Roman’s fists clenched so tight that his knuckles whitened. His eyes blazed as he looked at Magnus.

"If you’re not careful," Magnus continued, stepping further into the room, "you won’t just be miserable over your wife. You’ll be far worse off. Banned from the only thing you’ve ever known."

Roman’s jaw locked. He opened his mouth to fire back, but Magnus didn’t give him the chance.

"All eyes are on you," he went on, his voice even, controlled. "And you know exactly what that means." He paused, letting the weight of it settle. "Talent isn’t enough anymore. You need to prove you deserve to be here. Because if it comes down to it," his gaze sharpened slightly, "I will choose my arena."

He paused for a beat. "I can always find another captain."

Roman’s eyes flashed. "You can never have another son," he cut in, his voice low but firm.

Magnus nodded once, slow, almost thoughtful. "You’re right," he said. "And that’s exactly why I’ll break you, if that’s what it takes to fix you." He turned, already walking toward the door. "I’m sure you can hear them."

The door opened, and the noise flooded in. "Ban Roman! Ban Roman!" The chant echoed from the arena, loud, relentless, vibrating through the walls.

Roman stood there, frozen for a second, teeth gritted so tightly his jaw hurt.

The door slammed shut behind Magnus, and just like that, he was alone. The chant still echoed in his head.

And hours earlier—

—

11:50 p.m.

Estelle lay beside Roman, her gaze fixed on him.

The room was quiet, wrapped in the soft hush of night. Only the faint rhythm of his breathing filled the space, slow, even, unaware. His chest rose and fell beneath the sheets, his face relaxed in sleep, untouched by everything waiting just beyond the door.

Her chest tightened. What if I cut a deal? But what’s the catch? The thoughts circled in her mind restlessly as she studied him, taking in the calm of his features, the way he looked almost innocent like this.

A quiet exhale slipped past her lips, and her eyes flicked to the clock. 11:50 p.m. Then back to him.

He didn’t stir, didn’t know she was watching him. Didn’t know a plan was already unfolding around him, pulling her away, piece by piece.

I’m sorry, Roman. The words pressed hard against her chest. I should tell you, but I’ll lose the most important thing I have. Guilt coiled tighter.

She shifted, a soft groan escaping as she forced her body upright, the movement slow, careful. Sitting there, she lingered, her eyes tracing his face again like she was trying to memorize it.

The clock pulled her attention once more. 11:55 p.m. Her pulse quickened. Five minutes. That was all she had. Five minutes and no promise she would ever have a moment like this again. The realization hit hard, knocking the air from her lungs.

No, I can’t leave like this. Not without telling him. Her fingers curled slightly in the sheets as her thoughts rushed, colliding over each other. He just needs to pretend he doesn’t know. Yes, that’s it.

Her breath came quicker now. With that decision made, she lifted her hand toward him and stopped. It hovered midair, trembling as hesitation crept in, sharp and sudden.

Then she forced out a breath and pushed forward, her fingers just about to touch him, but a sound cut through the silence. The faint rattle of the lock.

Her heart slammed against her ribs. Her head snapped toward the door, then instinctively to the clock. 11:56 p.m. Why are they here already? Panic surged, and her gaze flew back to Roman. She could still tell him. There was still—

No, there wasn’t. Time had run out. Her stomach dropped.

Moving quickly now, she grabbed Roman’s shirt and pulled it over herself, like it could somehow steady her. Her fingers fumbled slightly, but she forced them steady, dragging it into place just as the door opened.

Her pulse roared in her ears, loud and relentless, but she forced her breathing to slow, to steady. Vance stood in the doorway, and two men loomed behind him, their presence filling the space with quiet threat.

His eyes flicked to her, then to Roman. Something passed through his gaze, brief, unreadable, but it vanished just as quickly as it came. "Take her." The order landed cold.

Even though she had been expecting this, fear still curled tight in her chest as the men stepped forward.

"I’ll get into my chair," Estelle said quickly, already shifting, reaching, but one of them was faster.

He scooped her up into his arms before she could react. A small gasp slipped from her lips as the ground disappeared beneath her and the room tilted.

Within seconds, they were moving out of the room, through the doorway. Behind them, the door shut with a soft, final click.

"I need my chair," Estelle said, her voice firmer now as she looked at Vance. "I won’t have your men carrying me everywhere."

Vance walked beside them, unhurried. Then he smiled, but there was something dark in it. "I think we can both agree," he said smoothly, meeting her eyes, "that you won’t be needing it much longer."

He paused slightly. "We’re about to give you an upgrade," he added, his tone almost pleasant. "One that lets you stand on your own two feet."

"No. I won’t be carried around," Estelle said, her voice firm despite the way her body tensed in the man’s arms. The movement down the stairs sent a dull ache through her, but she held her chin up. "I need my chair, or you get me another. I am not leaving without it."

Her words echoed faintly along the stairwell as they descended. By the time they reached the foyer, Magnus was already there, waiting.

"What is the ruckus about?" he asked, his tone calm, almost bored.

"Nothing, Sir. She is just—"

"It is not nothing," Estelle cut in smoothly, her jaw set. Her gaze lifted to meet Magnus’s without wavering. "I don’t want to be carried around. I need my chair."

For a moment, he simply looked at her, his eyes narrowed slightly, assessing.

"If the chair is that important," Magnus said at last, his voice even, "then perhaps the surgery is unnecessary. You might as well remain in it."

The words landed harder than she expected.

Estelle’s body stiffened in the man’s hold, her fingers curling slightly against the fabric of his shirt. "Even if you’re helping me walk again," she said, her voice quieter now but no less firm, "it doesn’t give you the right to strip me of the little agency I have left."

A brief silence followed.

Then Magnus nodded once. "Fine." He turned slightly, as if the matter had already bored him. "There’s an automated chair in the boot of the SUV," he said. "You’ll have it when you arrive."

A small breath slipped from Estelle, tension easing just a fraction. "You could have said that earlier," she muttered under her breath.

Magnus didn’t respond. Instead, he gave a short nod to the men. "Take her away." Then he turned to Vance, his voice dropping just slightly, "Let me know when you arrive. And come back immediately."

Vance inclined his head. "Yes, Sir." He stepped forward—

"Wait." Estelle’s voice cut through the foyer, sharper now. "One more thing."

Everything stilled.

Magnus turned back slowly, a faint frown touching his features. "What now?" he asked. "Time is running out. This better be worth it."

Estelle drew in a breath, steadying herself. Her throat felt tight, but she forced the words out. "If he asks about me," she said, holding his gaze, "you tell him exactly where I am."