***
Luxe Bar buzzed with music and chatter.
But the VIP section felt like a completely different world.
The man sitting there radiated such dark, suffocating tension that even the waiters hesitated to approach.
Magnus sat slouched back, a glass of whiskey in his hand. His expression was grim, his jaw tight.
Beside him, Harold sat stiffly, clearly uncomfortable.
“Magnus?” he called cautiously.
No response.
Magnus simply lifted the glass and downed the whiskey in one go.
At that moment, Gregory came up from the stairs and walked over to them.
He dropped into the seat across from Magnus, glancing between the two.
Harold met his eyes and subtly gestured toward Magnus, raising his brows.
Clueless.
And slightly scared.
Gregory frowned.
“What the hell?” he muttered, then reached forward and snatched the glass out of Magnus’s hand, slamming it onto the table. “Are you planning to drink the entire damn night?”
Magnus slowly lifted his gaze.
Their eyes met.
“What happened?” Gregory asked, leaning forward.
Magnus’s expression tightened, his frown deepening.
Then finally—
“Sylvia is Sophia,” he said. “My ex-wife.”
Both Gregory and Harold straightened instantly.
“Huh?”
“What?!”
Magnus’s gaze shifted between them before he recounted everything.
By the time he finished, both men were staring at him, stunned.
“Holy shit,” Harold muttered.
“Jesus Christ,” Gregory hissed, leaning back. “So you fell in love with your ex-wife again?”
Magnus frowned immediately. “She’s my wife. Stop calling her my ex-wife.”
