Someone was holding her by the waist.

A rough, calloused hand slid underneath the hem of her shirt, gliding over her smooth skin, tracing its way upward. Morgan Myers let out a soft sigh, though she tried to resist the pull of temptation. Her rational mind screamed this was wrong. But her emotions whispered that letting it continue could feel incredible.

Her hand fumbled for something to anchor herself—and suddenly flinched at a sharp pain. She'd grabbed a shard of broken glass, its edge slicing into her skin and snapping her into sudden, cold awareness. Shocked, she looked at the man before her.

He was dressed in black, his lean yet muscular body pinning her down, with one knee wedged between her legs, keeping them apart. They hadn't crossed the ultimate line yet, but the air was thick with tension. Their bodies crackled with an unspoken, raw desire.

There had to be something in the air...

"No, Magnus, this isn't right," she whispered, her voice barely a breath.

Magnus Moore was her cousin's fiancé, promised to Celeste since childhood. Just last month, Magnus had returned from overseas, insisting Celeste honor the family commitment and marry him. Their wedding was right around the corner.

So what the hell were they doing here?

"Don't you get it?" Magnus said, his voice steady even though his eyes burned. "Celeste doesn't want to marry me. She practically pushed you right into my arms."

Morgan's mind blanked. She'd known Celeste was cozying up to the heir of the Jones family, clearly not interested in marrying this man she considered beneath her. Bound by old commitments, Celeste had thrown Morgan into the mix.

"Stop fighting it," Magnus murmured, his fingers exploring more boldly now. "Isn't this what you want?"

Morgan's body shook uncontrollably, heat rising through her like she was a puppet pulled by invisible strings, manipulated expertly by his touch.

"You're enjoying this, aren't you?" he noted with a deep satisfaction, watching confusion and shame war across her face.

Morgan felt humiliated, but he was right—it had to be something in the air.

Desperate, she reached for the glass shard again, pressing it with determination. The sharper pain cleared her head, and she held the shard up between them like a threat.

"Don't come any closer, or I'll hurt you," she warned.

Magnus narrowed his eyes, assessing. He could tell she wasn't gonna seriously hurt him.

Completely unfazed, he moved forward.

"You—"

Morgan's eyes went wide, and she didn't have the guts to actually harm him, but she did have just enough courage...

She squeezed her eyes shut and, in a sudden, decisive move, aimed the shard at her own wrist.

Magnus's reflexes were lightning-fast. He caught her hand in a vise-like grip, the shard slicing into his palm, drawing blood.

"What do you think you're doing?" he demanded, anger edging his voice.

"P-please, don't touch me..." Morgan begged, her eyes swimming with unshed tears.

Magnus's heart twisted painfully. After a brief hesitation, he pried the shard from her grip and tossed it aside. "Never hurt yourself. Promise me," he said softly, then scooped her up into his arms.

Fighting back his desire, he carried her to the bathroom and filled the tub with cold water. He lowered them both into the icy depths, the chill shocking their overheated skin.

Magnus was a man of principle. If love wasn't mutual, he wouldn't force it.

Slowly, the intensity of their emotions started to wane.

Morgan came around first, noticing the reddish tint of the water. Seeing Magnus's bleeding hand, she scrambled out of the tub, frantically fumbling for a first aid kit.

Moved by how he'd held back, she bandaged his wound as tenderly as she could, genuinely grateful for his decency.

Once his hand was wrapped, Magnus stood and tossed a robe at Morgan.

Only then did she realize how exposed she was; her cheeks blazed deep red.

"What happens now?" she asked awkwardly.

Magnus didn't answer. He went to the door, only to find it so damaged they couldn't open it from inside. Frowning, he headed toward the balcony.

Morgan realized he intended to climb down and panicked. "What are you doing?"

Framed against the night sky, the wind ruffling his clothes, Magnus stood at the balcony's edge. "I'll jump. Tomorrow, as long as the room doesn't show two people inside, there won't be any trouble for you."

"And what about you? What'll happen to you?"

"I'll be fine," he said, totally unfazed.

"You can't!" she insisted. Sure, it was only the second floor with a lawn below, but there was still a risk. A bad fall could mean a serious injury.

Her mind raced. "Do you want to marry my cousin?"

Magnus's lips curled into a sardonic smile. "It's not about what I want anymore. It's about whether she's willing. If she's not, I won't force her."

"What about me?" she asked, her voice tentative.

"What?"

"If my cousin won't marry you, I will."

