Sophia glared at him, flustered, and pushed his chest again, harder this time.
“Move!”
He didn’t.
Not even an inch.
She huffed in frustration, chest rising and falling quickly, breath uneven, her face still burning no matter how much she tried to calm down.
“Fine,” she said at last, forcing her voice to sound firm, gathering whatever dignity she had left. “Let’s call it another mistake.”
Her chin lifted stubbornly, even though her eyes trembled.
“Name your price.”
Magnus stilled.
The movement of his thumb stopped.
The air between them changed in an instant.
His eyes sharpened.
“A thousand dollars?” she added, trying to sound cold, businesslike, like this didn’t affect her at all. “You did pretty well, so I won't be cheap.”
For a heartbeat, there was silence.
Then his expression darkened.
The teasing warmth disappeared, replaced by something heavy, offended, dangerous.
‘Does she think I’m some bar gigolo she can pay by the hour?’
His jaw tightened hard enough to show the line of muscle along it.
“What exactly do you take me for?” he demanded, his voice dropping, losing all amusement.
Sophia swallowed. Her throat felt dry, but she forced herself to keep going.
“Even though we’re married, there’s no real relationship between us,” she said. “We shouldn’t owe each other anything.”
Magnus’s eyes burned instantly.
Whatever playfulness had remained vanished completely. A muscle ticked in his cheek. The hand on her hip flexed once, almost painfully, before he pulled it away.
He stared down at her like she had struck him.
Without another word, he suddenly pushed himself off her.
The sudden loss of his weight made the bed dip and then rise. Cold air rushed over her skin, making her shiver.
Sophia stayed where she was, stunned, heart hammering.
She watched as he swung his legs off the bed and stood.
His back was rigid, shoulders tight, every movement rough, sharp, impatient. He dragged a hand through his hair again, breathing heavier than before, like he was holding something violent inside himself.
He crossed the room in long, furious strides. He snatched the T-shirt and trousers thrown over the table and yanked them on. The fabric dragged over his skin in rushed, angry motions.
