His Perfect Trap, My Perfect Revenge

Chapter 24

For days after that night, Magnus vanished without a trace. Chelsea's life finally settled back into a quiet rhythm—until a week later, when she stepped out of work and found him slumped against her doorstep.

He looked wrecked. His suit jacket hung half-unbuttoned, collar loose, exposing the sharp line of his collarbone. The moment he spotted her, something flickered in his eyes—hope.

Staggering to his feet, he rushed forward and pulled her into a crushing embrace.

"Chelsea… you're home." His voice was raw, trembling. He clung to her like she might dissolve if he loosened his grip.

"Magnus?" She stiffened. "What are you doing here? Have you been drinking?" The sharp tang of alcohol hit her, and she wrinkled her nose.

"Yeah." His laugh was rough. "Too much. Way too much." His arms tightened around her. "I missed you. God, I missed you so much."

"I tried," he whispered, voice cracking. "I threw myself into work, drowned myself in whiskey—anything to stop thinking about you. But it didn't work. Nothing did."

Before she could respond, she felt something warm trickle down her neck—his tears, soaking into her shirt.

"Magnus—"

"Please, just let me say this." He swallowed hard. "I thought if I drank enough, I'd forget you. But the more I drank, the worse it got. I can't do this, Chelsea. I can't live without you. Give me another chance. Let's start over—do it right this time."

Then, without warning, he dropped to one knee and pulled out something she hadn't seen in years—their wedding ring.

"I mean it. I can't lose you again."

For a heartbeat, Chelsea froze.

She remembered the day she married him—how bright the future had seemed. How wrong she'd been.

Wordlessly, she hauled him up and dragged him toward the empty street.

"Walk across that road," she said, pointing into the darkness, "and I'll forgive you."

At first glance, it was deserted. But the second her finger lifted, headlights sliced through the night—a massive truck barreling toward them.

Magnus looked at her, then at the oncoming truck. And then, he smiled.

If this was what it took, so be it.

He stepped forward.

A deafening horn shattered the silence.

He closed his eyes, ready to embrace whatever came next—

Then a yank. A hard impact as he hit the pavement, Chelsea's grip wrenching him back just in time.

"Are you insane?!" she screamed, chest heaving.

He stared up at her, dazed. She looked terrified—genuinely, desperately afraid for him.

Before she could pull away, he dragged her into his arms.

"I knew it," he murmured, burying his face in her neck. "You still care."

"Don't get the wrong idea. I just didn't want your death on my conscience."

Chelsea shoved him away and turned to leave—but Magnus caught her wrist.

"You promised. I stepped out. Now keep your word."

His grip tightened, and suddenly, she was stumbling back into him.

"Magnus, let me go—Magnus—"

A snore cut her off.

She froze.

Did he just… fall asleep?

Looking down at the man now deadweight in her arms, Chelsea sighed.

Somehow, she hauled him back to the villa, dumped him into bed, and collapsed into her own.

But the next morning, instead of leaving, Magnus became her shadow.

He showed up to drive her to work, dragged her out on weekends, held umbrellas in the rain, even picked cilantro out of her food. He jogged with her like it was routine, inserted himself into every corner of her life—except the office. And if she so much as glanced at Alaric? Magnus materialized like a bad omen, killing the mood every time.

Chelsea tried shutting him down. But he always threw that night in her face—the night she saved him.

The one thing she couldn't argue with.