Claiming the Sweetheart (Possessive Billionaires, Precious Sweethearts #9)

Chapter 1

“My goddamn ex-wife!”

The words tore out of Magnus. The muscles in his jaw tightened as he ground his teeth.

Aside from his family, only one person knew the truth about his marriage was her. And she must have told Sylvia.

Her.

Of course it had to be her.

Annoyance darkened his face. He turned away from the window, jaw tight, and strode back toward his desk. Each step was sharp, controlled—like he was trying to outrun his own temper. He grabbed the phone and pressed Brent’s number on speed dial.

It rang twice.

“Mr. Graves?” Brent answered.

“Do you know where Sylvia is today?” Magnus asked, his voice tight, but carrying an edge of frustration.

There was an immediate rustling on the other end, papers shifting. A keyboard clicked. “I have her schedule, Mr. Graves. Please give me a moment.”

Magnus leaned one hand on the desk, fingers spreading against the polished surface. His reflection in the glass looked colder than he felt.

After a brief pause, Brent spoke again. “It looks like she’s taking a break today. She’s at home.”

“Got it.” Magnus picked up his wallet and keys in one smooth motion. “Bring the car to the entrance,” he ordered as he stepped out of the office. “We’re going there.”

“Yes, Mr. Graves.”

By the time Magnus reached the lobby, Brent was already waiting at the entrance.

The drive to Sophia’s apartment wasn’t long. Magnus stared out the window the entire time, his jaw locked, his thoughts restless.

They stopped in front of a villa.

Brent stepped forward to knock, but Magnus lifted a hand, stopping him.

“I’ll do it.”

He stepped closer and knocked firmly.

Brent moved to stand a step behind him, silent and observant.

A few moments later, the door opened.

Sophia stood there.

She wasn’t dressed in one of her fancy, expensive dresses. No designer heels. No sleek hair, no cold elegance.

She was wearing loose shorts and an oversized pink shirt covered in small hearts. Her hair was slightly messy, falling over her shoulders as if she had just gotten out of bed.

Magnus froze.

This was the first time he had seen her dressed so casually. So soft. So… unguarded.

His eyes slowly moved over her before he could stop himself. His fingers tightened inside his pockets.

‘She looks… cuter like this.’ The thought came uninvited. ‘More adorable than in those luxury dresses.’

And somehow, that only made him more attracted to her.

Sophia blinked when she saw Magnus, clearly startled. Her gaze shifted to Brent, who stood behind him holding the white gift box, then back to Magnus again.

For a split second, confusion flickered across her face—as if she thought she might be dreaming.

But when realization set in, her peaceful expression hardened. Her brows pulled together. Her eyes sharpened.

“What are you doing at my home, Mr. Graves?” she demanded, gripping the edge of the door tightly. “Haven’t I already made it clear? Stop appearing wherever I am. I’ve refused your project. There’s nothing I can do for you.”

She began to close the door.

Magnus reacted instantly, placing his hand against it before it could slam shut. His palm pressed firmly against the wood, preventing her from pushing it further.

“It’s not about the project,” he said.

Her gaze dropped to his hand on the door, then lifted to his face again. “We have nothing else to talk about except your project.”

He inhaled sharply.

“I know why you hate me.”

Confusion flickered across her face.

“Isn’t it because of my ex-wife?” he continued, his voice lowering.

Sophia didn’t answer.

She just stared at him.

Her silence stretched thin between them.

Magnus misread her silence as confirmation.

“I knew it,” he continued, conviction hardening his tone. “Someone as greedy and vile as her would never say anything good.”

Sophia flinched at the certainty in his voice.

For a second, she was too stunned to react. Then the shock burned into anger.

“Your ex-wife is greedy and vile?” she repeated, her voice rising slightly as she looked him straight in the eyes. “And you’re the perfect husband, Mr. Graves?”

Her chin lifted, brows arched in disbelief.

Magnus didn’t look away.

“No,” he admitted. His voice dropped, rougher now. “I wasn’t a perfect husband. Not even a good one.” His jaw tightened. “And I already paid her a hefty amount in exchange for that.”

Sophia went completely still.

For a moment, she was speechless.

He was talking about her—and he didn’t even realize it.

The irony burned inside her chest. It made her furious.

For a moment, she couldn’t feel her fingers. Anger rose in her chest so fast it almost choked her. How could he reduce their marriage to money? To a transaction? As if everything between them could be settled with a check.

And yet… she forced herself to stay quiet.

She needed to hear what he would say next.

