It was final.
Lorenzo held Magnus’s gaze, searching for leverage. For fracture. For a cost that might outweigh resolve.He found none.“This is unnecessary escalation.”
“Your arrival was the escalation.”
A beat.
Lorenzo’s eyes flicked once more to Elia. “You’remaking a mistake.”
Magnus met his gaze without wavering. “No. I’m correcting one.”
Something hard flashed across Lorenzo’s expression before he masked it. “She was never meant to be permanent. She was a one-time fuck. You had your one time. Now return her.”
Magnus’s hand shifted against hers—subtle, deliberate. Not tightening. Protecting. The insult had been intentional. Elia’s spine assumed a rigid set before she forced herself still. He didn’t look at her. He didn’t need to. The steadiness of his touch was answer enough.
“She’s not a one-time anything,” he stated, his voice level and cold enough to cauterize the room. “And you sure as hell won’t reduce her to a one-time fuck.”The words hung between them, harsh yet deliberate.
Lorenzo recalibrated. “I’ll inform my father that Severin territory refuses cooperation.”
“Inform him,” Magnus replied, “that she’s not returning. Bianca called it a permanent transfer. That means, she’s mine permanently.”
Silence.
Lorenzo’s gaze sharpened one final time, as though memorizing the configuration of the room. The distance between Magnus and Elia. The way her hand rested inhis.
“This isn’t concluded,” Lorenzo insisted.
“No,” Magnusagreed. “It isn’t.”
Lorenzo turned toward the exit.At the threshold, he paused. “We’ll discuss this again.”
Magnus’s expression remained unchanged. “Undoubtedly.”
The doors closed behind Lorenzo.The hall remained silent for a long moment after he wasgone.
Elia’s pulse flickered rapidly beneath Magnus’s fingers.“He came for me.”
“Yes.”
“And you refused him.”
“Yes.”
She froze in place, absorbing the reality of what had just shifted.
Outside Severin gates, an engine ignited.
Inside, Magnus turned toward her, eyes steady.“This won’t be the last attempt,” hesaid.
Her gaze lifted to meet his.“I know.”
And somewhere beyond the perimeter of white stone and order, Donati would decide how much force to applynext.
The line had been drawn.
It wouldn’tmove.
Chapter 5
