His Perfect Trap, My Perfect Revenge

Chapter 21

"Chelsea, I'm sorry—I—" Magnus's voice cracked, the words dying in his throat.

The weight of everything he'd done crashed over him again, squeezing his chest like a vise.

"Let me go, Magnus."

Chelsea fought against his grip, but he held on too tight. No matter how hard she pushed, it was useless.

"I love you, Chelsea," he whispered, pulling her closer as if those words alone could keep her.

His brows furrowed, emotions spiraling—until suddenly, his so-called love turned desperate. He kissed her.

The next second, he jerked back with a sharp gasp. "Ah—!"

She'd bitten him.

Blood stained his lip as he touched it, stunned. His eyes, now filled with hurt, locked onto hers.

"Why, Chelsea? Why would you do that?"

"Why?" Her voice trembled with barely contained fury. "You really want to ask me that? Then let me ask you—why did you treat me the way you did back then? You say you love me? What a joke. Is this what your love looks like?" Tears—or maybe just the rain—streaked down her face as she glared at him with reddened eyes.

He tried again. "It's not like that, Chelsea. Please, let me explain—"

"Explain?" She let out a bitter laugh. "I don't need your excuses. I don't love you anymore, Magnus. We're done. Just—let me go."

She yanked her hand free.

Then, to her shock, Magnus dropped to his knees in front of her.

"Chelsea, I was wrong… everything I did was wrong. I'm begging you—forgive me!"

His voice shook, eyes rimmed red. But as Chelsea looked down at him, she felt nothing—no anger, no pain. Just emptiness.

Late apologies were worthless. And love? She had none left. Not for him. Not after everything.

Without a word, she turned and walked back into the villa.

The next morning, the rain had stopped. The only sound in the quiet house was the steady drip of water from the roof. Chelsea took a deep breath as she got out of bed and headed downstairs for breakfast.

But just as she reached the dining room, a maid rushed in, panic written all over her face.

"Miss! Something's happened! Mr. Colon collapsed at the gate!"

Chelsea froze for a second—then followed the maid outside.

There he was. Magnus, drenched to the bone, lying unconscious just beyond her doorstep. His cheeks were flushed with fever.

She rushed forward, pressing a hand to his forehead—then recoiled at the heat radiating off him.

He was burning up.

"Help me get him inside!" she called out.

In the bedroom, Magnus tossed and turned, mumbling her name in a feverish haze.

Chelsea sat beside him, brow furrowed as she wiped the sweat from his forehead. Just as she moved to stand, his hand shot up and seized hers—desperate, even in his half-conscious state.

"Chelsea… don't go… please… don't leave me…"

His voice was broken, but his grip was iron-tight, as if letting go meant losing her forever.

Chelsea stared down at the man she'd once loved with everything—the same man who'd hurt her deeper than anyone else ever could.

She tried to pull free, but he only held on tighter.

Then, slowly, his eyes fluttered open—bloodshot and unfocused—finding hers.

"Chelsea… don't go…" he whispered again.