Magnus frowned deeply. "I'm not local. I work as a security guard, make about three grand a month. No house, no car, no savings. Just an aging father who depends on medication. You'd still want to marry me?"

"I think you're a decent guy. I'd marry you for that." Morgan had faced hard times early on, losing her parents young and being raised by relatives. Her future wasn't hers to decide—her aunt was already looking to get a nice dowry from her marriage.

"Well, if you ever want out, we can always divorce," Magnus shrugged.

She quickly pulled him back from the edge, finally realizing just how dangerous it was. She had no clue Magnus was ex-military, with skills sharp enough to handle a jump like that without a scratch.

Morgan took a quick shower and changed into fresh clothes. "You should wash up too. Don't catch a cold."

Magnus nodded and headed to the bathroom. When he came out, he found Morgan had fallen asleep.

Such trust, he mused. Wasn't she worried he might take advantage?

Then his phone buzzed. The sound stirred Morgan, making her mumble something before drifting right back to sleep.

Magnus answered, stepping onto the balcony to keep his voice low. "Yeah?"

"Sir, we tracked Miss Myers and saw her check into a hotel with Mr. Perez," his assistant reported cautiously.

Magnus wasn't surprised. "Let her be. She's no longer my concern. Inform the family patriarch I'll honor the arrangement and marry someone from the Myers family. But if a divorce is needed, it won't be because of me."

"Are you suggesting you'll marry Morgan instead of Celeste? The family's being totally deceitful, offering you a lesser match!"

The assistant was indignant. Magnus was the true power behind Moore Enterprises, a force the family had to reckon with—including Lucca Perez, who owed his very position to Magnus's leniency.

"This betrayal won't go unpunished," Magnus's eyes darkened with cold determination. No one messed with him without consequences.

Magnus hung up, ready to leave, when Clementine Silva's voice cut through the air.

"But she's disfigured!" she cried.

He stopped dead in his tracks.

"How do you know?" he demanded sharply.

Clementine hesitated, her impulsive outburst revealing way more than she meant to.

Magnus advanced, his presence suddenly commanding and intense. "Who told you?"

"I—it was Willa! She noticed Morgan covering her face every time she went out," Clementine stammered, completely flustered.

Magnus's gaze narrowed. More people were involved than he'd realized, and Clementine wasn't innocent herself.

"Stay back!" Clementine backed away until she was cornered against the wall.

Magnus's hand closed around her throat. "Explain."

"You wouldn't... you're just trying to scare me, right?" Her bravado crumbled as his grip tightened.

"You can still breathe enough to talk," he reminded her, easing his hold just a fraction.

"It... it was Willa. She got suspicious after seeing Morgan go to the hospital so often. I didn't do anything, I swear!"

Magnus released her, letting Clementine slump to the floor, coughing.

"Explain," he demanded, impatient now.

"Willa went to dermatology for a skin treatment and started speculating that Morgan has some kind of facial issue. You two have been fighting, so I thought maybe you were getting tired of her," Clementine explained, careful to keep herself out of deeper trouble.

Magnus realized his inner circle had been infiltrated. "Your reach seems to exceed your grasp."

"I-I..." Clementine stammered, her earlier defiance completely gone.

"If that's true, then Willa's gonna face consequences too. Let's find out who really scarred her."

Right at that moment, Morgan walked in, a mask concealing her face.

Seeing her, Magnus's heart clenched. He suspected she'd been following him. Even though he'd done nothing wrong, her presence triggered a sharp pang of guilt.

"You knew about the interview, didn't you? I shouldn't have kept it from you," Magnus admitted, regret heavy in his voice.

Morgan smiled, but her eyes stayed bright. "Apologize for what? We're nothing to each other. Clementine seems more like your confidante than I'll ever be."

Magnus was silenced by her words—painfully so.

Clementine felt a twist of jealousy watching their exchange. Who was Morgan to talk to him so casually? She'd never seen Magnus be this humble.

"How dare you speak to him like that?" Clementine cut in.

"Enough!" Magnus rumbled.

"She disrespects you, and I'm trying to defend you, and you snap at me?" Clementine's eyes went wide with hurt.

"Whatever she does, it's my choice to accept. That's none of your business."

Clementine was speechless, her face paling.

Morgan found a quiet satisfaction in Clementine's distress, figuring emotional manipulation came easy to someone like her. But Magnus and Zechariah Kennedy weren't ordinary men—too wise to be snared that easily.

Magnus called for Willa, who showed up over an hour later, anxiety written all over her. Though nobody'd briefed her, she quickly figured out the situation.

