Chapter 7 Humiliation #2
She froze mid-movement. “Why am I getting so worried?” she whispered sharply to herself. “He’s the one who should be worried! He’s the one hiding a secret affair from me!”
But the steady sound of footsteps grew closer.
The door opened fully.
Her pulse pounded in her ears.
At the last second, panic overtook pride.
Without thinking, she turned and hurried toward the stairs, planning to avoid him instead of facing him.
But just as she reached the top of the staircase and was about to go up, Magnus stepped in from the opposite direction, blocking her path.
They almost collided.
Both of them halted at the very last second, standing only inches apart.
Sophia gasped softly, taking a small step back. Her heart slammed violently against her ribs.
Magnus looked slightly startled too, his brows lifting briefly before his expression returned to its usual calm.
They stared at each other in awkward silence.
Sophia instinctively took a small step back. Her fingers brushed against the railing for support. She looked at him briefly, then looked away, then back at him again.
He was the first to break the silence.
“I want to have dinner. Come with me,” he said, his voice even, steady, as his eyes rested on her face.
She blinked.
Her brows slowly drew together.
Her lips parted slightly, and irritation flickered in her eyes. ‘All he ever does is order me around.’
Seeing the conflicted look on her face, Magnus cleared his throat lightly.
“I just meant… have dinner with me,” he said, his voice lower this time. “If you eat, then I’ll eat too.”
He glanced toward the dining room. His shoulders shifted slightly, tension hiding beneath his calm exterior.
“Timothy told me the maids made your favorite dishes tonight.” His eyes lingered on her face. “Rosemary lemon chicken. Truffle potatoes.”
For a brief second, Sophia forgot everything.
Her eyes widened slightly.
“Really?” she asked, already turning , her steps hurriedly moving in the direction of the kitchen.
She began to walk with him.
But then— her gaze fell on his neck.
There, against his skin, under the warm light of the chandelier, was a bold red smear. Lipstick. Not faint, not something that could be misunderstood. It was the unmistakable mark of someone’s mouth pressed against him.
Everything inside her went cold.
The warmth drained from her face, leaving her pale. The image of him with Celia at the hotel flashed through her mind, and all the softness that had begun to rise in her chest shattered in an instant.
Her body turned rigid.
It was replaced by something tight, burning, unbearable.
Magnus noticed the sudden silence. He turned toward her, eyebrows pulling together, confusion flickering across his features.
“What?” he asked.
She lifted her eyes to him.
Her jaw locked so tightly it trembled before she finally forced the words out.
“I’m not interested,” she snapped, her voice cutting through the air like glass. “You can go and eat.”
She turned sharply, her hair whipping over her shoulder as she started toward the stairs.
Magnus frowned, completely thrown by the sudden change. He reached out quickly, his fingers wrapping around her arm, stopping her.
She jerked to a stop.
“What are you doing?” he demanded. “What’s wrong? What happened?”
But she didn’t even look at him.
Instead, she wrenched her arm out of his grip, shoving his hand away as if his touch disgusted her. Without looking back, she rushed up the stairs, her footsteps pounded hard against the stairs, fast and uneven, breath trembling in her throat. She rushed into her bedroom and then—
SLAM.
The door crashed shut, the sharp sound exploding through the house. The walls seemed to tremble from the force, and the echo lingered in the air for a long second.
Inside the room, her chest rose and fell wildly. Anger rushed through her veins, hot and uncontrollable. Earlier, at the hotel, it had only been suspicion. Something she tried to deny, something she told herself she might be imagining.
But the lipstick mark on his skin burned in her mind.
There was no doubt anymore about what had happened in that room.
Her hands shook as she dug her phone out of her jeans pocket. Her breathing came fast and rough, almost painful, as she searched for Elias’s contact.
Her thumb hovered only a second before she typed.
‘I’m ready to go to London. You can arrange the job. I’ll take it.’
She hit send.
Downstairs, Magnus stood frozen near the staircase, staring at the bedroom door she had just slammed shut.
His jaw tightened.
His fingers curled against the wall beside the staircase, the muscles in his arm going rigid.
Frustration ignited in his chest. “What the hell did I do now?”
Anger began to spread through him, dark and rising. His jaw tightened as he replayed her expression, that fury in her eyes, the way she had torn herself away from him.
He glanced toward the dining table.
It was already prepared. Plates set. The smell of chicken and garlic filled the air.
But the hunger inside him was gone.
