Chapter 12 Sister?
“Of course,” Camila said, as if it were obvious, even reasonable. Her tone was indifferent, almost bored. “Did you think I’d let her waste her entire life with you?”
She let out a short laugh and shook her head. “Do you want her to live with a fake husband her entire life? I won’t let her suffer like this.”
She tilted her head slightly. “Why would you expect her to stay married to you? Of course I’m going to get her married.”
Magnus’s face darkened instantly. Anger flared openly across his features.
His voice dropped, tight with barely restrained fury.
“Even if she’s not my real wife,” he said sharply, “she is my wife legally. And you want to introduce her as your adopted daughter and parade her in front of other men?” His eyes burned into her. “Do you hear yourself? We are married!”
Camila laughed again, utterly unconcerned.
“Why are you reacting like this?” she asked lightly, leaning back against the couch. “Only you and Sophia know you’re married. A few close family members, at most. No one else knows.” She shrugged. “She’s perfectly safe.”
She waved her hand dismissively, as if brushing away something trivial.
“Once the three months are over, get divorced. Then I’ll immediately bring her a hundred good men from wealthy families. She can choose whoever she likes.”
Her eyes brightened as she spoke, genuine delight flickering across her face. “It’ll be so fun! I never had a daughter. Now I finally get to experience what it’s like to marry off a daughter.”
Camila smiled sweetly.
Then her gaze shifted, sharpening as it landed on Magnus.
“Not all men are blind like you,” she added coolly. “Anyone would be lucky to marry a girl like Sophia.” Her eyes swept him with quiet judgment. “Look at her. What’s not to like?”
The smile faded, turning cold.
“Only you are blind.”
Magnus sat rigid. Anger, frustration, and something far darker coiled just beneath his skin. His jaw clenched so hard the muscles twitched visibly. The phone in his hand creaked under the pressure of his grip as a single thought slammed into his mind—
‘She’s going to marry someone else?’
The idea detonated in his head.
‘Am I really going to call my ex-wife my sister in the future? What kind of bullshit is that?!’
The rage surged.
He slammed the phone down onto the table and shot to his feet. A second later, he bent down, grabbed the phone again, and turned away without sparing Camila a single word.
His footsteps thundered up the stairs as he took them two at a time.
Less than a minute later, he came barreling back down, office bag in hand. His expression was dark as he headed straight for the door.
He yanked it open.
The door slammed violently against the wall, the sound cracking through the house.
Camila flinched, both hands flying up to cover her ears. When she looked up again, her eyes burned as she shot him an angry glare.
“Why are you slamming doors?” she shouted after him angrily. “You think about nothing except money and business! How do you plan to survive in this world without a wife if you keep acting like this? Think about it! It’s only a few more weeks and then Sophia will be gone too!”
Magnus didn’t answer.
The front door slammed shut.
Moments later, the roar of a car engine shattered the silence. Tires screeched, and the car tore out of the premises, disappearing down the road.
Silence fell over the Graves Mansion once more.
From the far corner of the room, Thomas stepped forward quietly, his footsteps barely audible against the polished floor. He approached Camila from behind as she continued muttering under her breath, agitation still rolling off her in waves.
She turned sharply when she sensed him there, her anger still written plainly across her face.
“He doesn’t know how to appreciate a good girl like Sophia,” Camila snapped, folding her arms tightly across her chest. “That bastard son of mine—if he doesn’t like her, then who will he like?
” She scoffed. “I found him such a perfect wife, and still he’s acting out like this. I don’t understand him at all.”
She shook her head hard, frustration spilling over. “What the hell does he want? Who is he going to like if not Sophia?”
Thomas’s lips twitched, as if suppressing a smile. He clasped his hands behind his back, posture calm and unhurried, letting her words settle before responding.
“I’m sure he will come to his senses soon,” he said gently, voice even. “It’s quite obvious that he isn’t as unaffected by Ms. King as he claims, isn’t it?”
He paused meaningfully.
“Don’t you think their relationship isn’t as platonic as he keeps insisting?” Thomas added.
Camila burst into laughter.
The irritation drained from her face almost instantly, replaced by a bright, knowing smile. Her shoulders relaxed, eyes lighting up as she turned toward him.
“So you see it too,” she said, pointing at him approvingly. “You really are smart—just like me, Thomas.”
Her eyes gleamed with mischief.
***
“Please don’t make me go in today. I’m begging you.”