"Uncle Magnus, Aunt Morgan..." Willa immediately dropped into a submissive posture, kneeling an apology. "I think I messed up. Please punish me!"

"Explain," Morgan said calmly, slipping into an elder's tone.

"The skincare products I gave Aunt Morgan might've been faulty."

"Might've been?" Magnus asked, brow furrowing.

"I'm not positive, but it was new and should've been fine. Yet with all her hospital visits and the mask... It implies some kind of damage. If I caused it, please forgive me," Willa pleaded, tears welling up.

"Uncertain? 'Might've been'?" Morgan's patience was wearing thin.

"Oh! I remember now!" Willa exclaimed, like she'd just had a revelation. "I bought the products and planned to deliver them right away, but Lucca asked me to visit. I ended up chatting with his wife and left the items there. She asked who they were for, and I said Aunt Morgan. Days later, she gave them back, and I handed them over without checking. Could someone have tampered with them?"

Willa's tale grew more elaborate. "Yes, his wife envied Aunt Morgan, claiming Morgan took her rightful place. She'd go on and on about how she should've married you, Uncle Magnus," Willa added, fueling the flames.

"What do you make of this, Magnus?" Morgan asked, trying to navigate Willa's story.

Magnus didn't reply right away, his expression unreadable. "We'll uncover the truth, layer by layer. Someone's bound to slip up eventually. If there's blame to place, I'll find it."

His gaze swept over Clementine and Willa, both quickly averting guilty eyes.

Morgan realized that even if they weren't directly responsible, neither one meant her any good. Their shared goal was crystal clear.

Without thinking, her eyes drifted to Magnus. This man could protect her—or bring her endless chaos.

Could she really belong in this world, where every move felt like some strategic game?

The memory of her simple life before, back in her modest apartment, already felt like a distant dream.

As she pondered, Magnus caught her eye and held her gaze. Being seen so completely was unsettling, and she had to break eye contact.

Magnus sensed Morgan's urge to bolt. He closed the distance, wrapping an arm around her waist and pulling her back against him.

"Don't even think about running away!"

Night slipped away quick.

It wasn’t the pale morning light that stirred Morgan Myers awake—it was the insistent hammering on the door.

Bang. Bang. Bang. Each knock felt urgent. Accusatory.

“I know you’re in there! What’s the matter, too chicken to open up after sneaking around?” a voice shouted from outside.

Unmistakably Rhonda Williamson. Classic setup for a scandal-fueled showdown.

Morgan barely lifted her head from the pillow before the door flew open with a crack. Rhonda stormed in, dragging her daughter, Celeste Williamson. Their faces were twisted with fury.

“You little scheming slut! He’s supposed to be your future brother-in-law, and here you are, throwing yourself at him!” Rhonda’s slap came lightning fast.

Still dizzy with sleep, Morgan squeezed her eyes shut, bracing for the blow. But it never landed. She opened her eyes to find Magnus Moore gripping Rhonda’s wrist tight.

“This is on me. She had nothing to do with it,” Magnus said, voice hard as steel.

“Fine! The deal was for you to marry my daughter. Morgan isn’t blood, but I’ve got legal guardianship over her. So the two of you will marry. Otherwise, the scandal follows you both!” Rhonda shot back, her tone a messy cocktail of rage and cold calculation.

“Celeste, do you actually want us to get married?” Magnus turned his stare on Celeste.

Tears pooled in Celeste’s eyes—pure performance, dripping with fake vulnerability. “You betrayed me first. Since you and Morgan already… did whatever, what choice do I have? I’ll… I’ll just let you two be together.”

“Fine. Then I’ll marry Morgan.” Magnus’s words carried the weight of a slammed door.

Driven by the unfolding circus, the pair soon found themselves at city hall, making it official.

“Now that you’re hitched, it wouldn’t be proper for Magnus to stay in the family home. He should move in with you—your apartment is closer to Moore Enterprises. Much more convenient for his commute as a security guard,” Rhonda proposed, desperate to scrub Magnus from their lives.

“Okay, we’ll pack and leave.” Morgan agreed. She couldn’t bear watching Rhonda and Celeste shove Magnus out the door. Otherwise, they might end up with nowhere to go.

As Morgan and Magnus gathered their things and left, Celeste watched them go, shooting her mother a worried look. “What if Grandpa finds out and makes trouble?”

“He’s overseas getting treatment. Won’t be back for three or four months. By then, you’ll have married Lucca Perez and locked into the filthy-rich Perez family. He won’t be able to do squat. You wanna let our golden future slip through our fingers?” Rhonda replied, oozing confidence.

