Chapter 12 Hate Him #2
He tried to focus. Forced his eyes onto the document. Read the same line twice… three times.
Nothing.
Every few seconds, irritation built in his chest, making him restless.
Finally, with a frustrated exhale, he shoved the file aside. He grabbed his laptop, opened it quickly, and typed Sylvia’s name into Google. His eyes moved fast across the screen, but the more he searched, the darker his expression became.
The results were… almost nothing.
Online, she existed only as a well-known auctioneer.
A few public appearances. A handful of distant, carefully taken photos.
And that was it.
No personal life. No family. No husband.
Nothing.
Magnus’s brows drew together, his expression turning colder.
“She’s hidden that bastard this fucking well…?” he gritted under his breath.
His grip tightened around the phone before he tossed it onto the table.
A moment later, he yanked open his drawer, pulled out a pack of cigarettes, and lit one. The flame flickered briefly, reflecting in his eyes.
He pushed the chair back abruptly, the legs scraping against the floor. His hand went straight to the drawer. He pulled out a pack of cigarettes, tapped one out, and lit it with practiced ease.
He took a long drag, then stood up abruptly and started pacing across the room.
His shoulders were tense, his steps sharp, restless energy building with every turn.
“A husband…” he murmured, voice low, almost disbelieving.
What kind of man could hide her like this?
His mind ran through names, faces, families—anyone who could be connected to her. But nothing fit. Nothing clicked.
That only made his frustration worse.
With a sudden motion, he yanked the cigarette from his mouth and crushed it hard against the wall. Ash scattered to the floor as he flicked the rest aside carelessly, not even sparing it a glance.
“God fucking damn it!”
He turned sharply, strides quick and decisive now, striding back to his desk.
He grabbed his phone, his wallet, his car keys—movements abrupt, impatient. His chest was rising and falling heavily.
Then he turned and stormed out.
Two hours later, his car pulled to a stop outside Sylvia’s house.
The evening had already begun to fall, the sky dimming into soft darkness. Cool air brushed against his face as he stepped out, carrying the faint chill of the night.
He wasn’t dressed in a suit anymore. After a quick shower, he’d thrown on a plain T-shirt and jeans. His hair was still slightly damp from a rushed shower—unstyled, careless.
In his hand was a large white box, a neat bow tied on top.
He stared at the house for a moment, standing still.
But the restless tension in his chest only grew stronger, burning him from inside.
He exhaled sharply.
His grip tightened around the box. Without another thought, he strode forward. His long strides ate up the distance quickly as he reached her door. Without hesitation, he pressed the doorbell.
The sound echoed inside.
A few seconds later, the door opened.
Sophia stepped out, pausing as she looked up—
And froze.
Her brows drew together immediately, a frown forming.
But then her eyes shifted… taking him in.
The casual clothes. The damp hair. The… unusual version of him.
Something flickered in her eyes.
Her heartbeat stumbled, the reaction hitting her before she could stop it. The feeling she had buried for so long surged up again, sudden and overwhelming. Her chest tightened, breath catching as the intensity doubled, forcing her to press a hand lightly against her chest.
“What are you doing here, Mr. Graves?” she asked, her voice steadier than she felt.
Magnus didn’t answer.
He simply stepped forward and walked right past her, entering her house.
Sophia’s eyes widened in shock as she instinctively stepped back, giving way without even realizing it.
By the time she reacted—
He was already inside.
The door left open behind him.
Silence wrapped around the space.
Magnus’s gaze moved immediately—sharp, searching. His eyes swept across the walls, the shelves, every corner, looking for something… anything. A photograph. A trace. Proof that another man existed in her life.
A trace that someone else lived here.
But there was nothing.
No sign. No presence.
The tight knot in his chest loosened just a little.
He stilled, drawing in a slow breath, trying to calm the restless storm inside him. Then he turned, only to come face-to-face with Sophia.
For a second, neither of them spoke.
Magnus stepped closer and held the box out to her. “This is for you.”
He placed it into her hands without waiting for permission, his fingers brushing hers briefly before pulling away.