A girl nearly folded in half as she pleaded, shoulders caving inward. Her hands shook violently as she shoved the file into Timothy’s arms.
“I can’t do this. I really can’t. I have five EMIs on my head,” she said in a rush, voice cracking. Her eyes darted toward the closed CEO’s office as if it might explode at any moment. “Please, Timothy—just take this inside for me. I’ll give you my salary this month. Please.”
Without waiting for his response, she spun around and bolted.
“Wait—Rihana!” Timothy called after her.
But she was already gone, heels clicking frantically as she disappeared down the corridor.
Timothy let out a long, shaky breath, staring down at the file clutched in his hands as if it were a death sentence.
Before he could even curse under his breath, a loud bang echoed from inside the CEO’s office.
Timothy flinched violently.
“What the fuck is taking so long?” Magnus’s furious voice thundered from behind the door. “Are you going to bring those files next damn year?”
The shout exploded through the corridor.
Timothy jumped.
The breath he was inhaling lodged painfully in his throat, making him choke. He doubled over, coughing so hard that tears sprang to his eyes. His chest burned as panic flashed across his face.
Heart pounding, he scrambled forward, shoved the office door open, and rushed inside.
The moment he stepped in, the sharp, suffocating smell of smoke hit him.
Magnus stood near the desk, tall and rigid, a cigarette clenched between his fingers. The ashtray was overflowing—half a dozen cigarette butts crushed into one another, ash spilled messily over the edge and scattered across the desk.
Without looking up, Magnus stubbed out the cigarette roughly, grinding it into the ashtray.
Then immediately, he lit another.
The flame flared briefly, illuminating his hard expression.
Timothy swallowed hard.
Keeping his head down, Timothy walked forward carefully, every step measured. He placed the files on the desk as quietly as possible, as if even the sound of paper might provoke him.
“H-Here are the documents, Mr. Graves,” he said in a low voice.
“About fucking time,” Magnus snapped.
He yanked the file open and flipped through the pages aggressively, fingers moving fast and sharp, as though the documents themselves were testing his patience. Pages rustled loudly—flipped forward, then back, then forward again.
Timothy stood stiffly in front of the desk, spine straight, shoulders tense, hands clasped so tightly in front of him his fingers ached.
After hesitating, he gathered what little courage he had left.
“Mr. Graves…” he asked softly, his voice strained despite his effort to keep it steady. “Are you… disturbed about something? Is something bothering you?”
Magnus quietly flicked the half-burnt cigarette away, the butt landing in the overflowing ashtray with a dull tap. He lifted his head and casually shot Timothy a cold glare.
“It’s nothing,” Magnus replied flatly. “I’m fine.”
Then, with frustration simmering beneath his calm, he added, “Everything is exactly how it fucking should be.”
The words were clipped, dripping with suppressed rage.
He turned away from the desk and started toward the door. Just as he reached it, he tossed over his shoulder, “Where’s Sophia?”
Timothy straightened at once. “I’m not sure, Mr. Graves,” he replied quickly. “I can find out right now.”
He was already pulling out his phone when Magnus suddenly halted mid-step.
He turned back.
“My swimming court,” Magnus’s gaze drifted somewhere distant as he continued, “Sophia and I went there. She seemed to like it.”
Timothy blinked, then smiled instinctively. “That’s good news, Mr. Graves.”
A faint frown appeared between Magnus’s brows. “Gift it to her. Since she likes it, she can have it.”
Timothy’s fingers stopped mid-tap. His mouth twisted slightly as he looked at Magnus.
“Mr. Graves… you’re still refusing to admit that you like Mrs. Graves.”
Magnus’s eyes narrowed instantly.
He stormed over and punched Timothy’s arm sharply, the sound loud in the room.
“Just do your job,” Magnus snapped, leaning down to glare at him, his voice low and threatening. “And stop poking your nose into my private life.”
Timothy winced and nodded rapidly. “Y-Yes, sir.”
Magnus turned to leave again.
“Mr. Graves,” Timothy called suddenly.
Magnus stopped without turning around.
Timothy rushed up to him. “I forgot to tell you—I received a call a few minutes ago from Miss Thompson.”
Magnus finally turned back, a crease forming on his forehead. It took him a moment to process it.
“…Celia?” he asked.
“Yes, sir. Miss Celia Thompson,” Timothy confirmed. “She said she’s returned from Greece and wants to see you.”
***
The private dining room at the Springs Season Hotel was filled with silence when Magnus arrived.