The moment he stepped in, the sharp, suffocating smell of smoke hit him.
Magnus stood near the desk, tall and rigid, a cigarette clenched between his fingers. The ashtray was overflowing—half a dozen cigarette butts crushed into one another, ash spilled messily over the edge and scattered across the desk.
Without looking up, Magnus stubbed out the cigarette roughly, grinding it into the ashtray.
Then immediately, he lit another.
The flame flared briefly, illuminating his hard expression.
Timothy swallowed hard.
Keeping his head down, Timothy walked forward carefully, every step measured. He placed the files on the desk as quietly as possible, as if even the sound of paper might provoke him.
“H-Here are the documents, Mr. Graves,” he said in a low voice.
“About fucking time,” Magnus snapped.
He yanked the file open and flipped through the pages aggressively, fingers moving fast and sharp, as though the documents themselves were testing his patience. Pages rustled loudly—flipped forward, then back, then forward again.
Timothy stood stiffly in front of the desk, spine straight, shoulders tense, hands clasped so tightly in front of him his fingers ached.
After hesitating, he gathered what little courage he had left.
“Mr. Graves…” he asked softly, his voice strained despite his effort to keep it steady. “Are you… disturbed about something? Is something bothering you?”
Magnus quietly flicked the half-burnt cigarette away, the butt landing in the overflowing ashtray with a dull tap. He lifted his head and casually shot Timothy a cold glare.
“It’s nothing,” Magnus replied flatly. “I’m fine.”
Then, with frustration simmering beneath his calm, he added, “Everything is exactly how it fucking should be.”
The words were clipped, dripping with suppressed rage.
He turned away from the desk and started toward the door. Just as he reached it, he tossed over his shoulder, “Where’s Sophia?”
Timothy straightened at once. “I’m not sure, Mr. Graves,” he replied quickly. “I can find out right now.”
He was already pulling out his phone when Magnus suddenly halted mid-step.
He turned back.
“My swimming court,” Magnus’s gaze drifted somewhere distant as he continued, “Sophia and I went there. She seemed to like it.”
Timothy blinked, then smiled instinctively. “That’s good news, Mr. Graves.”
A faint frown appeared between Magnus’s brows. “Gift it to her. Since she likes it, she can have it.”
Timothy’s fingers stopped mid-tap. His mouth twisted slightly as he looked at Magnus.
“Mr. Graves… you’re still refusing to admit that you like Mrs. Graves.”
Magnus’s eyes narrowed instantly.
He stormed over and punched Timothy’s arm sharply, the sound loud in the room.
“Just do your job,” Magnus snapped, leaning down to glare at him, his voice low and threatening. “And stop poking your nose into my private life.”
Timothy winced and nodded rapidly. “Y-Yes, sir.”