Sophia blinked, caught off guard, instinctively taking it.
“These are more comfortable,” he continued, his tone lower now. “You’re on your feet all day at auctions. Your feet must hurt.”
As he spoke, he lifted the lid of the box.
Inside was a pair of white pumps.
Elegant. Soft. Expensive.
Sophia’s eyes widened slightly as she looked at them. Her fingers brushed the edge of the box, then paused when she saw the brand.
One of the most exclusive labels in the world.
Of course it was.
For a man like him, this was nothing. Something ordered in minutes, delivered without effort, chosen without a second thought.
She looked at him, startled, her brows lifting before her gaze flickered away and then back to his face.
Before she could ask anything, he spoke first—his voice low, certain. “I know now why you’re hesitant to accept me.”
He took a slow step closer, eyes fixed on her. “Is it because of your divorce?”
Sophia froze.
Her fingers tightened slightly at her sides, her breath catching in her throat as her chest rose and fell unevenly. Her eyes searched his face quickly—sharp, anxious, almost panicked.
‘Did he figure it out? Did he get his memories back?’
She swallowed, then looked up at him again. “What…?” she asked, her voice unsteady despite her effort to control it. “How did you know?”
“I know you’re cautious because of your divorce,” he said, his tone firm. He took another step forward, stopping just close enough to make her feel it. His gaze burned into hers.
“But I’m not like your ex.”
His jaw tightened slightly, a shadow of determination crossing his face.
“Your ex-husband must have been incompetent,” he continued, his voice sharpening, “and not a good man if you had to hide him in the shadows.”
He straightened, his shoulders squaring as if presenting himself to her.
“But I’m not him.”
His voice dropped, softer now—but no less intense.
He held her gaze, not letting her look away.
“I really like you. And I want to be in a relationship with you.”
He paused, his eyes searching hers.
“So look at me,” he added, his voice low but firm. “Forget about him and don’t compare me to your ex.”
For a second, Sophia just stared at him, stunned.
Shock lingered on her face—
Then her expression shifted.
Her brows drew together. Her lips pressed into a tight line.
Anger flared.
She turned sharply, setting the shoebox down on the table with a little too much force. Then she faced him again, her brows lifting, her eyes blazing.
“You think you’re different?” she shot back. “How are you any different from him, Mr. Graves?”
She stepped closer, closing the distance between them. Her arms crossed over her chest, her chin tilting up in annoyance.
“Did you ever properly talk to your wife?”
Her voice rose as she stepped toward him.
“Did you ever give her a good life?”
Another step.
“Did you respect her the way she deserved?”
Her eyes burned with anger now, her composure cracking as every word came out sharper than the last.
Magnus’s jaw tightened, but he stayed silent.
And that only made it worse.
“My ex was just like you,” she snapped, taking another step closer, her words snapping with heat. Her finger lifted slightly as if to point at him, though it trembled with restrained emotion.
“What’s the difference between you and him?”
Her laugh was short, bitter. Her eyes burned with resentment.
“He thought he was the most perfect man to ever exist on this planet. Like everything revolved around him.” She let out a bitter breath. “But the truth is—he had no empathy, no emotional intelligence. He was a complete piece of work.”
Her hand dropped, but her shoulders remained tense, her entire body rigid with anger.
“His ego was always sky-high,” she went on, her eyes locking onto Magnus’s. “And his head was everywhere else—except in the marriage we had. He didn’t think that our relationship was real. He didn’t respect me.”
Her breathing grew heavier now, uneven, but her words kept coming.
“He never once stopped to think before acting.”
Her jaw clenched tightly.
“And he was shameless enough to make me believe he had another woman by his side while I was still his wife—never once making me feel secure, not for a single damn second, until it was too late… as if he were some goddamn prize I had to fight for.”
Silence fell for a brief second.
Then she let out a sharp breath, her eyes hard.
“So I really, really hope…” she said, her voice dropping but turning colder, “that I never have to deal with a man like him ever again.”
As she stopped talking, instead of getting angry, Magnus’s face lit up—pure excitement flashing across his features, followed by a strange, almost boyish happiness.
