His Father Bought Me

Estelle’s heart hammered against her ribs as she looked up at him. Something inside her resisted it. Not the moment, but the end of it.

Why can’t we just stay a little longer? The thought hit hard, almost startling her, as Roman’s hands settled on the wheelchair and he began to push her toward the door. She kept her gaze forward, but the feeling lingered.

Because she knew that the moment those doors opened, the moment the cameras went off, she would no longer matter to him.

Roman barely registered the room anymore, his thoughts were loud. Why do you feel the need to protect her this much? The question circled, pressing in, refusing to quiet. "I’m just following the plan," he murmured under his breath, the words almost lost beneath the fading noise of the room.

Around them, the press shifted, their voices rising, questions thrown in their direction, but neither of them heard a word. It all blurred into distant noise as they moved closer to the door ahead.

Estelle’s eyes fixed on it, her chest tightening as if the door itself stood between her and something she couldn’t quite name. Then Roman stepped forward and pulled it open.

The hallway greeted them with cooler air, quieter, but not empty. Magnus was already there. Vance stood just behind him, as usual, still, watchful.

Roman slowed slightly, but didn’t stop. Estelle’s fingers tightened faintly against the armrest as they approached.

As they passed, Roman turned his head, his lips curling into a faint smirk. "I hope you were pleased," he said, tone edged with something unreadable. "And I hope I did enough for the NHL to see that I’m a family man."

The words hit harder than they should have.

Estelle felt it, sharp, sudden, like something cracking quietly inside her chest. Of course. I knew it meant nothing. But her face remained composed, and her gaze stayed forward.

Magnus didn’t answer immediately. He simply looked at Roman, his jaw tightening, something dark flickering behind his eyes. And then a sharp ringtone cut through the hallway.

Vance glanced down at his phone, his expression shifting almost instantly. His eyes widened slightly as he turned the screen toward Magnus. The name glowed clearly. Victoria.

Magnus’s gaze dropped to it, and he gave a single, measured nod. Roman and Estelle both noticed. Their brows furrowed at the same time, unease threading quietly through their thoughts.

The phone kept ringing, but instead of responding to Roman, Magnus lifted his gaze just once toward them. Then, without a word, he gestured to Vance, and they both turned and walked away. Just like that.

Estelle exhaled slowly, her stomach twisting with a feeling she couldn’t quite explain. "Who do you think could have called Vance?" she asked quietly, her voice softer now, though filled with unease.

Roman shrugged, and just then the maids appeared in the hallway, their steps soft against the polished floor. "We are here to take the lady to her room, Sir," one of them said politely.

Roman shook his head firmly. "No. She is my wife, and I will take her to her room myself. You are dismissed."

Estelle let out a soft sigh but said nothing. She leaned back slightly, letting him guide the wheelchair down the hall. The air smelled faintly of polished wood and fresh flowers, a sharp contrast to the tension that still lingered between them.

When they entered the bedroom, Roman pushed her closer to the bed and then stepped in front of her, his shoulders sagging as if the weight of the day had finally caught up with him.

"I didn’t expect them to go that far. Not like that," he said, his voice low, carrying the tension from the hallway. "I never thought they’d be that rude. My father was right, those people show no mercy." He let out a sharp exhale, and for a moment, the room felt smaller.

Estelle studied him, noting the flicker of sincerity in his eyes, but experience had taught her caution. She tilted her head, a small smile teasing her lips. "The cameras are off now, Roman. You can drop the act."

His brows knit together immediately. "But I’m not—"

"Please, Roman, leave already," she interrupted smoothly, her tone calm but firm. "Don’t get me wrong. I appreciate how you stood up for me, but let’s not pretend it’s anything more than what we both know it is... a performance. That’s all. So why don’t you leave now, so I can rest?"

He ran a hand through his hair, a fleeting shadow of frustration crossing his face. "I know this is because of what my father told you," he said, his voice almost pleading. "But you need to let me explain, and then I promise I’ll be out of your hair."

Estelle’s gaze didn’t waver. "And what exactly do you want to say to me?" she asked, her voice steady, though her chest tightened slightly.

"I— I didn’t tell Father anything. I swear to you," he said, desperation creeping in, his words almost breaking.

"You didn’t tell Magnus, but you definitely said something to someone else. Maybe Lena?" Estelle tilted her head, her intuition already pointing her in the right direction.

Roman opened his mouth, but no words came. He took a tentative step closer, and instinctively, she wheeled back just enough to keep her space. "I promise I didn’t mean to throw you under the bus like that," he said, his tone heavy with regret, his eyes pleading for some sliver of trust.

"But you did," Estelle said, her voice low but cutting, the words hanging in the room like ice. "We have nothing more to discuss. Honestly, I’m not interested in whatever you want to say. Just leave."

Roman opened his mouth, but she wheeled herself around him, moving toward the door with determination. Her hand paused on the handle for just a heartbeat before she pushed it open. "Get out, Roman," she said, her tone final.

For a moment, he froze, his chest rising and falling rapidly, his jaw tight. Then he stepped back, walking toward the door. Every step he took stabbed at something deep inside her, and she had to fight the urge to call him back.

She let the door close behind him, and the silence that followed was louder than anything he had said. For a moment, her fingers tightened against the handle. Just one word. That was all it would take to call him back. She didn’t.