Magnus met her eyes again, something conflicted flickering there before he buried it under his usual composure.

“Since you’re refusing to be part of our project, I’ve decided I won’t force you anymore.”

Sophia watched him turn slightly to the side. Brent immediately stepped forward and handed him the white gift box he’d been holding.

Magnus took it and extended it toward her.

“This is for you,” he said. “It’s a dress.”

Instinctively, Sophia lifted her hands. The box settled into her palms.

Magnus opened the lid, his tone shifting into something calmer—almost thoughtful.

“As an auctioneer, your dress is your first impression,” he said evenly. “I hope that in the future, you continue to be as impactful and graceful in your dresses as you are now.”

Sophia lowered her eyes.

Inside lay a black dress.

Simple. Elegant. Timeless.

The brand name stitched inside was significant and expensive—but that wasn’t what made her breath catch.

Her fingers trembled slightly as she stared at it.

Because it was the same dress.

The same black dress her grandmother had given her before her very first auction.

The memory struck her so suddenly it almost made her dizzy.

She could see it clearly—

The memory came so suddenly it almost made her sway.

Her grandmother, Mila, standing in front of her with warm eyes and gentle hands. Mila had placed the dress into her arms that day, then held Sophia’s hands tightly.

“Always be graceful and impactful,” Mila had said in a soft, loving voice. “Chase your dreams. Protect what you love.”

Her eyes had shone with pride.

“But remember,” she had whispered, squeezing Sophia’s hands, “even if you sell treasures to the whole world… you are my most precious treasure.”

The words echoed in Sophia’s mind now as if Mila had just spoken them.

Sophia’s vision blurred slightly as she stared at the dress in the box.

“All right,” Magnus said, completely unaware of the storm of emotions running through Sophia.

He stepped back from the doorway, giving her space. “I’ll take my leave now. I’m sorry for disturbing your rest today.”

He gave her a small nod, then turned and began to walk away.

He had only taken a few steps when—

“Mr. Graves?”

Sophia’s voice stopped him.

It wasn’t loud, but it carried.

Magnus paused mid-step. His shoulders stiffened slightly before he turned around to look at her.

Sophia lifted her head. Her fingers still rested on the edge of the gift box, knuckles pale from how tightly she was holding it.

“Since I’ve already agreed to accept your project, I will fulfill the contract I signed.” She swallowed lightly before continuing, “I will assist with the auctions.”

For a brief second, something flickered across his face—surprise, then relief, then something dangerously close to satisfaction.

But before he could respond, Sophia lowered her eyes. Without giving him another glance, she closed the door.

Magnus’s expression shifted. The tension eased from his jaw, and a faint smile slowly spread across his face—as if something he had nearly lost had just slipped back into his grasp.

***

Emma sat in her office at Centurion Hall, the afternoon light pouring through the tall glass windows and casting sharp reflections across the polished desk.

A pair of thin-framed glasses rested on the bridge of her nose as she stared at the computer screen in front of her. On display were high-resolution images of rare jewels—emerald necklaces, flawless diamonds, antique sapphire brooches.

Her fingers moved with precision over the mouse, selecting pieces for the next auction.

But her mind was elsewhere.

Every few seconds, her eyes flicked toward the doorway.

Waiting.

Expecting.

The room was quiet except for the faint clicking of keys.

Across from her desk, Sophia sat on the cream-colored couch, a Macbook balanced on her lap.

She typed steadily, researching diamond origins, refining item descriptions, adding detailed provenance notes.

A small crease formed between her brows as she concentrated, completely unaware of Emma’s restless glances toward the door.

Emma removed her glasses and rubbed the bridge of her nose.

Why wasn’t he here yet?

Just then—

The door opened.

Emma’s back straightened instantly.

Lloyd, her assistant, walked in with a tablet in hand.

He was in his early twenties, freshly graduated, still carrying that eager energy of someone determined to prove himself. His steps were quick but careful as he approached Emma’s desk.

She leaned forward slightly. “Is it done?” she asked, unable to hide the tension in her voice. “Did you find anything?”

Lloyd nodded quickly, though he looked slightly startled by her intensity. He quickly tapped on the tablet, scrolling for a moment before pulling up a file.

“Yes, Ms. Creed,” he said, trying to sound composed. “I uncovered the video from that day.”

Emma’s fingers curled against the edge of her desk.

Lloyd continued, unable to hide the pride in his voice. “It was difficult to find camera recordings from that long ago, but I managed to pull some strings. Thankfully, we were able to recover it.”

He stepped closer and slid the tablet across the desk toward her.