“Then I’d better hurry up and marry Lucca!” Celeste decided, resolve hardening.

Morgan led Magnus to her rented apartment.

She’d originally leased a two-bedroom, planning to split it with a coworker who later shacked up with her boyfriend, leaving the second bedroom empty.

Morgan had meant to find a new roommate, but now that felt pointless.

“This is your room. Make yourself at home,” she said, showing him the space.

Magnus scanned the apartment. The building was old, but the place was clean and tidy. Potted plants lined the balcony, giving it a warm, cozy vibe.

Even with his slight neat-freak tendencies, Magnus found nothing to gripe about.

He wandered into the kitchen. The pots, pans, and utensils were spotless, looking barely used. The fridge held mostly fruit and a parade of ready-to-eat meals.

“You normally eat like this?” he asked.

“Yeah, I’m a total disaster in the kitchen. It’s either these quick fixes or the company cafeteria for me,” Morgan admitted.

Magnus’s brow furrowed. He couldn't survive on that stuff. Did this mean he’d have to start cooking?

Back in his military days, he’d managed to fix his own meals—barely edible, sure, but clean, nutritious, and not drowning in oil or salt.

“Can you cook?” Morgan asked, voice laced with hope.

“A little.”

“There’s a market downstairs. Wanna give it a shot?” she suggested.

The idea of cooking their own meals to save cash appealed to her. Magnus’s father was still alive and needed meds, so pinching pennies was always smart.

With a snap decision, they headed to the market and soon returned loaded with groceries.

Magnus took over the kitchen.

Watching him bustle around with pots and pans felt surreal to Morgan. She was actually married.

Most guys avoided the kitchen like the plague. Magnus’s willingness to cook was a massive green flag in her book.

She pegged him as a solid match for a stable life—comforting in his quiet, no-nonsense way.

And, hello, the man was drop-dead gorgeous!

Soon, the meal was ready. Simple but satisfying. Just enough for the two of them.

Magnus tasted his own cooking. Not gourmet, but healthy—low on salt.

Morgan, on the other hand, was full of praise. “This is amazing! Way healthier than takeout. And there’s enough left for lunch tomorrow. You rock—guys who cook deserve serious props.”

As a self-confessed kitchen disaster, she wasn’t about to criticize. Having someone cook for her was happiness enough.

After dinner, Morgan offered to wash the dishes and clean the kitchen, leaving it sparkling.

Clear division of labor. Smooth.

Afterward, they retreated to their separate rooms, quietly marking their first night as newlyweds.

The next morning, Magnus hopped on Morgan’s scooter for a ride to Moore Enterprises.

“Hop on. It’s just two blocks away. The subway would mean switching lines, and during rush hour, you might not even get a spot.”

“Make sure you wear the helmet, or the cops will ticket us!”

“Hold tight!”

The scooter zipped forward, and Magnus felt that familiar backward yank.

Morgan dropped him off in front of the building and then sped off.

Across the street, Dariel Freeman sat in his convertible, eyes blown wide with disbelief.

He rubbed his eyes—again and again.

Was he hallucinating? Had he seriously just witnessed the filthy-rich, all-powerful Magnus Moore rolling up on a scooter?

The second Magnus stepped into the executive office, Dariel rushed over.

“So, how’s the scooter stack up against your Bentley? Way more fun?” Dariel teased.

“Knock it off!” Magnus shot back, exasperated.

Pretending to be poor was freaking exhausting.

“Come on! What the hell is going on?” Dariel was practically drooling for the story.

Magnus filled him in.

Dariel slapped his knee, howling with laughter. “So Celeste dumped you for your nephew, thinking he’d inherit Moore Enterprises, and kicked the actual boss to the curb?”

“This is the funniest joke I’ve heard all year. She’d be kicking herself so hard if she knew the truth!”

“But what about Morgan? She didn’t judge you or bail. She’s a rare find.”

“In a family like hers, I doubt she’s any different from Celeste. Celeste looked down on me, and I bet Morgan does too. The only reason this marriage happened is that someone saved my grandfather’s life. If I turned my back on that, the family name would take a hit.”

“So, as soon as Morgan files for divorce, this mess is settled.”

“And if she doesn’t?” Dariel probed.

“Maybe not now, but eventually, she will. I’d bet my life on it. She can enjoy the good times but won’t stick around for the bad,” Magnus said, flat-out sure.

