warmth of Nikolas’s hand remained steady in hers, but she felt the subtle change–the way his thumb–paused mid–stroke over her knuckle, the breath he released long and low like a quiet signal.

Saphira’s eyes flicked toward him, catching the slight crease forming between his brows. He feels it too. Her grip didn’t tighten, but her posture did. Shoulders drawing in, spine aligning in quiet resolve.

Her gaze dropped briefly to Megan; the rhythm of her voice as polished as the lines she rehearsed. Saphira’s instincts buzzed like static beneath her skin. Her wolf was awake now–alert, sceptical.

‘She’s lying. And she’s here for a reason.‘ Saphira linked the words to Nikolas, her mental voice clipped with restraint. ‘I need to know what it is.”

Nikolas met her eyes in a quick glance. No surprise–just confirmation. His expression softened in shared recognition.

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CHAPTER 103

I know, he replied. His link carried the weight of trust and strategy. I’ll be back in a sec.”

He gave her hand one last press and gently let go, rising with casual ease. But Saphira noticed the way his stance shifted as he turned–the readiness behind his calm. She watched the line of his back, cach step calculated, quiet.

Nikolas slipped through the back door, his stride quiet, deliberate. Saphira’s eyes tracked the line of his shoulders until the door whispered shut behind him. Only then did she exhale—barely.

The air thickened, pressing close to her skin. Every soft hum from the projector, every shift in the cushions below became sharp. Megan’s voice wound through the room like a thread Saphira couldn’t unhear.

Then, from the front of the movie room, she heard Nikolas.

“Sorry to interrupt you,” he said, voice calm but clipped with intent. “Your room is ready–if you’re ready.”

Saphira’s breath hitched. Her gaze narrowed, trained on the sliver of light that framed the edge of the curtain. Her fingers twitched at her sides, half–curled, as if gripping invisible anchors.

“I am,” Megan replied, her voice coated in pleasantry. “Thank you.” A beat. “And thank you, Zafira, for speaking with me.”

There it was–that smile curled into the edge of her tone. Sugary, practiced. It grated across Saphira’s skin.

That smile’s rehearsed. Like a mask she’s worn too long.

Saphira leaned into the wall, palm meeting cold plaster, grounding herself. Her stomach gave a low turn as footsteps echoed softly into the hallway. She waited–counting each step. Then the door clicked. Stillness.

She stepped forward.

Zafira turned instantly, worry sharpening her features. “Saphira?” Her voice was careful, her eyes scanning every inch of her face. “What’s wrong?”

Saphira opened her mouth–but no words formed. Her throat felt thick, tight with memory and dread. She shook her head slowly, strands of hair falling loose and clinging to her cheeks.

“I’ll fill you in when Nikolas gets back,” she said, her voice edged and quiet, barely holding itself together.

Zafira nodded, but her frown deepened. “Okay… but you’re pale as a ghost.”

Saphira wrapped her arms around herself. The tremble at her fingertips hadn’t stopped. Her shoulder blades pulled tight, bracing like she expected the walls

to cave.

Just a few more seconds. Breathe.

The door creaked open again–Nikolas returned, gaze immediately locking on her. His eyes sharpened in a heartbeat, posture shifting into something protective.

“What’s going on?” he asked, his voice steady but lined with tension. He moved toward her, the surety in his steps matching the trust in his presence.

Saphira drew in a long breath, letting it settle low and deep in her chest. Her pulse had steadied–barely.

“She lied,” she said. “Her story’s wrong. Fabricated.”

Nikolas’s brow creased, a flicker of caution rising/Zafira blinked, confusion knitting tight across her face.

.” Her voice softened, throat constricting. “Her name isn’t Megan.”

“And two…”

A pause.

“It’s Ruby.”

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CHAPTER 103

Silence cleaved through the room.

Zafira froze, eyes wide. Nikolas’s face shifted–first blank, then slowly curdling into something sharper. His jaw flexed. His breath stopped.

“Ruby?” he said, voice barely above a whisper. “As in… your half–sister? The one who He stalled. “The one who tried to kill Finn and frame you for it?

Saphira nodded once. Small. Certain. Final.

“Yes.

Zafira gasped. Nikolas stepped closer, reaching for her hand–not just to offer comfort, but to brace them both against what came next.

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