Her lips twitched as another thought crossed her mind.
‘If he wasn’t rich, he still wouldn’t have had trouble getting wealthy easily. That face… he could’ve married anyone he wanted. Or,’ she mused suddenly, ‘he could’ve been a pole dancer at some upscale club, and women would’ve thrown money at him anyway.’
The image hit her instantly—Magnus, scantily dressed, gripping the pole, performing sexy moves, the stage lights catching every curve of his body, every eye in the room glued to him.
Her lips twitched again. She pressed them together quickly, trying to hide the smile that threatened to surface.
The very idea was ridiculous.
This cold, arrogant man… suddenly wearing a seductive, teasing expression while dancing?
Her shoulders shook hard as she stifled the laugh bubbling up in her chest.
Her hand shifted unconsciously, brushing against his neckline. She froze, heart hammering. Before she realized it, her fingertips had slid down, grazing the firm planes of his chest.
Her breath hitched.
The muscles beneath her fingers were solid, defined. Her mouth suddenly felt dry.
Her fingers halted mid-motion. ‘What the hell am I doing? He’s just mycontracthusband. Not a real one. I need to stop thirsting after him!’
Startled by her own thoughts, she snatched her hand back, pressing it against her chest as if to regain control.
Then she lifted his arm from around her waist and, with careful movements, placed it back on the pillow—making sure not to wake him.
Once free, she slipped out of bed, her heart still pounding hard against her ribs. She hurried into the bathroom, the floor cool beneath her bare feet, and leaned against the sink, gripping its edge as she tried to steady herself.
The chill of the porcelain seeped into her palms as she drew a shaky breath, willing her racing pulse to slow.
An hour later, after dressing in the same dress as yesterday, she hurriedly made her way downstairs.
Camila was already sitting on the couch, the morning sun highlighting her gentle smile. The moment she saw Sophia, her face lit up.
“Good morning, Sophia,” she said warmly.
“Good morning, Mrs. Graves,” Sophia replied, returning the smile, her own nerves easing slightly.
“Heading to work already?” Camila asked, tilting her head slightly, curiosity in her tone.
Sophia nodded. “I need to rush. My friend is waiting outside.”
“Bring her inside,” Camila suggested. “You can both have breakfast first.”
Sophia gave a small, apologetic smile. “I can’t, I’m sorry. I have an auction in an hour, so I really need to leave. I’ll bring her home next time—I promise.”
“All right,” Camila said gently, rising from the couch. She picked up an orange and an apple from the table and placed them in Sophia’s hands. “At least eat something on the way. You can’t go hungry.”
Sophia’s fingers closed around the fruit, warmth spreading from the gesture. “Thank you,” she murmured, sincere.
She didn’t linger.
Rushing out of the house, she felt the crisp morning air brush her face. On the main road, a sleek black car waited, engine quietly humming.
Sophia hurried over and climbed inside.
Emma sat in the driver’s seat, sunglasses perched neatly on her nose, one elbow resting casually against the open window. Her posture was relaxed yet confident. She wore a long, lightblue ankle-length dress that hugged her figure perfectly, the soft fabric shifting gently with each small movement she made.
As Sophia settled into the passenger seat, adjusting her bag and pulling the door shut, Emma stared at her with a bright, knowing smile.