He couldn’t eat without her.
Frustration clawed up his chest. With a sharp breath, he pulled out his phone and turned toward the door, his steps heavy and fast as he stormed out of the house.
The cold night air hit his face as he walked toward his car and dialed Gregory’s number.
The call connected.
Gregory barely had time to breathe before Magnus’s voice lashed through the line.
“Meet me at my office. Right now!”
Hearing the rough, dangerous edge in Magnus’s voice, it was painfully clear to Gregory that something had gone wrong.
“Alright,” Gregory replied.
Magnus shoved the phone into his pocket, jaw tight, and got into the car. The door slammed shut with force. A second later, the engine roared to life, and he pulled out sharply, tires screeching slightly against the pavement as he drove straight back to the office.
By the time Gregory arrived half an hour later, the CEO’s office lights were already on.
Magnus was lying on the couch.
One arm was bent behind his head, the other resting loosely on his stomach.
One leg was tilted up while the other stretched flat across the leather.
His eyes were closed, but the tension in his face was clear.
His jaw was clenched so tight the muscles twitched.
A faint crease sat permanently between his brows.
It was obvious he hadn’t rested even for a second before coming here. The weight of the day was still on his shoulders, but the anger burning under his skin was stronger than the exhaustion.
Gregory stepped inside quietly and shut the door behind him.
Magnus didn’t open his eyes.
Gregory approached the single couch and casually leaned against the armrest, sitting sideways with one hip resting against it, his legs stretched forward. He studied Magnus for a moment before speaking.
“What happened?”
Only then did Magnus open his eyes.
They were dark.
Dangerously dark.
“Tell me, what kind of marriage is this?” he snapped angrily, “My mother kept insisting for me to get married. Is this how it works? I don’t even get to have dinner in my own damn house!”
Gregory frowned. “Why didn’t you have dinner?”
Magnus let out a sharp breath, frustration heavy in his voice as he dragged a hand through his hair, messing up the strands.
“Sophia got pissed and stormed off,” he muttered. “One second she was fine—ready to have dinner with me. The next, she tore herself out of my hand and ran to the bedroom like I was about to kill her if she stayed there another second.”
Gregory’s brows knitted together in confusion. But at the corner of his lips, a faint, knowing smile appeared.
“Even if she refused to have dinner,” he said slowly. “Why didn’t you eat? You could’ve just eaten.”
Magnus stared at him as if he had said something completely insane.
“Are you out of your mind?” he snapped. “If she didn’t eat, why would I eat without her?”
The idea itself seemed offensive.
Gregory sighed loudly, rubbing a hand down his face.
“Why wouldn’t you have dinner without her? It’s not like she feeds you with her own hands. You have two perfectly functional hands. Sit down. Eat. There are ten maids in that house ready to serve you. All you have to do is move your mouth.”
Magnus answered, his shoulders rigid.
“I cannot have dinner without my wife,” he said through clenched teeth. “We eat together, or I don’t eat. Why would I eat alone?”
Gregory stared at him, genuinely baffled.
“You make no sense to me,” he muttered, rubbing his forehead in frustration. “You’re acting like—”
As he was talking, his gaze drifted over Magnus’s face… then lower.
His words paused.
He straightened slightly and his gaze narrowed.
There were red lipstick marks scattered along the side of Magnus’s neck.
Gregory shifted closer, leaning in just enough to confirm what he was seeing.
Then he looked at Magnus again, eyebrows lifting.
“Do you really not know why she got angry?”
Magnus shot him an annoyed glare.
“What the hell is wrong with you? I told you I don’t know.”
Gregory rolled his eyes.
“Have you looked at yourself in the mirror before going home?” he asked dryly. “Look at your neck.”
Magnus frowned in confusion.
He immediately grabbed his phone and switched to the front camera. His brows drew together as he studied his reflection on the screen, jaw tightening slightly as if searching for something he couldn’t quite see.
Then his eyes fell on the red lipstick stains smeared across his neck.
Confusion flickered across his face—then realization hit like a punch.
He sat up straight, bringing the phone closer, inspecting the marks with a hard, sharp glare.
“Damn it,” he muttered through clenched teeth.
He hadn’t even realized Celia had left those marks on him.
Frustration flared violently inside him.
He grabbed the tissue box from the table and began wiping at his neck aggressively, his movements rough, impatient. The tissues crumpled in his fist as he scrubbed at his skin.