He actually looked… pleased.
His eyes locked onto hers with an intensity that didn’t match the situation at all.
“You’re right,” he said.
Before she could react, his hand shot out, gripping her waist and pulling her closer.
Sophia gasped softly, her body jolting at the sudden contact.
“Someone like him is absolute garbage,” Magnus continued, his voice filled with a strange eagerness. “What kind of man has so many flaws and still gets to marry you?”
His grip on her tightened slightly, something sharp flashing in his eyes.
“I don’t think he even deserves to be called a man.”
He leaned in a fraction, his voice lowering, almost coaxing.
“You’re right to hate him. Hate him as much as you want.”
A faint nod followed, as if he approved of it.
“In fact, there’s no need to ever forgive him,” he added quietly. “He doesn’t deserve it.”
He stepped closer, his voice dropping even further, turning cold.
“I hope your ex-husband suffers with every step he takes… until he understands even a fraction of the pain he put you through.”
Then, almost eagerly, he moved another step forward—
And the next second—
His foot slipped.
His foot lost balance, and he fell hard onto his back with a loud thud.
“Oh my God—” Sophia gasped, her eyes widening in shock as she looked down at him.
Magnus winced, a sharp breath leaving his lips as his hand immediately went to his back. Pain flashed clearly across his face as he lay there for a second, stunned.
Sophia stared at him.
Then blinked.
Her lips parted slightly before she muttered under her breath, barely holding it in—
“I didn’t know curses worked this fast…”
“Nothing,” she said quickly, turning her face slightly, trying to hide the smile tugging at her lips.
When she looked back at him, concern replaced it—at least on the surface. “Are you alright, Magnus?”
He let out a slow breath, pushing himself up with a slight grimace.
“I’m fine…”
He stood, though a slight stiffness showed in the way he straightened. His hand moved to his lower back again, rubbing it with a quiet groan before he looked at her.
Sophia exhaled, her expression cooling once more.
“Mr. Graves,” she said, her tone firm now, “I think we’ve had enough for today. Please leave. I need some space.”
For a moment, disappointment flickered across his face.
But then his gaze dropped—to her heels.
His gaze flicked to the shoebox on the table, then back to her.
“Next time you go out,” he said, his voice softer now, “wear those.”
He gestured slightly toward her feet. “I made sure they’re comfortable. They won’t hurt your feet, no matter how long you stand.”
His voice softened, almost instinctively. “If they do hurt… tell me. I’ll have someone bring you a better pair.”
His eyes stayed on hers.
“Don’t stay in pain.”
Sophia didn’t respond. She just stared at him, caught off guard by his concern for her.
Magnus stepped closer again.
Then he lifted his hand. His fingers brushed her cheek as he cupped her face gently.
Sophia’s breath hitched.
“It bothers me,” he said quietly, his gaze softening as he looked at her. “Seeing you stand in heels for that long… your feet must hurt.”
His thumb brushed faintly against her skin.
“So listen to me,” he added, his voice low, almost coaxing. “Wear these next time. Okay?”
Sophia’s heartbeat quickened.
She stared at him—at his face, at his eyes, at the way his voice softened when he spoke to her.
She couldn’t help but feel a little touched by the quiet concern in his tone.
He then affectionately patted her cheek, his touch lingering for just a second longer than necessary.
“I’m going to leave now,” he said quietly. “Get some rest.”
Then, he turned and walked out of the room—like he hadn’t just shaken her completely.
The door closed behind him.
And only then—
Sophia blinked.
The daze he had pulled her into shattered at once.
The strange daze she had fallen into shattered instantly, and frustration rushed in just as fast. Her brows knit tightly as she sucked in a sharp breath, her fingers clenching into the fabric of her dress.
“Ugh—”
Before she could stop herself, she slammed her hand down onto the table.
The sound echoed in the quiet house.
“Damn it!”
A low, irritated growl escaped her lips, her chest rising and falling as she tried to steady herself.
Why was she reacting like this?
Why was she still affected by him even now?