Matchmaker Mayhem
Chapter 94: The Ultimate Test

Chapter 94: The Ultimate Test

The tension in the grand ballroom of the L’Amour Élite Matchmaking Summit was thick enough to slice with a knife.

Ava stood at the center of the ornate stage, dressed in an elegant but powerful black dress, microphone in hand. Across from her, Julian Ashcroft sat in a sleek leather chair, his calculating gaze locked onto her.

This was it. The Showdown on stage.

The live matchmaking challenge was the ultimate test—a head-to-head showdown between Ava’s intuition-driven matchmaking style and Julian’s data-driven algorithm.

Ryan, standing just offstage, crossed his arms. "No pressure, Matchmaker."

Ava exhaled slowly, smirking just slightly. "Oh, I thrive under pressure."

Margaux Duval, the host of L’Amour Élite, stood between them, her poised French accent carrying through the grand hall.

"Tonight, the world will witness the future of matchmaking," Margaux announced. "On one side, we have Julian Ashcroft—the mind behind the revolutionary ’Perfection Pair’ algorithm."

Polite applause rippled through the audience, mostly from tech investors and people who had probably never been on a date without analyzing their compatibility score first.

Julian smirked, adjusting his tailored navy suit.

"And on the other," Margaux continued, "we have Ava Lee, whose instinctive approach has already proven its strength against the industry’s most advanced technology."

Ava received a much louder round of applause, including an enthusiastic whoop from Mei, who was definitely waving a sign that said "TEAM AVA, LOSER JULIAN" in gold lettering.

Julian’s eye twitched.

Margaux gestured toward the stage. "The rules are simple. Each of you will be given three single clients. You will have 20 minutes to match them using your respective methods. The success of each match will be determined in a week, based on client satisfaction."

Julian’s smirk widened. "Shall we begin?"

Ava lifted her chin, unfazed. "Let’s."

---

The Showdown Begins

The first client, Claire, a sophisticated Parisian art curator, took a seat in the plush velvet chair at the center of the stage.

Julian went first, inputting Claire’s personality traits, interests, and compatibility factors into his sleek tablet. Within seconds, the screen produced a match.

"A perfect 98% compatibility score," Julian announced confidently.

A few impressed murmurs swept through the audience.

Then it was Ava’s turn.

She stepped forward, studying Claire with her practiced eye.

"You want someone who can challenge you, but not overshadow you," Ava said thoughtfully. "You thrive in intellectual conversations, but you also need someone who can pull you out of your serious mindset and make you laugh."

Claire blinked. "That’s... exactly right."

Ava glanced into the audience, scanning the observing clients. Then, her gaze settled on a man in the third row—a literature professor who had spent the entire evening staring longingly at Claire’s table earlier.

Ava gestured toward him. "You. What’s your name?"

The professor startled. "Jean-Paul."

"Jean-Paul, you admire Claire’s work, don’t you?"

He nodded, adjusting his glasses. "Immensely."

Ava turned to Claire. "Wouldn’t you rather date someone who truly appreciates your passion instead of just aligning with it on paper?"

Claire hesitated, then slowly smiled. "I would, actually."

The audience whispered excitedly.

Margaux lifted a brow. "Interesting approach, Miss Lee."

Julian’s smirk faltered.

Ryan, from the sidelines, grinned. "That’s my girl."

---

The grand ballroom of the L’Amour Élite Matchmaking Summit buzzed with anticipation.

Ava stood on one side of the stage, her instincts sharp, her heart steady. Opposite her, Julian sat rigid and composed, his hand resting near his overhyped tablet, the so-called future of matchmaking technology.

Margaux’s poised voice filled the air, commanding the audience’s attention. "We now move on to our second round of matchmaking. Each competitor must match our next client using their respective methods. Let’s see whose approach will lead to the strongest connection."

Julian’s smirk returned as their next client, Henri, a high-profile Parisian chef, stepped forward.

Henri was tall, sharp-featured, and exuded an air of perfectionist intensity. His chef’s whites were crisp, his expression unreadable.

Margaux gave Julian the floor first. "Monsieur Ashcroft, your match?"

Julian, ever the numbers-obsessed villain, tapped a few selections on his pristine tablet before smiling smugly. "According to my algorithm, Henri is a 92% match with Celeste, a renowned food critic from Lyon."

A polite murmur of approval rolled through the audience. On paper, it was a logical choice.

Celeste—a woman in a fitted, immaculate dress—was escorted onto the stage. She was elegant, poised, and carried an air of superiority that could cut through glass.

She looked Henri over. Henri looked her over.

Then, in less than ten seconds, it all crumbled.

Celeste sniffed. "So, you are Henri. I have reviewed your bistro before."

Henri blinked. "You have?"

Celeste nodded. "Three stars. Decent, but uninspired."

The audience collectively winced.

Julian’s confident expression froze.

Henri crossed his arms, his jaw tightening. "Three stars? Decent?"

Celeste shrugged. "I recall mentioning your sauce reductions lacked depth. You rely too much on citrus notes."