“Miss Myers… she’s tired. She went to rest,” Dakota Miller said, voice shaky with hesitation.

Magnus had just woken, still crazy weak. Dakota didn’t dare spill the whole truth, terrified it’d wreck Magnus, so he danced around it.

Hearing that, Magnus’s forehead creased. He imagined Morgan must’ve run herself ragged looking after him.

Her eyes were probably all puffy from crying!

His injuries must’ve scared her senseless.

If it weren’t for him, the clash with Celeste wouldn’t have blown up like this.

Determined, he tried to get up, which sent Dakota into a panic.

“Sir, you’ve got to stay in bed. Rest is critical for healing.”

“I need to see her.”

“Sir, she’ll come see you when she wakes.”

“Just a brief glimpse, and I’d feel better…” Magnus insisted, stubborn as a mule, as Dakota struggled to hold him back.

“What actually happened to Morgan? Did something happen to her? Spit it out!” Magnus’s voice cut sharp with urgency.

“Sir, truth is, while you were out cold, Miss Myers didn’t call, didn’t text, let alone visit. It’s like she vanished. She’s heartless. Doesn’t deserve your concern!” Dakota couldn’t hold back any longer.

Magnus’s frown deepened, his expression darkening like a thundercloud.

“She said nothing at all?”

“She said she’s not a doctor, so visiting’s pointless. Said it was enough that I was here. Can you believe that? You nearly got yourself killed for her!” Dakota kept going, then fell silent under Magnus’s icy, razor-sharp glare.

“I’m going to see her.”

“Miss Myers?”

“Back home.”

Magnus wasn’t buying a word of it until he heard it straight from Morgan’s mouth.

Dakota, scared of the fallout, swore he’d drag Morgan back by force if he had to.

Dakota set out searching, but came up empty.

Morgan had completely ghosted the estate.

Dakota’s gut screamed trouble. He dug deeper and discovered Morgan’s last known location was from a few days ago.

She’d flown all the way here—so why hadn’t she shown up at the hospital?

More digging revealed she’d actually come, only to be blocked by Willa Perez. Then Morgan disappeared without a trace.

Dakota’s heart shuddered. He’d been so damn blind, assuming Morgan was cold and indifferent.

The gut-punch realization that Morgan was in danger hit hard. With every passing day, whether she was dead or alive grew more uncertain.

Dakota knew he couldn't bury this, no matter how much heat he'd take from Magnus.

Magnus listened, his face draining of color, fists clenched so tight his knuckles went white. The thought that Morgan might’ve been in danger for days crushed his chest with a heavy, suffocating pain.

“Get Willa here. And trace Morgan’s phone! If she messaged you, there’s a way to pinpoint her!” Magnus commanded, voice urgent.

Dakota had already tried. The calls now went straight to voicemail—Morgan’s phone was off.

But tracing would take time, maybe an hour or more.

Just then, Willa arrived, having already heard from the hospital that Magnus was awake.

She’d dressed with extra care, strolling in all smug delight.

“Uncle Magnus! Finally! I’ve been worried sick about you,” Willa gushed.

Her thin frame was proof of sleepless nights spent on anxious vigils by his bedside. Her dedication couldn’t be questioned.

Willa had often camped out by his side, trading shifts with Dakota.

“Have you seen Morgan?” Magnus asked.

“Huh? Uncle, you just woke up and you’re asking about her? What about everything I’ve been through?”

“Answer.”

Magnus had zero patience for skirting the question.

“Yeah, I saw Morgan. I was so furious she got you hurt, I gave her a piece of my mind and slapped her. Why wouldn’t I? She put you in danger—everyone knows how critical you are to this family, but she doesn't give a damn! I had security toss her out. Did she tattle to you? Doesn’t matter—I don’t regret it one bit,” Willa declared, perfectly playing the righteous victim.

Magnus pulled up the security footage. It showed Morgan trying to push past Willa, only to be thrown out. After stepping into a blind spot, Morgan vanished from view.

“Do you know where she went after that?”

“How would I know? I rushed back to take care of you! I figured, if she really cared, she’d come back persistently, and maybe I’d give in. Guess she wasn’t as sincere as I thought!” Willa stomped her foot, oozing frustration.

With that performance, nobody could even link her to Morgan’s disappearance.

“Uncle, why obsess over Morgan? You’re awake now, and she hasn't even bothered to show. So where is she?” Willa glanced around, faking confusion.

“She’s missing.” Magnus’s voice was ice, his eyes drilling into Willa.

