His Father Bought Me-Chapter 14: Welcome Home

Estelle sat in the back of the SUV like something forgotten, like something already mourned.

The engine cut off with a low hum, but she didn’t react, didn’t even blink. The world outside the tinted glass felt distant, silent, like she was watching it from underwater.

The Whitehall mansion loomed ahead, all stone and glass and cold perfection.

Home. No... her cage.

Up on the second-floor landing, framed by floor-to-ceiling windows, Magnus stood there with his hands clasped behind his back, waiting, watching with a satisfied smirk on his face as the SUV rolled to a stop beneath him.

Right on schedule. He watched the driver step out, circle the vehicle, and open the rear door. For a moment, nothing happened.

Then Estelle appeared, folded into the driver’s arms, small, boneless. Her head lolled slightly against his shoulder as he carried her out of the vehicle and lowered her gently into the wheelchair.

This time, she didn’t resist, didn’t push his hands away, didn’t spit fire. She just sat there. Her gaze was fixed somewhere beyond the iron gates, beyond the trees, beyond everything.

The fierce woman who had clawed at his rules hours ago was gone, and in her place sat a hollow outline. That was when Magnus felt it... that slow, curling warmth in his chest. Satisfaction.

Control restored. His lips curved, not wide, just enough.

Behind him, a door creaked open, and footsteps echoed along the marble.

Roman stepped into the hallway, his jacket tailored to perfection, his tie straight, and the faint scent of expensive cologne trailed him. But he slowed when he noticed his father standing unusually still.

Magnus didn’t turn, didn’t acknowledge him. If anything, the smile deepened.

Roman frowned. For the first time in years, his father hadn’t reacted to his presence. That singular act made curiosity tug at him, and he walked toward the window.

From the corner of his eye, Magnus saw him approach, but kept his gaze locked on the scene below. Roman stepped beside him and looked down. His jaw tightened instantly.

Estelle sat motionless in the driveway. The driver was crouched in front of her, speaking softly, but she didn’t answer, didn’t nod, didn’t move a muscle.

Roman’s chest tightened. "What did you do?" he asked in a low tone.

Magnus’s smile widened. "Nothing. Her parents did it for me."

"Did what?" Roman’s head snapped to Magnus.

"They didn’t let her past the door." Magnus turned to face his son fully. "Her own mother pushed her out. Told her she’d been replaced." He paused, savoring it. "And it hasn’t even been a day."

Roman’s hands curled into fists. "This has your fingerprint all over it. You orchestrated this."

"I simply allowed nature to take its course." Magnus’s eyes gleamed. "That girl down there? That’s your future if you fail me... or defy me."

The words landed like a physical blow.

Roman’s breath came shallow. "You’re a monster," he growled, his jaw clenched.

"I’m a realist." Magnus turned back to the window. "And now, so is she."

Roman looked back down. At the girl in the driveway. Her shoulders were slightly slumped, her hands limp in her lap, and her eyes were empty. She looked nothing like the woman who had glared at him a few hours ago.

And it made something unfamiliar twist in his chest, not pity, not yet, but something awfully close.

"What have you gotten yourself into, Estelle Rutledge?" he murmured under his breath.

Below, as if sensing his gaze, her eyes shifted upward. And for a split second, their eyes met through the glass.

Estelle’s hands gripped the wheelchair arms, and her knuckles whitened. She was trying... trying to sit straighter, to hold herself together, to show them she wasn’t broken.

But her body betrayed her. Her grip failed, and her shoulders gave out. Her body twisted uselessly in the wheelchair, falling to the side like a marionette with cut strings. Her arms dangled, and her fingers brushed the cold stone.

Roman’s chest seized. His heartbeat thundered in his ears. Without thinking, he spun, his shoes clattering down the stairs. His fists were clenched so tight his nails bit into his palms.

Magnus’s soft chuckle drifted down from the landing above. "This is going far better than I planned," he murmured, watching his son descend like a predator startled into revealing himself.

Downstairs, Roman reached her side in an instant, his heart hammering fiercely.

"She’s awake now," one maid said, stepping forward, a glass of water in hand. "But she needs to lie down."

Roman’s eyes swept over her, and her head lolled slightly. Her hair stuck damp to her cheeks, and her lips trembled. She looked broken.

But it wasn’t just helplessness that hit him, it was something raw, unshielded. Something that sparked a reaction deep inside him that he hadn’t felt in years.

Estelle looked at him. Not with hate, not anger, not calculation, just her, raw and unfiltered. Her gaze cut through the chaos around her, and it burned into him.

Roman didn’t think. He acted. Quickly, he scooped her into his arms in one smooth motion. She was too light in his arms. She felt fragile, breakable. Like everything he’d been taught to destroy on the ice.

"Bring the chair!" he barked, his voice sharp enough to slice the air.

Estelle didn’t resist, didn’t struggle, didn’t argue.... She couldn’t. And that terrified him more than her fury ever had.

Every step toward his bedroom felt like skating toward a penalty he couldn’t avoid. The weight of her in his arms, lighter than it should have been, pressed against something in his chest he’d thought was frozen solid.

He set her carefully on the bed, and the mattress dipped beneath her weight as she sank into the sheets like someone too tired to fight gravity anymore.

A stray strand of hair fell across her forehead, and his hand moved before his brain could stop it. His thumb grazed her temple, brushing it back.

Her eyes caught his, tears brimmed but did not yet fall. Something twisted in his chest, sharp, unfamiliar, deeply unwelcome.