Henri’s eye twitched. "Excuse moi?"

Celeste leaned in, her red lips curling slightly. "You should have taken my feedback more seriously. Perhaps then, you’d have four stars."

A few people whispered.

Julian, still trying to salvage the situation, forced a tight smile. "I’m sure first impressions can be deceiving—"

Henri threw his hands in the air. "She insulted my reductions!"

Celeste arched a brow. "You should be thanking me."

Julian visibly clenched his jaw.

Ava, meanwhile, was trying very, very hard not to laugh.

Margaux, ever the professional, turned to Ava. "Miss Lee, do you have an alternative match for Henri?"

Ava took a step forward, hiding her amusement.

"Henri, you need someone who understands the level of dedication you put into your craft but doesn’t treat food like a battleground," Ava said thoughtfully. "Someone who appreciates fine cuisine but doesn’t believe their opinion is law."

Henri exhaled. "That would be preferable."

Ava turned toward the audience, scanning the room. And then, her eyes landed on a bubbly, curly-haired woman near the dessert station.

"Excuse me, Miss?" Ava called.

The woman looked up, blinking. "Me?"

Ava smiled. "What’s your name?"

The woman nervously stepped forward. "Amélie."

"Amélie, what’s your favorite thing about dining out?" Ava asked.

Amélie brightened. "Oh! The experience, of course. The atmosphere, the excitement of the first bite. I love watching a chef’s creativity come to life."

Henri visibly perked up. "You appreciate the artistry?"

Amélie nodded enthusiastically. "Of course! I don’t believe in judging a dish too quickly—it’s about the story behind it. Every great meal has a journey."

Henri stared at her like she had just whispered the secret to the universe.

Julian’s face darkened.

Ava smiled, knowing she had struck gold.

Henri immediately stepped forward and offered Amélie his arm. "Would you allow me to tell you the story of my cooking?"

Amélie beamed. "I’d love that."

The audience clapped, murmuring in approval.

Margaux, looking thoroughly impressed, nodded. "Another successful match."

Ava sent Julian a pointed smirk.

Julian’s eye twitched harder.

---

The third rounds continued in similar fashion.

Julian’s algorithm selected high-compatibility matches, but the lack of human connection was obvious.

Ava, on the other hand, read between the lines, noticing subtle body language, hidden desires, and emotional chemistry—things no algorithm could measure.

By the final round, the cracks in Julian’s system were showing.

His third client, Markus, an adventurous travel photographer, had been matched with a calm, methodical banker.

"I—I don’t really see this working," Markus admitted awkwardly.

Julian’s jaw tightened. "The data doesn’t lie."

Ava arched a brow. "Does the data know that Markus gets restless if he spends more than three days in the same city?"

Julian stiffened.

Markus blinked. "Wait... how did you know that?"

Ava smiled, tilting her head. "You haven’t stopped tapping your fingers against your knee the entire time you’ve been sitting still."

The audience erupted into laughter and applause.

Ryan crossed his arms smugly. "Game over."

---

Margaux stepped forward, smiling gracefully.

"Well," she said, voice smooth as silk, "I believe we have our winner."

Ava stood tall, her victory undeniable.

Julian’s algorithm, once considered unstoppable, had lost to something no AI could replicate—

Instinct. Emotion. Real human connection.

The audience rose in applause, cameras flashing, industry experts murmuring excitedly.

Julian, ever the sore loser, stood stiffly. "This doesn’t prove anything."

Ava simply smirked. "No, Julian. It proves everything."

Ryan stepped onto the stage, wrapping a casual arm around her waist. "Let’s go celebrate, Matchmaker Extraordinaire."

Ava grinned. "Best idea you’ve had all night."

As they left the stage, Mei tossed confetti in the air and Harold attempted to hug a very reluctant Margaux.

And somewhere in the crowd, Julian’s bitter scowl deepened.

Because this wasn’t just a loss.

This was a public humiliation.

And Julian Ashcroft?

He wasn’t done yet.

---

That night, the celebration took place at a rooftop bar overlooking the Eiffel Tower.

Mei, dramatic as always, ordered an obscenely large bottle of champagne.

Harold gave an emotional speech about teamwork (while accidentally setting his napkin on fire).

Ava, meanwhile, stood by the railing, letting the night’s victory settle in.

Ryan appeared beside her, handing her a glass of champagne.

"Enjoying the taste of victory?" he asked.

Ava exhaled. "It’s not just about winning. It’s about proving that love isn’t a formula."

Ryan studied her for a long moment. Then, with a slow, knowing smirk, he reached for her hand.

"I think you just changed matchmaking forever," he murmured.

Ava felt her heart stutter.

Then, as if reading her mind, Ryan leaned in, brushing his lips lightly against hers.

It was slow, teasing, like he had all the time in the world.

Ava smiled against his mouth. "You really like winning with me, don’t you?"

Ryan chuckled. "You have no idea."

And as the lights of Paris glittered below, Ava realized—

Winning was great.

But winning with Ryan?

That was something else entirely.