Magnus remained rooted to the spot, watching her disappear. A frown slowly formed on his face. Something about her words felt… wrong. But he said nothing. His fingers tightened, crumpling the contract in his hand.
Taking a deep breath, he turned and headed toward the bedroom as well.
He entered the bedroom, his footsteps echoing faintly—only to stop abruptly.
His eyes landed on a bare back.
Sophia stood in front of him, her hands behind her as she pulled down the zipper of her dress. The fabric slid lower, exposing smooth skin as she began to turn—
“Aah!”
A startled scream left her mouth the moment she saw him standing there, rooted in shock.
Magnus blinked, snapping back to his senses.
Sophia quickly turned away, yanking the zipper back up before facing him, anger flashing across her face. “What are you doing? Get out! Don’t you know how to knock?”
Magnus scowled and stepped further inside, heading straight for the closet.
He slid it open, revealing rows of his clothes. “This is my room!”
Her eyes flicked to the closet, then back to him. Confusion crossed her face. “But the maids said this is my room.”
“Of course they did,” he replied. “You’re my wife now. Did you forget what I told you? No one is allowed to know about our arrangement.”
She stiffened.
“So…” she said slowly, “we’re going to stay in the same bedroom?”
“Yes,” Magnus said, his voice cool, though there was a flicker of something betraying him. “Trust me, it’s as bothersome for me as it is for you, but we don’t have a choice. I’m not going to risk anyone tattling to my mother. I’ll tolerate this for three months, and I’m sure you’re more than happy to live with it.”
He snatched clothes from his closet and strode toward the washroom. His voice remained calm, but the faint flush on his face betrayed him. The embarrassment of seeing her almost naked in his bedroom had left its mark, and he hurried inside, shutting the door firmly behind him.
Sophia frowned at his arrogance, her teeth gritting. ‘More than happy to live with that?What does he take me for, a swooning fan girl—dying to live in the same room with him?’ she thought, frustration bubbling.
She spun around with irritation, took a deep breath, and closed her eyes.
“It’s alright,” she murmured under her breath. “Just three months. You can get through this, Sophia.”
***
“Five million dollars,” Sophia’s voice rang gracefully across the grand Centurion Hall.
Every eye turned to her.
Crystal chandeliers sparkled overhead, their light bouncing off polished marble floors, while gilded walls displayed priceless artwork. Plush velvet chairs lined the polished mahogany tables, occupied by impeccably dressed men and women whose watches and jewelry were more expensive than a house in Manhattan.
The soft murmur of conversation faded as she stepped forward.
“It is the only 180-year-old bottle of Château Lafite in the world, ladies and gentlemen. The King of Arabia once owned this before it was lost—and it was recently rediscovered in a hidden cellar.”
All eyes followed Sophia. Her smile was polite, professional, and commanding all at once. “Bidding starts at five million, with increments of fifty thousand dollars minimum.”
Whispers and murmurs spread through the hall. Phones were lifted to ears as bidders consulted clients. Sophia’s gaze swept over them, calm and confident.
“Place your bids, ladies and gentlemen.”
A hand shot up, two fingers held up in the air. Sophia pointed. “Seven million.”
