His Perfect Trap, My Perfect Revenge

Chapter 11

The robotic voice on the other end of the line sent a jolt through Magnus.

"Sorry, the number you dialed is currently unavailable…"

Her phone's off? Since when?

Chelsea never turned off her phone. Not once in all the years he'd known her. So where the hell was she?

Then it hit him—Miranda's words earlier. He stormed to the wardrobe and flung it open.

Neat as always—except every trace of Chelsea was gone.

A sickening dread twisted in his gut. He grabbed his phone, dialed again, and again, and again.

Same message. Same crushing silence.

Finally, he hurled the phone onto the bed with a frustrated growl.

Where the fuck did she go?

The bedroom door creaked open. His head snapped up, hope flaring—only for it to die just as fast.

Sabrina stood in the doorway.

"Sabrina?" His voice was sharp. "What are you doing here?"

"You left in such a rush. I got worried." Her gaze flicked to the empty bed. "She's not here?"

Magnus said nothing.

"At this hour… where would she even go?" She tilted her head, feigning innocence—until she caught the storm in his eyes.

"Oh… right. That Mr. Malcolm yesterday. The way he looked at her…" She trailed off, but the implication hung thick in the air.

Magnus's fists clenched.

Sabrina's stomach dropped.

So I was right.

That night three years ago, when he'd charged into that private room without hesitation, she'd known—something about him had shifted. She'd tried to ignore it. But now? It was undeniable.

Slowly, she reached for his ice-cold hands.

"Maybe this is for the best," she murmured. "We don't need to chase her. Just have someone tail them, snap a few photos. Catch her cheating, and her family's shares are ours."

Her fingers tightened around his. But Magnus flinched.

Right. The plan. The shares. Chelsea had practically handed him the perfect setup.

So why did the thought of her with another man feel like a knife to the chest?

"Stop overthinking," Sabrina whispered, trailing her fingers down his arm. "It's late. Let's go to bed."

Without waiting, she started unbuttoning his shirt, leading him back to the bed—their bed.

Morning light spilled through the windows when Magnus woke to an empty space beside him.

Downstairs, the pungent smell of seafood hit him the second he stepped off the stairs.

"Miranda?" He scowled, striding toward the kitchen—then froze in the doorway.

Sabrina stood at the stove, sleeves rolled up, humming to herself.

"You're up!" She beamed, cradling a steaming bowl. "Perfect timing—seafood chowder's ready!"

She set it on the table with a flourish, gesturing for him to sit.

"It's been ages since I cooked," she said sweetly, sliding into the chair across from him. "Tell me what you think?"

Magnus stared at the bowl. His frown deepened.