Roman stormed into his room and slammed the door behind him, the sharp crack echoing through the space. The hinges rattled, then settled into silence.

He stood there for a second, his chest rising and falling, trying to steady the frustration burning through his veins. It didn’t work.

He started pacing, slow at first, then faster. One hand braced against his waist while the other dragged through his hair, over and over, like he could scrub the thoughts out of his head. Then he stopped. His gaze snagged on the hospital gown draped across the bed.

The air in the room seemed to thin. He stared at it, his chest tightening, his brows pulling together as something sharp pressed beneath his ribs.

After a moment, he stepped closer, each movement slower than the last, as though the fabric might disappear if he rushed.

"I need to know why," he murmured, his voice rough, almost swallowed by the quiet. "Why would you do that to me? After last night?"

He reached down and picked it up, the soft material bunching in his fist. Faint traces of her scent still clung to it, familiar, haunting. "How could you use me like that?" he went on, quieter now. "How could you? Knowing you were going to leave?"

The words hung in the air, unanswered.

His brows creased deeper as he looked down at the gown as if it might respond, as if it held something more than silence.

"Did Father take you?" he asked, the question slipping out before he could stop it. Nothing. Just the stillness of the room pressing back at him.

Roman exhaled slowly, tension coiling tighter in his chest, until, suddenly, something clicked. He reached into his pocket and pulled out his phone, his fingers moving quickly, almost impatiently, as he dialed her number.

He lifted it to his ear. Ringing. A flicker of relief moved through him, small but real. Pick up, Estelle. Please.

—

Across town, under the harsh glow of surgical lights, Estelle lay on the operating table, the sterile scent of antiseptic thick in the air. The floor below her blurred in and out of focus as her thoughts raced, tangled, and restless.

Then, just as the sound of gloves snapping on echoed through the room, she heard it, the shrill sound of her phone ringing. Her eyes widened instantly, a spark of recognition cutting through the haze. She tried to lift her head, her heart leaping. Roman.

The name echoed in her mind, loud and insistent.

"That’s my phone," she said, her voice urgent, almost bright with hope. "Please, I need to get it."

But the surgeon didn’t respond. He only glanced toward the anaesthetist, and he gave the surgeon a small nod. Done.

Then a cold heaviness spread through her body, sinking deep into her limbs. Estelle tried to move, to push herself up, but nothing obeyed. Her fingers twitched uselessly against the table.

"Please—" Her voice slurred, fading at the edges. "He’s—" But the word never came. Instead, darkness swallowed her whole.

One of the nurses leaned in, checking her vitals before straightening. "She’s out," she said quietly.

"Turn off that phone," the lead surgeon ordered, already shifting his focus back to the procedure.

A nurse nodded and hurried out, her footsteps soft against the polished floor.

A tense silence settled over the room before the assistant surgeon spoke, his voice low, uneasy. "We should never have agreed to do this here," he muttered. "What if someone walks in? We could lose our licenses."

A few of the staff exchanged quick glances, the unease rippling through them.

The lead surgeon didn’t look up. "Mr. Whitehall has already assured us," he said calmly. "And we are fully equipped for any emergency." He paused, then added, more firmly, "The last thing we want is to go against him."

That settled it. Next, he lifted his gloved hands slightly, his gaze sweeping across the team. "Are we ready?" he asked.

The assistant hesitated for a moment, then gave a small shake of his head before shrugging it off. Around the table, the others exchanged brief glances and nodded.

The lead surgeon drew in a measured breath and turned slightly. "Scalpel." A nurse placed it into his outstretched hand, the metal catching the light for a split second before disappearing into his grip. "Let’s begin."

The room settled into a focused quiet, broken only by the steady rhythm of machines and the soft rustle of fabric.

Estelle lay still beneath the bright lights, her chest rising and falling in slow, even motions, completely unaware of the hands working over her and the one person trying so desperately to reach her.

—

Back at the Whitehall mansion, Roman’s pacing had picked up, his footsteps sharp against the polished floor. He dragged a hand over his face, then into his hair again, his thoughts spiraling faster than he could keep up.

"Why aren’t you picking up, Estelle?" he muttered, his voice tight. "Why are you doing this to me?"

But only the silence pressed in harder.

Then Magnus’s voice crept back into his mind, smooth and cutting. She asked me not to tell you, because she doesn’t want you to come looking for her.

Roman stopped mid-step. His brows pulled into a deep frown as the words settled, heavy and wrong. "Is that really what you want?" he murmured into the empty room, the question barely louder than a breath.

He pulled the phone away from his ear, staring down at her number glowing on the screen. Doubt and worry tangled in his chest, tightening with every second.

With a sharp exhale, he tossed the phone onto the bed and sank down after it, the mattress dipping under his weight. His shoulders slumped, the fight draining out of him for a moment. He stared at the empty room, the silence louder now.

Then, a soft chime cut through the quiet. Roman’s body reacted before his mind did. He grabbed the phone again, his pulse kicking up as he looked at the screen. It was an email notification.

His stomach dropped even before he saw the sender. He tapped it open. Invitation to Panel for Questioning. The words seemed to blur for a second, his heartbeat thudding loudly in his ears.

"This can’t be happening," he whispered, the air leaving his lungs in a thin breath.

Before he could even begin to process it, his phone rang. He didn’t need to check the number. He already knew.

Roman inhaled slowly, steadying himself, then answered and lifted the phone to his ear. "Hello?"

"Hello, Mr. Whitehall. My name is Susan Chapman," a woman’s voice came through, crisp and professional. "I’m calling to confirm that you’ve received the email inviting you to the panel."

Roman closed his eyes briefly. "Yes, I’ve received it. However—" 𝕗𝕣𝐞𝐞𝘄𝐞𝚋𝚗𝗼𝘃𝗲𝗹.𝚌𝕠𝚖

"Thank you for your confirmation, Mr. Whitehall. We’ll see you tomorrow," she continued smoothly, cutting him off. "Please note that if you fail to appear, a temporary ban will be placed until a new date is decided."

"But—"

The line went dead, and a flat tone filled his ear.

Roman slowly lowered the phone, staring at it as if it might change what had just happened. His chest felt tight, the walls of his world closing in all at once.

Estelle was gone, the truth slipping further out of reach, and now this. The worst part was that he hadn’t even seen any of it coming.