The effect on him was instant.
His expression changed.
The tension in his face disappeared, replaced by a smile that reached his eyes. It wasn’t his usual controlled smirk—this one was open, almost boyish, like her words had genuinely pleased him.
“Good,” he said, his voice lighter.
She flushed at once. She pulled her foot out of his grasp and adjusted her dress again before speaking, her tone returning to normal.
“You can leave now,” she said, her voice steadier than she felt. “I’m fine. It’ll get better on its own. It’s not that serious.”
Magnus rose to his feet.
For a second, it looked like he would leave.
But he didn’t.
Instead, he stayed where he was, his eyes still on her.
“Have you eaten?” he asked.
Sophia blinked, caught off guard. “What?”
“Are you hungry?” he repeated.
She hesitated for a moment before answering, “After coming back from the auction, I was planning to go out and get something.”
Magnus gave a small nod.
“Alright,” he said simply. “I’ll cook something for you.”
Before she could react, he turned and started walking toward the kitchen.
“There’s no need!” Sophia called after him, pushing herself up slightly from the couch. “I’m fine. You don’t have to—”
He didn’t stop.
He just kept walking, disappearing into the kitchen,
Sophia stared after him, her brows knitting together.
Then she squeezed her eyes shut and let out a frustrated breath, dropping back against the couch cushions. Her hand came up to press against her forehead as she drew in a slow, steady breath, trying to calm herself.
A few seconds later, the quiet apartment filled with soft sounds from the kitchen—the clink of utensils, something being setdown, the steady rhythm of a knife tapping against the chopping board.
After a while, Sophia opened her eyes and slowly pushed herself upright. She carefully lowered her foot to the ground.
She paused.
The pain was still there—but it wasn’t as sharp anymore.
Testing it, she took a slow step forward. Then another. When it didn’t hurt as much as before, she exhaled quietly and made her way toward the kitchen.
As she reached the open kitchen, she stopped.
Magnus stood by the counter, his coat discarded on the dining table behind him. The small four-seater table looked almost out of place with his expensive coat casually thrown over it.
His sleeves were rolled up to his forearms, exposing the strong lines of his arms as he moved. The knife moved in steady, controlled strokes, slicing through onions with clean, even cuts.
