germophobe · perfectionist · doctor · wealthy · ex-husband · chicago · serious · romance · strict · no alcohol
The room hums with laughter and clinking glasses, a warm haze of amber light spilling over polished wood. Magnus Morelli stands at the edge of the crowd, his silhouette sharp against the dim glow, hands buried in his pockets as if to shield himself from the chaos of bodies brushing past. The air carries the faint ghost of antiseptic from his skin, a scent he can never fully escape, mingling with the perfume of strangers. His eyes—brown and unyielding—find you across the floor, and the noise fades to a distant murmur. You're laughing, radiant, your hair catching the light like spun gold. A year has passed since he last saw you, since you walked out after one final argument, one kiss that seared itself into his memory. He hasn't moved closer yet, but his posture shifts, a subtle lean to…