Outside, the late afternoon air carried a faint chill as Magnus’s car pulled to a stop in front of the mansion. The engine ticked softly as it cooled.

Vance was already approaching, his pace quickening the moment he spotted him.

Magnus stepped out, adjusting his coat, his expression set and unreadable. "What is the status of things?" he asked without preamble.

Vance fell into step beside him, lowering his voice slightly. "Everything is proceeding as planned, sir," he replied. "She won’t be asking about Roman for a while."

"Good," Magnus said, already walking.

Vance swallowed and looked at him. "But there’s something else."

Magnus slowed, then stopped entirely, turning to face him, his brows drawn together. "Then say it," he snapped.

Vance unlocked the tablet, the faint glow lighting his features as he turned the screen toward Magnus. "This is what the surgeons found," he said.

Magnus glanced at it, and irritation flashed immediately. "What exactly am I looking at?" he demanded, his voice sharp.

Vance straightened slightly. "Apologies, sir," he said quickly. "Estelle’s spine. It was tampered with after the accident."

The words hung in the air like a dark cloud.

"Someone operated on her before the surgeons did. They believe that’s why she couldn’t walk after the fall."

Magnus took the tablet, studying the image more closely this time, but his face didn’t change. No shock. No anger. Nothing. Just cold assessment.

After a moment, he lifted his gaze back to Vance. "Will she walk again?" he asked.

Vance looked at Magnus, a flicker of confusion crossing his face before he could hide it. Did he already know? Was this his doing? And if it was, why wasn’t I told? The questions stacked quickly, tightening something in his chest.

"Answer the damn question, Vance." Magnus’s voice cut clean through his thoughts, sharp enough to make him straighten. He was already moving toward the door, his pace unrelenting.

Vance snapped back to himself and hurried after him. "We don’t know for sure, sir," he said, keeping his tone controlled despite the unease creeping in.

Magnus stopped just long enough to turn his head. His gaze locked onto Vance, cold, searching, unreadable.

Vance felt it like pressure. "But the surgeon believes there’s a high chance," he added quickly. "She has sensation in her left foot."

There was a beat of silence.

"Good." The single word came flat. "Get Victoria on the phone." Magnus didn’t slow as he resumed walking.

"Yes, Sir!" Vance nodded immediately, already pulling out his phone as he kept pace. The line rang once, twice, while Magnus pushed through the office doors.

Inside, the air was cooler, quieter.

Magnus crossed the room and dropped into his chair, the leather creaking softly beneath him. He leaned back slightly, his fingers tapping once against the armrest before stilling, his gaze fixed on Vance. Waiting.

Vance swallowed, dialing again. This time, the call connected. "Hello, Victoria," he said, his voice smoothing into something more formal. "You’re on call with Mr. Whitehall." He set the phone down on the desk.

A brief pause crackled over the line, then her voice came through. "To what do I owe the—"

"Did you try to play me?" Magnus cut in, his voice calm but edged like glass, "Or is my surgeon mistaken?"

The greeting died instantly, followed by silence, thin, stretched. On the other end, there was the faint rustle of fabric, like someone shifting position.

"I don’t understand what you’re talking about," Victoria said at last, her tone composed, almost too careful.

Magnus didn’t blink. "What happened after Estelle fell that night?" he asked, his voice lowering slightly, more dangerous for it. "What did you do?"

He leaned forward just a fraction, his fingers steepling loosely. "And don’t bother lying," he added, each word measured. "You know very well I already have the truth. I just want to hear you say it."

There was another pause, longer this time.

Vance’s brows drew together as he glanced at Magnus, tension building quietly in the room.

On the line, Victoria exhaled softly. "I don’t see what you hope to gain from this," she replied, her voice firmer now. "I did exactly what we agreed on."

Magnus didn’t move. He didn’t even look at Vance. "What exactly did you do?" he asked, his tone still controlled, but tightening at the edges. "Did you tear up her spine? Destroy her chances of ever walking?"

A faint, humorless breath left him. "Because I never asked for that." His eyes hardened, the calm finally cracking just enough to reveal what lay beneath. "You tried to play me?" he said quietly. "How dare you, Victoria?"

"You can’t blame me!" Victoria’s voice cracked through the line, sharp and stripped of its earlier composure. Whatever restraint she had been holding onto was gone now. "You don’t know her," she continued, her breath unsteady. "And you can’t blame me for protecting myself."

Magnus let out a short, disbelieving scoff, the sound low in his chest. "Protect yourself?"

"Yes," she shot back immediately, her voice rising. "Protect myself, and everything my husband and I have built from the ground up."

There was a faint shuffle on her end, like she was pacing.

"I had to make sure she would never rise again," Victoria added, her words hardening. "Never be able to come after my rink. Not ever."

Magnus stared at the phone on the desk, his expression shifting, just for a second. Disbelief flickered across his face. "I told you to do what was necessary," he said slowly, each word measured, "not to cripple her, Victoria. She is your—"

"A means to an end," Victoria cut in without hesitation. "And one I intend to be grateful for." She paused for a breath. "She’s your problem now," she added, colder this time. "You’re the one who boasts about having the best surgeons, aren’t you? Well, now they can prove it."

Silence followed.

For a moment, Magnus didn’t react. Then, unexpectedly, his lips curved. Vance frowned slightly, confusion flashing across his face as he watched him. Magnus let out a low laugh. It didn’t build, it just settled, dry.

The sound filled the office, sharp and out of place against the tension that had built there. On the other end of the line, Victoria said nothing. And then the laughter stopped just as abruptly as it had begun.

Magnus’s face settled again, hard, unreadable, as if the amusement had never existed. "You’d better start praying, Victoria," he said quietly. "Because Estelle is going to walk again."

His tone carried something dangerous now, something almost pleased. "She’s already begun to feel her legs."