His Father Bought Me-Chapter 25: Call Her

Roman’s heart hammered hard against his ribs, each beat so loud it echoed in his ears, but his face gave nothing away. "What is this, Father?" he asked, lifting his gaze to meet Magnus’s. "Don’t tell me you’re having second thoughts."

Magnus didn’t blink, but his grip remained firm around Roman’s wrist, his expression carved from stone. "Just one question," he said, his voice too calm. The kind of calm that made cold crawl up Roman’s spine, keeping him rooted, unable to move or speak. "Why are you suddenly so compliant?"

For a moment, the only sound in the room was the faint hum of the air conditioning and the quiet tick of a clock somewhere behind them.

Roman let out a slow breath through his nose, his posture still slightly bent over the desk, their hands locked between them. "I had no idea obedience was a problem," he said, his tone carrying a dry sarcasm. "Or would you prefer I go back to resisting?"

Magnus didn’t react. Not even a flicker. "If you’re entertaining any creative ideas about getting out of this," he continued, his voice lowering, "you should understand something very clearly." His fingers tightened. "I will ruin your life and everything you care about with it."

The words settled into the room like a heavy fog.

Roman’s brows drew together slowly, his head tilting just a fraction as he studied his father. There it was, not just control, something else.

"Is that what this is really about?" Roman asked quietly, a brief pause settling between them. "Or is this your way of admitting you’re scared that you’ll have to hand over the Whitehall patriarch ring and everything that comes with it soon?" His eyes held Magnus’s, unflinching. "Just like you’re doing right now."

For a second, something cracked.

Magnus’s jaw tightened so sharply it looked almost painful, a muscle ticking at the side of his face. His eyes darkened, a flash of something raw breaking through the control. Then he leaned forward, his grip on Roman’s wrist dug in, enough to sting.

"I will hand over everything," he said, his voice low, cold. "But it will be over my dead body."

The words didn’t rise, they dropped, heavy, final, like a gavel striking. Roman felt it, the weight of it pressing against his chest, but he didn’t look away.

Magnus’s gaze hardened further. "If you dare go against me, Roman Peter Whitehall..." There was a slight pause as his grip tightened one last time. "You will regret it." Then he let go.

The sudden absence of pressure left a faint sting in its wake. Roman straightened slowly, flexing his fingers once, as if shaking off more than just the grip. The air felt thicker now, harder to breathe, but his expression remained composed.

"I don’t need threats to do what’s expected of me," he said, his voice steady. He adjusted his sleeve, smoothening it unhurriedly. "The NHL wants a family man, and that’s exactly what they’ll get," he continued. "Because if this entire arrangement is your way of making me miss next season’s draft..." The corner of his mouth lifted slightly, but there was no humor in it. "Then you might want to go back to the drawing board."

Magnus’s stare burned into him, sharp, but Roman didn’t flinch. Instead, he reached for the box again, this time without interruption. He picked it up, feeling the faint weight of it settle into his palm, and flipped it open.

The ring caught the light immediately. It was the purest form of gold, the cut precise, impeccable, and perfect.

Roman’s gaze lingered on it for a brief second longer before he closed the box with a soft click. Then, without a word, he slipped it into his pocket, fully aware of his father’s eyes on him, and entirely unconcerned.

"You don’t look impressed," Magnus said, his tone measured, almost casual. "But you should know that—"

"Is being impressed more important to you than being obedient?" Roman’s voice slid in smoothly, cutting through the rest of the sentence. His hand rested lightly over his pocket, his fingers brushing the outline of the ring box as if by instinct.

Magnus’s gaze flicked to the movement, then back to Roman’s face, and a faint smile touched his lips. "I’m glad you’re finally understanding how things work. Remain this way," Magnus continued, leaning back slightly in his chair, "and you will go places."

Roman held his gaze for a brief second, long enough to acknowledge, not long enough to concede, then turned toward the door. The soft rustle of his jacket broke the silence as he took a step forward.

"And Roman." Magnus’s voice followed him, calm, the kind that crept under the skin and stayed there. Roman stopped, but didn’t turn. "Another game is coming up," he added. "I might call for you again."

A faint chill slid down Roman’s spine. He bit the inside of his lips, refusing to look at his father. Instead, he reached for the handle, opened the door, and stepped out into the hallway.

The cooler air brushed against his face, grounding, but the tension lingered in his chest. His shoes echoed softly against the polished floor as he moved forward. Then he paused briefly as he noticed a figure standing a few steps away.

It was Vance.

Roman’s gaze passed over him without pause, without acknowledgment. He didn’t slow, didn’t speak, he just pivoted slightly and continued down the corridor.

Vance watched him go, his expression unreadable, until Roman disappeared around the corner. Only then did he turn and step into the study. The door closed behind him with a click. "He’s gone," he said.

Magnus exhaled slowly, the breath was heavier than it should have been. His fingers began to drum against the desk before he stopped. His brows drew together, a crease forming between them. "Something is off with him," he muttered, more to himself than to Vance, his gaze lingering on the door, as if Roman might walk back through it. "I know him. He doesn’t back down without a fight."

"You think he gave in too easily?" Vance asked, stepping closer.

Magnus nodded once. "He did."

Silence settled for a moment. Then Magnus leaned forward slightly, his voice lowering. "I want him followed. I want to know his every move, every stop." His fingers pressed flat against the desk. "And if possible," he paused. "I want to see inside his head and know what he’s thinking."

There was something colder in his eyes now. "If he’s planning something, I want to know before he acts," he continued. "So I can decide the degree of punishment he deserves." 𝘧𝓇ℯℯ𝑤ℯ𝘣𝓃ℴ𝓋𝑒𝑙.𝑐𝘰𝑚

Vance inclined his head. "Understood." Then he took a step forward, and paused, as if weighing something. "Sir, what if it were possible to actually see inside his head?"

Magnus’s gaze snapped to him. "How?"

Vance moved closer, lowering his voice just enough to make the moment feel more tense. "We could approach Miss Rutledge with a new arrangement," he said then paused, letting the idea sit for a beat. "Or better yet," a faint, knowing look crossed his face. "We approach Lena Torres." The name detonated in the air. "I’m certain she can deliver," he added quietly.

Magnus didn’t respond immediately. He leaned back slowly, his eyes narrowing as he considered it. The risks, the advantages, the control it would give him.

Then, his lips curved slightly. "Call her."