“And you assaulted me today,” he continued calmly. “Aren’t you going to take care of me in return?”
She stared up at him, stunned, her lips parting slightly.
“Injuries?” she echoed.
Magnus didn’t answer immediately.
Instead, he stepped back just enough to give himself space and calmly began unbuttoning his shirt. His movements were unhurried.
One button. Then a second. Then a third.
He stopped there.
Sophia’s breath hitched.
As the fabric loosened and parted slightly at his collar, her eyes dropped despite herself. Clear nail marks crossed the exposed skin of his chest—some faint, others red and angry, standing out starkly against him. Before she could force herself to look away, he turned, angling his body to show her his back.
The marks there were worse. Long streaks marred his skin.
Sophia sucked in a sharp breath.
She bit her lip, mortification creeping up her neck.
When did she become this… wild?
When he turned back toward her, she quickly schooled her expression, forcing her face into something neutral before he could catch the flicker of guilt and embarrassment still lingering in her eyes.
“You… want me to take care of your injuries?” she asked, her voice coming out stiffer than she intended.
“Of course,” he replied evenly. “I helped you. You help me. Fair, isn’t it?”
Before she could even gather herself, Magnus turned and walked out of the bathroom.
His footsteps echoed softly against the floor as he moved away, unhurried, as though the matter were already settled.
Sophia stood there for a second, fingers tightening around the tube in her hand, her thoughts tangled and her face still warm. Then she followed.
She stepped into the bedroom—and stopped short.
Magnus was already shrugging off his shirt. The fabric slid down his shoulders effortlessly before he tossed it aside without a glance. Bare-chested and utterly unapologetic, he walked over and sat on the edge of the bed, elbows resting loosely on his thighs, posture relaxed as if this were the most natural thing in the world.
Her eyes widened.
“What are you doing?!” she blurted out. “Put the shirt back on!”
He lifted his gaze to her slowly, expression flat, almost unimpressed. “How exactly are you planning to apply themedicine? Over my shirt? And then pray for it to heal magically?”
Her face burned instantly.
Magnus watched her for a beat longer, impatience creeping subtly into his eyes as he straightened slightly.
“Come on,” he said. “It’s getting late.”
Sophia inhaled deeply, steadying herself. After a brief hesitation, she finally walked toward him, each step measured.
She squeezed a little of the medicine onto her fingertip, then leaned closer, careful and focused as she began applying it to the marks on his chest. Her touch was light, soft, as if afraid to press too hard.
Then—without warning—
