His Father Bought Me-Chapter 15: Nowhere To Run

Roman stood abruptly, the room suddenly too small, the air too thick against his lungs. He did not ask a question or say another word. He simply turned and walked out, his jaw tight and his shoulders rigid.

Estelle did not call him back. She only watched with empty eyes, whatever strength she had left draining away as he walked out.

The door shut with a final, resounding click.

As he stepped outside, he noticed the driver still standing in the hallway. Roman moved swiftly, a mix of anger and something else propelling him forward. Before the driver could speak, he grabbed the driver’s arm, pulling him to the side.

"What happened? Exactly," he asked, his pulse hammering. 𝒻𝘳𝘦𝘦𝘸ℯ𝒷𝘯𝘰𝑣ℯ𝑙.𝘤𝑜𝘮

The driver’s jaw tightened. "Her mother, Sir. She..." He shook his head. "I have driven for wealthy families for over fifteen years. I have seen cold. But that woman—" He stopped himself.

"Say it," Roman demanded, clenching his fists.

"She threw her own daughter out like garbage. Stepped on her fingers when she tried to hold on—" The driver’s voice dropped. "And the worst part? No one came to save her or stop her mother... they all treated her like she was already dead."

Roman’s blood turned to ice, then fire. "The Rutledges," he said through clenched teeth, "are going to regret—"

"With respect, Sir?" The driver met his eyes. "They already did the worst they can to her. The only person who can hurt that girl now is you."

The words hit like a cross-check to the ribs, and Roman’s gaze snapped toward the closed door.

Her. His problem. His wife. The thought hit him like ice water, but rage and heat quickly followed, his chest burning. They had thrown her away, used her, broken her... just like his father was using him.

His fists clenched. "They can’t do that to her, I won’t allow it."

With that, he turned, walking straight to the door of his bedroom. He didn’t know what he was going to say, didn’t have a plan, didn’t have words that would fix this. But he could not leave her alone in that room, drowning in the wreckage of everything she’d lost.

Without thinking, he burst through the door. Estelle lay on the bed, her face buried in the pillow, her shoulders trembling violently. The sobs shook her small frame.

"Estelle," he said, his voice low, calm, steadier than she had heard all day.

She froze, but did not look at him.

"I heard what happened," he said, and it was quiet, but it landed like a punch.

Her head snapped up, her eyes blazing, streaked with tears. "So you came here to mock me?" she spat, voice raw, shaking with fury.

Roman recoiled, even as his chest tightened. "No. Why would I?" His words trembled, though he tried to mask it. "I just came to—"

"Get out!" she barked, veins standing out along her neck. "I don’t need your pity! I would rather have you hate me than pity me! So go!"

The words ripped through the air, ragged and sharp. He opened his mouth to speak, to convince her, but the words died in his throat.

His jaw hardened. Convincing her. Explaining. That was never his way... not to anyone. He spun on his heel, storming out. The door slammed behind him with a deafening crack.

Outside in the hallway, Roman’s knuckles were white, fists trembling. He could still feel the phantom weight of her in his arms, even the scent of her hair, vanilla and ice, clung to his jacket like an accusation. He yanked it off and hurled it to the floor.

Walk away. Just walk away. But his feet didn’t move. Instead, he wanted to go back, wanted to tell her she wasn’t pitiful, that he understood, that he was trapped too. But he couldn’t. Wouldn’t.

"I don’t care," he whispered to the empty hallway, the lie bitter on his tongue. "I just want her out of my room... out of my life."

Then, he forced himself to take three steps down the hall. Behind him, a muffled sob suddenly broke through the door. It sounded raw, broken, and alone.

Roman froze. His jaw clenched hard. Every muscle in his body screamed at him to keep walking. Instead, he turned back and sat down against her door, his back to the wood, his jaw set, guarding the woman he claimed to despise.

Inside, Estelle’s sobs slowly quieted. She didn’t know he was there, and he told himself he didn’t know why he stayed.

But they both knew the truth... neither of them had anywhere else to go.

—

Minutes passed, but Roman couldn’t get the words out of his head.

I would rather have you hate me than pity me.

The sentence echoed relentlessly in his ears as he sat outside the closed door, his jaw clenched tight. She was helpless, yet defiant... and for reasons he couldn’t explain, he couldn’t just walk away.

Before he could untangle the thought, his phone buzzed in his pocket. Roman scoffed under his breath and pulled it out. The moment the screen lit up, his brows drew together. Missed calls. Messages.

Then, another notification appeared. He tapped it open.

"Can you explain what I’m looking at?" Lena wrote. A photo was attached.

Roman frowned and opened the image. His blood ran cold. "What the heck is this?" he spat.

Suddenly, his phone began buzzing again. Roman swiped left, ending the call without even looking, his fingers trembling with barely contained anger.

His gaze stayed locked on the image as his mind raced, his head slowly shaking in disbelief. This can’t be happening... who could have done this? He refused to accept the words staring back at him from the screen.

The headline screamed across the article: Beauty and the Beast? Hockey’s Most Violent Captain Marries the Crippled Ice Queen.

Beneath it, the smaller line twisted the knife further. PR stunt... or twisted love story? And where does that leave the captain’s rumored lover, Lena Torres?

Roman’s grip on the phone tightened.