His Father Bought Me

Their lips met.

At first, it was tentative. Just a soft brush, a question neither of them voiced, but the hesitation didn’t last.

The kiss deepened, heat building quickly, as though everything they had been holding back finally spilled over. There were no cameras now, no roles to play, just them, tangled in something neither of them could control.

Roman’s arm slid around her waist, pulling her closer, his touch firm, almost possessive.

A soft sound escaped Estelle as her fingers slipped into his hair, holding on as the kiss grew more urgent. Her thoughts blurred, dissolving into the rush of sensation, the warmth of him, the way he made everything else fade.

His hand hovered at her waist for a second, giving her time to stop him. She didn’t.

In one smooth motion, he lifted her from the chair, carrying her to the bed. His heartbeat thundered in his ears, loud and unsteady, matching the intensity building between them.

He laid her down carefully, but he didn’t pull away. His hands lingered, grounding himself in her, and she didn’t stop him, she couldn’t. In that moment, thinking felt impossible. There was only want, raw and consuming.

His lips trailed from hers to her neck, slower now, more deliberate. Estelle’s breath hitched, her body responding before her mind could catch up.

Then suddenly, he stopped. The absence of his touch made her eyes flutter open.

"Do you want me?" Roman asked, his voice low, roughened by restraint. His eyes searched hers, intense, almost vulnerable beneath the desire.

Estelle stared at him, her chest rising and falling unevenly as she truly looked at him. The green of his eyes, the tension in his jaw, the way he held himself back for her answer. Of course she wanted him, but the words were stuck.

So instead, she gave a small nod, her voice barely above a whisper. "Take me."

That was all he needed. He moved closer again, closing the distance between them, the rest of the world falling away as they gave in to the pull between them.

Something unspoken, something neither of them fully understood but couldn’t resist.

—

Slowly, the intensity ebbed, and the room fell quiet.

They lay side by side, the air still warm, their breathing gradually slowing. Neither of them spoke at first, both lost in their own thoughts, trying to make sense of what had just happened.

Roman shifted slightly, his hand brushing against hers before gently taking it. Estelle stiffened for a brief second. This was a mistake. But why did it feel right?

"I found something," Roman said quietly, his voice cutting through her thoughts.

Estelle turned her head toward him, her thoughts snapping back into place. "You did? What is it?" she asked, though she already had a feeling.

Roman hesitated, then exhaled softly. "Files. With our names on them," he said. "Mine and yours. But they’re locked. Both of them need passwords."

Estelle’s pulse quickened, her mind already racing ahead. "Do you think it’ll be that simple?" she asked carefully.

Roman let out a faint, humorless breath and pushed himself up slightly, turning to face her. "No," he admitted. "It won’t be." His gaze held hers, steady now, determined. "That’s exactly why we can’t keep doing this, pushing each other away," he said. "Not after tonight."

There was a brief pause.

"Let’s work together," he continued, his tone firmer. "Whatever my father is hiding in those files, we uncover it. And we end this."

Estelle nodded, though her thoughts had already drifted far from the moment. "There is nothing I want more," she murmured, the words soft but clear enough to reach him.

"So, are you with me?" Roman asked, extending his hand toward her.

Estelle’s gaze dropped to it. Oh, Roman, I won’t be here by morning. The thought echoed quietly in her mind, heavy. Outwardly, she remained still, her expression composed, though her pulse had begun to quicken.

"Why are you hesitating?" Roman asked, his brows drawing together slightly.

She lifted her gaze to his, studying his face as if she was memorizing every detail of his face. The sharp lines, the tension still lingering in his eyes.

"I am ready to work with you," she said slowly, choosing each word with care, "to unravel all of this. But, I think we should rest tonight. We can talk about everything in the morning."

Roman exhaled, some of the tension leaving his shoulders as he nodded. "Alright." A brief pause followed before he glanced at her again. "What does this mean for the rules?"

Estelle didn’t answer. She already knew what it meant. Instead, she simply turned her face away and closed her eyes, letting her breathing even out as if sleep had come easily.

Roman watched her for a moment, something unreadable flickering across his face. Then he sighed and leaned back against the bed. "I guess we’ll see what tomorrow holds," he murmured, closing his eyes as well.

Silence settled over the room.

After a moment, Estelle’s eyes slipped open again. She turned her head slightly, looking at him. Guilt coiled tightly in her chest, sharp and unrelenting.

Then she swallowed and closed her eyes once more.

—

The soft chirping of birds filtered into the room, gentle and distant, pulling Roman slowly back to consciousness.

He stirred, his body heavy with sleep as he blinked against the morning light. Sunlight slipped through the curtains in thin golden lines, warming his face and making him squint.

For a moment, a faint smile touched his lips as he looked at the ceiling. He was still in her room.

The memory of the night before lingered, settling into him like a quiet satisfaction. He turned onto his side and the smile vanished. His brows pulled together as he pushed himself upright, the sheets rustling around him.

"Estelle?" he called, his voice rough from sleep.

There was no answer.

A flicker of unease crept in. He swung his legs off the bed and stood, moving toward the bathroom. The door creaked softly as he pushed it open. Empty.

The silence inside felt wrong.

He stepped back into the room, his gaze sweeping across the space before shifting toward the closet. As he reached it, his hand paused midair. She can’t walk. The thought hit him hard and a cold weight settled in his chest.

Slowly, he turned back toward the bed, his eyes landing on her side of the room. Her wheelchair was still there, untouched.

A sharp rush of adrenaline surged through him, his pulse roaring in his ears as dread began to take shape. "She couldn’t have left on her own," he murmured, pausing to look around the room once more. "Then where is she?"

The question didn’t wait for an answer. It already felt like something had gone terribly wrong.