“Just like today.”
Mia didn’t interrupt him once.
She sat there, unmoving, her face pale, her gaze unfocused as his words settled heavily around her. The air between them felt thick, suffocating.
After a few long moments of silence, Mia finally moved.
She pushed herself to her feet.
Her back straightened, her posture stiff and defensive. Her face was cold—hard—but her eyes shone with unshed tears as she looked down at Magnus. There was pain in her gaze, yes, but also fury.
“Why are you expecting me to just accept whatever comes my way,” she said, her voice shaking despite her effort to stay composed, “instead of seeing it for what it really is?”
Tears spilled over, streaking down her cheeks, but she didn’t bother wiping them away.
“Mr. Graves,” she continued, her voice cracking, “he hid things from me. He didn’t tell me the truth when he approached me. He lied—again and again.”
Her hands curled into fists at her sides as she stared at Magnus, raw anger burning in her eyes.
“Why should I accept a relationship built on lies and forgive him just so he can have his way in my life?” she demanded. “Why should I live with him for the rest of my life just because he fell in love with me—when he deceived me at every step?”
She shook her head sharply, tears falling faster now.
“These weren’t small lies,” she whispered hoarsely. “He married me with them.”
Her chest heaved as she finished, glaring at Magnus through her tears. “So why do you expect me to just accept it quietly and forgive him?”
Magnus said nothing at first.
He folded his hands over his knees, his shoulders slumping slightly as his gaze dropped to the floor. For the first time since he arrived, the fight seemed to drain out of him.
After a moment, he exhaled deeply and gave a short, resigned nod.
“I understand,” he said quietly. His voice was subdued, grim.
He looked up at her again. “It’s late. Alexander is stable now. You should go back to the hotel.”
He gestured toward the men standing nearby. “I’ll have someone take you. I’ll stay here and take care of Alexander.”
“I’ll go back on my own,” Mia said quickly, bending to gather her bags. Her fingers were rough and unsteady as she gripped the straps.
Magnus’ head snapped toward her, his expression instantly hardening.
“I don’t want to be buried alive by my brother if something happens to you again,” he said coldly. “Please. Go with the man.”
He flicked his hand toward one of the men across the hall. Without hesitation, the man stepped forward.
Mia hesitated for a brief second, glancing at Magnus. Then she turned and stormed out of the hospital, her steps fast and unsteady, the man following close behind.
Two days later, Mia was back in Manhattan.
Her body felt stiff, heavy with exhaustion, as she pushed open the door to the small bar across the street from her office. The low lighting and muted noise wrapped around her, dulling her senses just enough to breathe.
She still hadn’t seen Alexander since the attack.
The memory of that night clawed at her chest over and over again—the blood, the sound of the impact, his weight collapsing onto her—making it hard to draw a full breath.
Earlier that day, Sasha had shouted at her relentlessly for missing the meeting and ignoring repeated calls in Denver. Mia hadn’t had the strength to explain. She had stood there silently, eyes lowered, enduring every sharp word while her mind stayed trapped elsewhere.