“Missing? How?” Willa feigned shock. “This isn’t Europe—there are dangers here, and in your condition, a missing person shouldn’t even be on your radar.”

“Uncle, I might not like her, but we can’t just let something happen to her. You need to have Dakota search seriously,” Willa urged, clutching Magnus’s arm, all fake urgency.

“Rest assured, anyone who harms Morgan will pay,” Magnus said, locking eyes with Willa.

Willa felt an icy shiver skitter down her spine, but she kept her composure.

She’d grown up in the Perez family—she knew exactly how to wear a mask.

These were skills Uncle Magnus himself had drilled into her.

She wasn’t like Clementine Silva, easily fooled by pretty faces. But family constraints…

Those damned constraints!

If not for them, Clementine and Morgan would be nobody, and she’d have claimed Magnus for herself.

If Uncle Magnus had no kids, no partner, then every scrap of his love would be hers alone.

“Uncle, you’ve just woken up. Don’t tire yourself out. Let Dakota handle it—I’ll take care of you. You have no clue how terrified I was when you collapsed. You raised me; if anything happened to you, I couldn’t go on…” Willa cooed, playing the devoted caregiver.

At that moment, Dakota’s phone buzzed. He answered, and when he hung up, he spun toward Magnus, eyes lit with excitement.

“Sir, we’ve tracked Miss Myers’s last phone signal!”

Willa’s heart lurched. Panic shot through her for a split second as she perked up, eavesdropping with laser focus.

“Sir, the last known location is…”

Morgan Myers had put in a long, draining day at the office and was just about to head out when she found herself face-to-face with the last person she wanted to see.

"Morgan, hop in—I'll give you a ride home."

"Morgan, your boyfriend's back to pick you up. Ugh, so jealous. He's so dependable! When's the wedding? You better invite me!"

"Don't worry, it's coming up soon."

Jones Williamson eased out of his car, moving in to take Morgan's hand. She sidestepped him immediately, clearly uncomfortable.

"Morgan, what's going on?" Jones asked, his confusion utterly fake.

"There is no 'us,' Jones. Stop showing up to give me rides—I can get home on my own just fine."

They'd worked together on a project once, and Jones had been hounding her ever since. She'd told him straight up they weren't a match, but he just bulldozed right over her words like she hadn't spoken.

Even though they weren't a thing, their coworkers totally bought into the lie. Thanks to Jones's little performances, half of them thought a wedding was right around the corner.

As people filed out of the building, they couldn't help but watch the drama unfold. Jones tried to brush it off, forcing a tight smile.

"We're just having a little disagreement. She's mad at me," he said, all casual.

"Alright, just sort it out at home," a colleague suggested.

Jones reached for her again, but Morgan dodged him easily.

"My husband will be picking me up," she announced.

Jones's face fell. "Morgan, that's not even funny."

She ignored him and dialed Magnus Moore.

Across town, Magnus was in the middle of an international conference call. His phone cut through the room with an abrupt ring, snagging everyone's attention. He almost dismissed it, but the caller ID flashed "Wife"—so he picked up immediately.

"What's wrong?"

"Are you done with work? Can you come pick me up? I've kind of got a situation."

"A situation?" There was the briefest pause before Magnus replied, "I'll be there in thirty minutes."

He ended the call and addressed the board members. "We'll pick this up tomorrow. Meeting adjourned."

Grabbing his coat, he tossed it to his assistant. "Find me a security guard's uniform."

Back at Morgan's office, she held up her phone screen for Jones to see. "My husband will be here soon. Leave me alone—or I'm calling the cops."

"You treacherous, two-faced woman! How could you do this to me?" Jones shouted, his accusation so ridiculous Morgan actually laughed out loud.

"Do we even have any kind of relationship? Did I ever agree to be your girlfriend? My husband is on his way, so I suggest you get lost."

"Fine. I want to see this so-called husband of yours!" Jones snapped, refusing to back down.

Morgan paid him no attention and let him stew.

Within twenty minutes, Magnus pulled up in a security guard uniform from Moore Enterprises. The same uniform that looked so bland on the guards at the front desk looked sharp and perfectly fitted on Magnus; with his good looks and athletic build, he could pull off anything.

Morgan rushed over and wrapped her arms around him happily. "Darling, you finally made it. I missed you so much today."

Magnus tensed at her sudden, warm embrace, suddenly very aware of the softness pressed against him. His mind couldn't help flashing back to the heat they'd shared.

He was only human, after all.

He turned his head slightly, trying to focus elsewhere.

