Chapter 9 You’re Not My Boss
A while later, the car rolled to a slow stop in front of Sophia’s house.
The engine went quiet.
Sophia opened the door first and stepped out carefully. Her heels touched the ground, but the moment she straightened up, a sharp pain shot through her ankle and up her leg.
“Ah—”
She winced, instinctively gripping the edge of the car door for support. Her weight shifted awkwardly as she tried to steady herself, but her injured leg trembled beneath her.
Magnus had already stepped out from the other side. As he came around the front of the car, his gaze immediately caught the strain on her face.
He closed the distance in a few quick steps. “What happened?” he asked sharply, lowering himself slightly as his eyes dropped to her leg. “Are you okay? Where does it hurt?”
His hand moved toward her ankle, noticing the faint redness already spreading across the skin.
Sophia drew in a small breath and forced herself to straighten. “I’m fine,” she said. “I just… twisted my foot earlier.”
She gave a dismissive wave of her hand, brushing off his concern. “It’s alright. I can go on my own. You can lea—”
She tried to take a step.
The moment her foot touched the ground, pain shot through her, flashing across her face as her body swayed.
Before she could fall, Magnus stepped in. Without a word, he bent down and slipped one arm behind her back and the other beneath her knees, lifting her effortlessly into his arms.
Sophia let out a soft gasp, her hands instinctively clutching his shoulder. “What are you doing—”
“Why do you insist on making things harder for yourself?” he said, his voice dropping as he carried her forward. “Or is this your way of testing my patience?”
Sophia frowned at him but didn’t argue further, partly because arguing required more energy than she currently had.
He climbed the steps steadily and stopped in front of the door. Sophia reached out, her fingers pressing against the lock. There was a soft click, and the door opened.
Magnus walked in without hesitation.
The high ceiling above the living room held a striking floral design stretching across the square panels. Bright colors filled the room—polka-dotted cushions scattered across the couches, patterned throws draped casually over the armrests, and bold, colorful paintings decorating the walls.
It was lively.
Warm.
Magnus carried her straight to the couch and carefully lowered her down.
The moment he stepped back, Sophia hurriedly tried to adjust her dress. During the lift, the fabric had shifted awkwardly, and as she pulled it down—
Riiip.
The faint sound of fabric tearing made her freeze.
Her eyes widened in horror.
The side of the dress had split slightly, exposing her leg. Flustered, she immediately grabbed the fabric and tried to pull it closed, covering herself.
Magnus’s gaze lifted to her face. One corner of his lips curved slightly as his hand settled on her hip.
“Relax,” he said calmly. “I’m not going to look at something you’re not willing to show me yourself.”
“Stop it,” Sophia snapped, glaring at him while pressing the torn fabric against her leg.
A quiet chuckle escaped him.
Magnus stepped closer and crouched down in front of her. Resting on one knee, he gently reached for her injured foot.
His fingers were warm and firm as they moved over her ankle, carefully inspecting it. The contrast between his rough touch and her soft skin made her tense slightly.
He tilted her foot, studying the swelling, his thumb brushing lightly over the reddened area.
After a moment, he nodded.
“It’s fine,” he murmured. “Nothing serious. Just a small sprain. It should heal by tomorrow.”
“Good,” Sophia muttered under her breath.
He carefully placed her foot back on the couch, making sure it was supported before letting go.
Then he looked up at her.
“Why didn’t you wear the dress I gave you?” he asked.
Sophia blinked, slightly surprised by the question.
“I will,” she said. “I just didn’t get the chance yet.”
Magnus reached for her ankle again, this time more gently. His fingers moved in slow, light strokes, massaging the injured area.
His voice softened.
“You should wear it to auctions,” he said quietly, his voice low and steady. “The fabric is very good.”
His gaze stayed fixed on her foot, a slight frown forming between his brows as he pressed gently along the swollen area.
“I had it made specially for you,” he continued, almost murmuring now. “High-quality fabric. I looked into everything before buying it.”
He paused for a second, pressing lightly again.
“I made sure it would be one of the best dresses you own.”
Sophia watched him in silence.
He wasn’t even looking at her.
All his attention was on her ankle, his jaw slightly tight, that small frown still sitting between his brows as if her injury bothered him more than it should.
And somehow—
That made her heart race.
She swallowed, trying to steady herself, but her chest felt tight. Her heartbeat quickened, loud and unsteady, refusing to calm no matter how hard she tried. She pressed her lips together, but it didn’t help.
He looked… worried.
That thought made her chest tighten even more.
Magnus’s fingers slowed, then stilled. As if sensing her gaze, he lifted his head.
His eyes met hers.
For a moment, neither of them moved.
“I’ll wear it next time,” Sophia said softly, breaking the silence. “Thank you… for getting it for me.”
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 set down, 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.
Sophia leaned lightly against the counter across from him, crossing her arms as she watched him.
Her gaze dropped briefly to his hands, then lifted back to his face.
“You know how to cook?” she asked.
Magnus didn’t stop. “Of course.”
“What else would I do when I get hungry at odd hours?” he added casually. “I forget to eat a lot.”
A small smile formed on her lips.
She studied his face—the way his brows were slightly drawn, his attention completely on what he was doing.
Sophia tilted her head slightly, her lips curving.
“You look like the perfect wife, Mr. Graves,” she said in a teasing tone.
The knife stopped mid-air.
Magnus’s hand stilled on the tomato.
Then his eyes lifted to meet hers.
A faint smile appeared on his lips. Then, without warning, he stepped closer.
Sophia’s breath hitched as he closed the distance between them, until there was barely any space left. Her back pressed lightly against the counter, her hands instinctively bracing against its edge.
He leaned in.
Too close.
Close enough that his breath brushed against her lips.
“To be a good wife to my woman…” he murmured, his voice low and warm, “I need to get married first, Sylvia.”
His face dipped even closer, almost grazing hers.
His gaze locked onto hers—steady, intense, as if daring her to move.
She didn’t.
Her fingers tightened against the counter, knuckles turning pale. Her heartbeat picked up, loud and uneven, echoing in her ears.
Every nerve in her body felt awake. His scent surrounded her, heavy and close, making her senses blur.
Her chest rose and fell quickly as she struggled to steady herself, but the way he was looking at her, the way he wasn’t pulling back—it made it impossible.
She pulled away first.
Stepping back abruptly, she turned her face aside, breaking the moment.
“Stop it,” she muttered, brushing past him.
She walked around the counter quickly, grabbing a glass from the shelf just to have something in her hands, something to hide behind. Her fingers moved too fast as she reached for the water.
But then her eyes fell on something near the sink.
She froze.