“What the hell, Sophia?” he snapped, voice tight, muffled behind his palm.
“I—I’m sorry!” Sophia blurted out instantly, panic flashing across her face. She tossed her phone aside and scrambled upright on the bed. “You scared the life out of me!”
He lowered his hand slowly, eyes narrowed, then pulled out his phone and switched to the front camera. Tilting his head, he inspected his nose.
A long red scratch stretched across the bridge.
He looked up at her and pointed accusingly at his face. “Look what you did. What if this leaves a scar?”
Her expression crumpled with guilt. “I’ll take care of it,” she said quickly. “I promise.”
Before he could respond, she slid off the bed and hurried into the bathroom. Cabinets opened and closed in a rush. Moments later, she returned with the first-aid kit clutched to her chest.
Magnus sat down on the edge of the bed, legs spread slightly as she approached.
Sophia stepped closer, instinctively positioning herself between his knees. She bent forward, her movements careful now. One hand came up to cup his face, thumb resting lightly near his cheekbone, steadying him. Her other hand dipped into the kit, fingers gentle as she applied the medicine to the scratch.
Her touch was light. Focused.
Magnus didn’t look away for even a second. Watching her tend to him stirred something unfamiliar in his chest—something warm, unsettling, and stubbornly insistent.
“All done,” she whispered, pulling her hand away.
Her eyes flickered—just for a moment—toward his Adam’s apple, then up to his face, and finally into his eyes. Heat bloomed across her cheeks the instant she realized how intently he was watching her. Flustered, she turned quickly, almost fumbling as she hurried to put the medicine box away.
Magnus rose, closing the gap between them in a few long strides. He took the first-aid box from her hands, his fingers brushing hers briefly. “I’ll put it back,” he said casually, though his voice carried an unspoken edge. Without another word, he headed into the bathroom.
Sophia exhaled a long, shaky breath she hadn’t realized she was holding, squeezing her eyes shut. Her shoulders loosened as she hurried back to the bed and collapsed against the pillows.
A while later, Magnus emerged. The room was now quiet.
Sophia was already asleep.
He froze, eyes narrowing in disbelief. “How does this woman fall asleep so easily? I was gone for barely five damn minutes,” he muttered under his breath, voice low and tight.
A sharp exhale escaped him, frustration coiling in his chest. His fingers gripped the hem of his T-shirt, tugging it off in one smooth motion and tossing it aside without ceremony.
He climbed onto the bed, stretching out on his back, hands tucked behind his head. His eyes traced the ceiling, but sleep was nowhere to be found. Every muscle in his body was taut.
The room was dim, heavy with silence, broken only by the soft, even rhythm of Sophia’s breathing.
Magnus turned his head and his eyes fell on her. He let out a sharp exhale, his jaw tight, fingers flexing against the sheets. He shifted, restless, rolling slightly onto his side, unable to ignore the ache of being so near yet so apart from her.
Finally, on a reckless impulse, he slid an arm around her waist, tugging her closer. The moment her warmth pressed against him, the tension in his chest began to ease. His cheek settled against the curve of her neck, her steady breath brushing over him, and finally, his muscles unclenched, his body sinking into her softness.
In the morning, Sophia’s eyes fluttered open first. The first sensation she registered was a heavy weight draped across her waist.
Half-asleep, she shifted slightly—and froze.
An arm was locked around her, holding her close. Magnus was asleep, his head resting against her chest, body pressed tightly against hers, arm still gripping her waist.
Her heart thudded, warmth pooled in her chest, spreading in a way that left her both stunned and strangely comforted. She didn’t move. She couldn’t.
He was… impossibly handsome.
Her gaze drifted to his face. Up close, sleeping, he looked unfairly perfect. His sharp features were softened in slumber, lashes casting delicate shadows across his cheeks. She found herself staring, unable to look away, mesmerized by the quiet intensity of him.
‘He really is quite handsome,’ she thought, her eyes unconsciously tracing the line of his jaw even in her mind. ‘No wonder every woman in this city is so desperate to marry him.’