Jones sauntered over and inspected Magnus's name tag. "So you're her husband? Just a security guard for Moore Enterprises?" he sneered.

"So what? You got a problem with that?" Morgan shot back.

Jones clenched his fists, rage simmering. As a manager with a decent salary and a BMW, he wasn't exactly struggling. He couldn't afford a place in the city, but he owned a nice, roomy apartment back home.

He'd gone after Morgan because she was young, gorgeous, and would look great on his arm. And yet she'd chosen a security guard over him!

Jones felt completely humiliated.

"Morgan, you could have had me—a respectable man—and instead you go for some guy who watches doors," Jones fumed.

"I happen to like men who watch doors. What's it to you? I already told you I'm not interested. Quit bothering me and leading our coworkers on. I'm married, and my husband and I are solid. If you keep it up, I will call the police."

"Fine! You're gonna regret this," Jones stormed off, rage in every step.

Morgan exhaled in relief.

"Finally, it's over. Hopefully he'll leave me alone now. Thanks for coming to my rescue," she said, genuine gratitude in her voice.

"You're not worried I might have embarrassed you?" Magnus asked, his expression unreadable.

His job was something Celeste Williamson had always looked down on, something she found beneath her. But Morgan didn't seem fazed at all; to her, it was just a regular job with no shame attached.

"You earn an honest living with your own two hands. What's embarrassing about that? We both work for a living—there's no shame in it. I'm in design, basically I sew clothes for a living," Morgan said, completely unfazed.

"Let's go. I'm starving and need to get dinner started," she added, heading toward her scooter.

Magnus, thoughtful and intrigued, followed after her.

The next day at work, Morgan picked up on a weird vibe right away. Daleyza Watson pulled her into the break room.

"What's the real deal with you and Jones?"

"There is no deal."

"Don't give me that! Everyone's buzzing about it. Jones told everyone you're a flirt who leads guys on—says you were playing him while seeing someone else. He claims he caught you being two-faced."

Morgan's brows drew together at the blatant lies.

"Daleyza, there is absolutely nothing between us. He just won't take no for an answer."

She laid out the whole story from her side.

"Jones is shameless—a sore loser who can't handle being rejected. The company he works for sponsored a sports event, and we ordered all the gear through them. Jones was our point person, but now he's refusing to cooperate, and the boss is livid. You should probably expect to be called in any second."

Right on cue, someone called out, "Morgan, the boss wants you in his office."

Daleyza gave her a look full of sympathy.

Morgan braced herself and walked into the boss's office to face a barrage of accusations.

"The deal was locked in, and now it's fallen apart because of you! You need to track down Jones and fix this, or your whole team suffers the consequences!"

She walked out of that office under the weight of her teammates' bitter, resentful stares.

"Just our luck to be on her team. What a mess—totally shameless."

"Always dragging us down. Couldn't be worse if we tried."

Morgan heard every word but forced herself to ignore it. She needed to confront Jones; the terms they'd already negotiated gave them the best price. If Jones took his business elsewhere, it would drive up costs and hurt his own interests too.

She hoped he'd see reason when it came to his career.

When she dialed his number, he was surprisingly agreeable.

"Meet me at Soho Bar at eight tonight," he said, and hung up immediately.

“Don’t be an idiot.”

Magnus stirred, pulling her small frame into his arms. He was slightly buzzed, his gaze unfocused, but there was a tender depth in his eyes.

Morgan couldn't resist his pull. She slipped a hand under his shirt, exploring with playful curiosity.

Magnus's eyes darkened, his voice turning rough.

“Not now.”

“I know now's not a good time—that's exactly why I'm doing it,” Morgan said with a cheeky grin, itching to see Magnus lose control.

Magnus looked helpless, letting her carry on with her little game.

His skin was burning up, whether from the alcohol or something else, he couldn't tell.

A sheen of sweat broke out on his forehead, his breathing ragged.

“I’m struggling…”

In his drunk state, Magnus's lips were dangerously tempting—slightly parted, filled with unspoken hunger.

"I can't stand it, Morgan."

Magnus guided her hand lower, and Morgan's cheeks flushed at the not-so-subtle hint.

She'd pushed him too far.

Magnus looked at her silently, his eyes begging, tugging at her sympathy. He seemed so vulnerable—breathless, chest rising and falling fast.

His big hands gripped her waist tightly, refusing to let go.

Morgan sighed inwardly, mentally kicking herself for being so bold.

She wasn't in any condition for full-on intimacy right now, but she could help elsewhere.

