Sophia.
She was sitting on the swing beneath the dim porch light, one leg lightly brushing the ground as it swayed back and forth. A cigarette glowed faintly between her fingers, smoke curling lazily into the night.
He stopped completely, his chest tightening.
So shedidcome back home.
His expression darkened. Turning sharply, he changed direction and stormed toward her.
Still unaware of Magnus’s presence, Sophia lifted her hand, bringing the cigarette to her lips, and took a slow inhale. The swing creaked softly.
His footsteps stopped in front of her. Her gaze dropped first, landing on the polished shoes inches from her feet, then slowly traveled upward.
His eyes were locked on the cigarette.
Without warning, he reached out, snatched it from her fingers, and flicked it to the ground, crushing it beneath his shoe. “It’s bad for you to smoke.”
Her head snapped up. Their eyes collided.
He stood far too close, towering over her.
Her gaze flicked briefly to the ruined cigarette before returning to his face. She inhaled deeply, then rose to her feet, standing on her heels to face him.
“What does that have to do with you?” she said coldly. “I’m not your business.”
That only fueled his anger. His jaw tightened hard. ‘She’s already learned how to get into arguments with me now?’
Then his eyes shifted and fell on the package resting on the swing beside her.
The gift that he had seen in her hands back at the restaurant.
His eyes darkened further, fury burning hotter. ‘Why is she accepting gifts from other men when I’m still here? We haven’t even divorced yet, and she already has men chasing her tail?’
His gaze locked onto her. “Sophia Magnus Graves,” he said darkly, “have you forgotten that you’re still my wife?”
The next second, his hand shot out. His fingers closed around her throat and he yanked her forward.
Before she could gasp, his mouth was on hers.
His lips captured hers completely, taking her lower lip into his mouth with bruising force.
He kissed her hard, his mouth moving against hers in rough, demanding strokes. His lips pressed, pulled, sealed over hers, as if he was trying to erase every word she’d said, every man she’d looked at.
She felt the scrape of his breath against her skin, the heat of him so close. His mouth tilted, angling to deepen the kiss, his lips dragging slowly before closing over hers again—biting lightly, then soothing it with the firm slide of his mouth. There was no tenderness in it, only possession, fury, and something dangerously close to desperation.
Her breath broke apart beneath his, her senses spinning as his lips lingered, claimed, withdrew just enough to pull her back in again—leaving her dizzy, shaken, robbed of air.
She shoved hard at his shoulder.
The contact broke.
Her heels scraped against the ground as she stumbled back a step, barely steadying herself. Her head snapped up, eyes blazing, chest rising sharply as she sucked in air—anger and shock burning just as fiercely as the heat he’d left behind.
“Are you out of your mind?!” she cried out, breathing heavily.
Before she could retreat further, his hand shot out. He seized her shoulders and yanked her back against him, fingers digging in. Their bodies collided, leaving barely an inch of space between them.
“We still have more than a month before the divorce,” he growled lowly, fury vibrating through his voice. “And you’ve already found your next fucking husband?”
