His Father Bought Me-Chapter 31: Open The Door!

"Open the door!" Vance’s voice came through the wood, muffled but insistent, followed by another sharp knock that rattled the handle.

Roman and Estelle exchanged a look.

"What the hell does he want?" Roman muttered, his jaw tightening as his gaze fixed on the door.

"Could he have—?" Estelle started, her thoughts tripping over themselves, but she didn’t get the chance to finish because Roman was already moving. Not walking, charging to the door.

"Wait," she called, pushing at the wheels, following him across the room. "Where are you going? Don’t we need to talk about this?"

"I’ll handle it." His voice cut through the space, leaving no room for argument. "You just stay back." The command in his voice stopped her.

Estelle was still, her fingers tightening slightly on the armrests as she watched him. Her mind raced, unease settling deep in her chest. What is he doing?

Roman reached the door in two strides and pulled it open in one sharp motion, making Vance freeze mid-knock, his hand still raised in the air.

"What do you want, Vance?" Roman asked, his tone rough with irritation.

Vance lowered his hand slowly, straightening as he adjusted his jacket, smoothing it down like he needed a second to compose himself. "The designers and stylists are here," he began, clearing his throat lightly. "I came to get Miss Rut—"

"Mrs. Whitehall." Roman’s correction came firm, immediate. "My wife."

The words landed in the space between them and caused a flutter in Estelle’s chest.

Vance’s eyes flickered, just briefly, before he inclined his head. "Pardon me, sir. I’m here to get Mrs. Whitehall. There’s little time before the press meeting."

Roman’s jaw flexed. "Noted," he said curtly. "You may leave. I’ll inform you when she’s ready." With that, he stepped back, already pushing the door inward. But it didn’t move.

Roman’s eyes dropped, and he saw that Vance’s hand was braced against the door, holding it open. Heat rose in his chest.

"I told you we’ll let you know when we’re ready," he said, his patience thinning, his voice harder now. "What more do you want?"

Vance adjusted his lapel again, slower this time. "Estelle must come now," he said, his tone firm, leaving little room for negotiation.

"And I said," Roman shot back, the edge in his voice sharpening, "we will come when we’re ready. Now leave."

Vance didn’t move, instead, he shook his head once, his hand still pressing against the door. "You don’t seem to understand," he said quietly. 𝒇𝙧𝙚𝓮𝔀𝓮𝒃𝙣𝓸𝒗𝒆𝒍.𝙘𝒐𝒎

Roman frowned.

"When your father gives an order," Vance continued, his voice calm, "it is to be carried out immediately. No delays, no reconsiderations."

Roman’s jaw tightened, the muscle ticking visibly now. "I don’t—"

"Mrs. Whitehall," Vance cut in smoothly, his gaze shifting past Roman, into the room, straight to her. "Please come out," he said, his tone polite, but unyielding. "We need to go now."

Roman’s hand came up suddenly, bracing against the doorframe, his body shifting just enough to block the view behind him, shielding her without thinking. Vance’s stern gaze lifted to meet his, but Roman’s was harder.

"She’s my wife," Roman said, his voice low and firm. "Not my father’s. So tell him she comes when I bring her," he continued, his tone sharpening. "Now leave my doorstep or—"

The rest of his words caught in his throat as a hand touched him, warm, but steady. Roman paused and glanced back.

She was there, right behind him, her fingers resting lightly against his side, her eyes lifted to his. There was something calm in them, something unexpected, grounding in the middle of the tension.

"It’s alright," she said softly and the chaos in the hallway seemed to dim around her voice. "I’ll go with him."

Roman turned fully to her now, his brows pulling together. "You don’t have to," he said, quieter but no less firm. "No one gets to force you into anything."

Behind him, Vance said nothing. He simply stood there, watching, waiting.

Estelle shook her head, a small smile touching her lips. "I’ll be back soon." There was reassurance in her words, or at least the attempt. She wheeled herself forward, the soft roll of the chair breaking the stillness as she moved toward Vance. "Which way?"

Vance didn’t answer, he simply stepped behind her instead, his hands settling on the handles without a word, and began to wheel her away.

Roman didn’t move, but his hands curled slowly into fists at his sides, tension coiling through him as a sick, heavy feeling settled low in his stomach. Something about this felt wrong, deeply wrong.

As they moved down the corridor, the distance between them growing with every second, Estelle looked smaller and somehow fragile in a way he hadn’t allowed himself to see before, like something being taken, something he should be stopping. But he didn’t, all he could do was stand there watching.

And just before they turned the corner, Estelle glanced back. Their eyes met and she smiled. It was soft, quick, meant to reassure him, but it didn’t. And then she was gone.

Roman remained where he was for a moment longer, staring at the empty hallway, the silence too loud. Only when it settled fully did he step back into the room, the door closing behind him quietly.

—

Meanwhile, Estelle and Vance turned the corner, the sound of the wheels echoing softly against the polished floor as they moved forward toward a wall.

Estelle frowned, her fingers tightening slightly against her lap. "I thought we were meeting the stylists," she said, glancing around. "Why are we heading toward a wall?" Her pulse ticked up, subtle at first, then sharper.

Vance didn’t respond. He simply stepped away from the chair, moving ahead of her. His hand reached out, pressing something into the wall and a soft click filled the space. Then, the surface shifted. The wall split open silently, revealing a concealed elevator behind it.

Estelle’s breath caught. That wasn’t part of the plan.

Vance turned back without explanation and resumed his place behind her, guiding the chair forward and into the elevator. The doors slid shut and they were in the enclosed space.

Estelle’s heart began to pound harder now, the sound of it loud in her ears as the space seemed to shrink around her. There were no stylists. There was no preparation. Just the silence and the dread creeping up her spine.

She lifted her gaze, catching his reflection faintly in the polished metal as he stood behind her, composed as ever. "Where are you taking me?" she asked. Her voice was steady, but her pulse wasn’t.