Roman shook his head sharply and pushed to his feet, the movement abrupt enough to make the bed creak behind him.

"No," he blurted, the word coming out harsher than he intended. "I can’t be banned."

He began to pace again, his steps uneven, one hand dragging through his hair as if he could physically pull his thoughts into order. The room felt too tight, the air too hard to breathe through.

If he didn’t want to go to the panel... He exhaled slowly, forcing himself to think. The option hovered there, ugly and tempting.

Then he shook his head again, more firmly this time. "No. Taking Father’s offer would be like jumping from the frying pan into the fire," he muttered, his voice low. "That’s a terrible idea."

He slowed, tapping his lips with his index finger as he tried to think past the noise in his head. "There has to be another way."

Just then, a sharp beep cut through the silence. Roman frowned and glanced at his phone. "What now?" he muttered, irritation flaring as he picked it up.

His brows drew together as he read. Then his eyes widened as he saw the title: Lawsuit from the Saunders for the Attempted Murder of Leo Saunders. The words seemed to burn into the screen as he scrolled, his thumb stiff, his breathing shallow. Suing for fifty million.

Roman let out a hollow scoff, the sound edged with disbelief. "You’ve got to be kidding me." He could feel his stomach drop.

"He provoked me. It was his fault," he said aloud, as if the empty room might argue back, or agree. But the silence only pressed closer.

Everything was crashing down at once now, piling on faster than he could push it away. The panel. The lawsuit. Estelle gone.

His chest tightened as a thought settled in. There was only one person who could fix this, and he couldn’t waste another moment.

Roman didn’t spare another second. He turned on his heel, strode to the door, and pulled it open, his pace quickening as he headed straight for Magnus’s study. By the time he reached it, the door was slightly ajar. He pushed it open and stepped inside.

Magnus’s voice drifted through the room, calm and controlled. "...that will be enough to make him give in, you have my—" He stopped suddenly as he saw Roman standing in the doorway, his presence cutting the sentence short.

For a brief second, something flickered across Magnus’s face before it vanished. He adjusted in his chair smoothly and ended the call, setting his phone aside as if nothing had happened.

"What can I do for you?" Magnus asked, his tone measured.

Roman held his gaze, his mind briefly stopping on the words he’d just overheard. Who the hell is he talking to? He paused for a moment, then discarded the thought.

The urgency clawing at him was stronger. He stepped forward and placed his phone on the desk with a soft but deliberate thud.

"I need your help, Father," he said, and this time, the strain in his voice didn’t hide. "The panel has summoned me, and the Saunders are suing me for fifty million."

Magnus leaned back in his chair slowly, his fingers interlacing as he studied Roman like a problem already solved.

"So," he said calmly, "what do you want me to do? Intervene?" He took a breath. "You already know my condition. Say yes, and all of this goes away."

The words hung in the air, heavy and suffocating.

Roman stared at him for a moment, something tightening behind his eyes. Then he gave a small, humorless smile and nodded. "I guess this is what you wanted," he said quietly, shaking his head. "I should have known."

He placed both palms flat against the desk, leaning forward slightly, his gaze locking onto Magnus’s. "Look at me, Father," he said, his voice steadier now, edged with something harder. "This is the last time I will ever ask for your help."

He paused briefly as if letting the words settle in the room. "And you should know this, no matter how many obstacles you throw in my path, I will come out on top." His jaw tightened. "And one day, I will take you down."

Magnus looked at him, a faint smile tugging at the corners of his lips. "I would love to see you try, Roman," he said.

Then he leaned forward, resting his interlaced fingers on the table, closing the distance between them until their faces were only inches apart. His gaze was steady, almost amused. "Prove to me that you have the spine."

Roman held his gaze for a moment, something quiet but unyielding settling in his expression. Then he gave a small nod. "I will," he said softly. "I promise you."

The calm in his voice made Magnus’s stomach twist, but he masked it. Then, he straightened, turned, and walked away without another word.

Magnus watched him go, his smile lingering as he leaned back in his chair. He lifted his chin slightly, his eyes narrowing. "I will make sure you never do," he murmured under his breath.

—

Roman stepped out of the study and into the hallway, the tension snapping back into him all at once. He moved fast, his strides sharp, his fists clenched at his sides.

His thoughts crashed into each other, loud and relentless. He needed space, needed air, or something to steady himself.

By the time he reached his room, his pulse was pounding in his ears. He pushed the door open and stepped inside, the quiet pressing in around him.

For a moment, he paced, dragging a hand through his hair, trying to outrun the storm in his head. Then he stopped as his gaze landed on the corner where his gear rested. The ice.

Without thinking further, he grabbed his bag and stick, the familiar weight grounding him just enough. He turned and walked out of the room, out of the house, the cool air outside hitting his face as he moved.

His car door slammed shut, and seconds later, the engine roared to life. The tires screeched against the pavement as he sped out of the estate. He needed distance. From Magnus. From everything.

—

Minutes later, he pulled up at the arena, braking hard.

The car had barely stopped before he was out, the door slamming behind him as he headed straight inside. The building was quieter than usual, the distant hum of empty space echoing faintly through the corridors.

He didn’t slow until he reached the locker room.

Inside, the familiar scent of worn leather and cold air wrapped around him. He dropped his bag onto the bench and pulled out his skates, his movements quick.

Then he heard a sound, faint and out of place.

Roman paused, his fingers freezing on his skates. He frowned, his brows drawing together as he lifted his head. The noise came again. It was soft footsteps, hurried. He stood slowly and moved toward the door, his pulse ticking up.

Peeking into the hallway, he caught sight of a nurse hurrying past, a metal tray balanced in her hands. The faint clink of instruments echoed as she moved.

Roman’s frown deepened. Something wasn’t right.

He glanced at his watch, then back at her retreating figure. Two things struck him immediately. He had never seen her before, and the arena was supposed to be empty. So, who was she there for?

A quiet breath slipped from him as he stepped into the hallway. His pulse was kicking up, and suddenly, he wasn’t just curious. He was certain something was wrong.