"Magnus, I'm struggling..." he repeated, and it was like his voice cast a spell, making Morgan's ears tingle.

Against her better judgment, she nodded.

Magnus didn't waste a second—he scooped her up and carried her to the bedroom.

A few hours later, Magnus lay there, fully satisfied, holding her close.

Morgan's hands and mouth were sore; she was completely spent.

"I don't want to play anymore," she mumbled, her voice heavy with exhaustion.

Magnus let out a low chuckle and tweaked her nose. "You started it, remember? Acting all innocent now."

"You could've handled it yourself—why'd you have to drag me into it?" Morgan protested.

“It’s not the same,” Magnus replied with a playful smile.

Morgan decided not to push that topic any further, noticing his gaze was starting to shift in a way that spelled trouble.

She quickly changed the subject, remembering something important.

"Is helping Zechariah Kennedy actually going to work?"

Magnus's expression turned serious at the question.

“I don’t know.”

"You think Clementine Silva would really never go back to him, no matter what we do?"

Morgan had gotten good at reading Magnus.

Magnus had agreed to help Zechariah by faking his own disappearance and then rejecting Clementine firmly, making it crystal clear that even if Morgan were out of the picture, there was no future for the two of them.

But despite all that, Clementine wasn't the type to give up easily.

Zechariah was probably fighting a losing battle.

"If Clementine were still the person she used to be, I could understand why you both loved her—she was genuinely kind. But she's changed. Poor Zechariah, he's so devoted. The debt from saving his life, all those childhood memories—they're powerful enough to drive him to do things he never would otherwise."

“I won’t let anything harm you.”

Magnus looked at her with unwavering resolve, his voice gentle but weighted with conviction.

Morgan nodded, trusting him to keep them both safe.

That night, Magnus held her close as they slept peacefully.

The next morning, soft knocking woke Morgan.

"Sir, Miss Silva is here."

Morgan nudged Magnus. "You deal with it. I need more sleep."

Magnus hesitated, comfortable beneath the covers, but eventually dragged himself up, rubbing his aching temples.

Downstairs, Clementine was waiting.

"I made you breakfast. It'll help with the hangover."

"But you can't keep coming here."

"I need to take care of you now."

"Clementine Silva, let me be clear: even if Morgan weren't in the picture, you and I would never be together. I love one person in this life—accept it and move on."

"And me? Do I mean nothing?"

"When we were young, yeah, I liked you. But that's done."

"Then forget Morgan. Start fresh with me."

"Why did you choose Zechariah back then? You think I don't know? Look, I'd rather not spell it out, but you took the safe bet the moment you realized being with me might actually require sacrifices. You latched onto Zechariah real quick."

"You had feelings for both of us—so why keep Zechariah on the hook? Was he just your backup plan in case things with me didn't work out?"

Clementine went pale, completely exposed.

"I get wanting a comfortable life, but taking advantage of people who honestly care about you, especially Zechariah—that's not right. You're married now. Stop torturing him. You're only going to hurt the ones who genuinely love you."

"I don't need you to look after me anymore. Don't come back. I don't want to see you. Don't push away the last bit of good there is between us. Whatever happens next is on you."

Magnus's voice was ice-cold, not a shred of wiggle room left.

"Show her out."

Clementine instinctively reached for his sleeve, but Magnus pulled away without a backward glance.

She stood there, completely crushed.

"Miss Silva, please go. And don't return."

Clementine didn't want to, but what could she do? Under the watchful eye of the staff, she dragged herself away.

A staff member handed her the breakfast container. "Our master won't be needing this. Please leave, Miss Silva."

Standing outside the wrought iron gate, the cold wind biting at her skin, Clementine felt utterly defeated.

Suddenly, a warmth wrapped around her as Zechariah Kennedy draped his coat over her shoulders.

"Come home with me," Zechariah said, looking just as drained as she felt.

Watching Clementine chase after Magnus over and over again burned him up inside, like flames licking at his heart.

Why couldn't she choose him?

"I'm not going back. Magnus is still stuck on Morgan—he wants to find her. Once he hears the news that Morgan is dead, he'll finally let her go."

"And if that doesn't work?"

"Then it's just a matter of time. In time, he'll forget Morgan…"

"And for you? Time's already passed. He missed his shot with you, and that's how Morgan came along. If Morgan dies, someone else will fill her spot—it won't be you. Don't you get it? He might glance back, but he'll never walk the same road again!"

Slap—a sharp crack echoed.

Zechariah's face snapped to the side from the blow, and whatever small hope he'd been clinging to flickered out completely.