His Father Bought Me-Chapter 4: I Bought A Leash

Don’t sign! Don’t ruin my future! Estelle’s mind screamed, but before she could finish the thought, Vance moved.

"Sign here," he said as his smile widened. It was the first time he looked truly pleased.

Victoria didn’t waste another moment. She placed the pen on the paper, and the scratch of her signature split the room in two.

Estelle’s heart froze in her chest for a moment as she looked at the pen that had just sealed her future. The ink was dry, but no one spoke, and she understood something in that silence: she no longer belonged to herself.

And Victoria? She didn’t even blink, she simply extended the pen toward Vance and smiled. "It’s done now."

Vance nodded, his own smile even wider as he accepted the pen between his fingers. "So, shall we?" he asked lightly, as if they were discussing dinner plans.

"Check first," Victoria replied, palm outstretched.

There was a pause, and then the soft crinkle of paper filled the silence as Vance retrieved a smaller envelope from his coat and placed it in her hand.

Victoria opened it carefully. Her eyes skimmed the contents, and the corner of her mouth lifted. She folded it once and slipped it away in her purse. "Now," she said smoothly, "you can take her."

The words sliced through the room like a sharp knife.

"Take me?" Estelle’s breath stopped in her lungs. Her fingers tightened in the sheets. "To where?"

The answer she got was silence, not a single answer.

Vance turned, walked to the door, and pulled it open. Two hefty men stepped inside. Their postures were broad and imposing.

But one thing caught Estelle’s eye, they weren’t wearing hospital badges. She felt her stomach drop as the possibilities spun in her mind.

She turned to her mother. "Wait, who are they?" No response. Her voice pitched higher as she turned to the men. "Who are you? Where are your IDs? You can’t just—"

But the air had already shifted. They didn’t answer, didn’t even look at her face. Instead, they looked at Vance, waiting for an order.

"The car is ready, sir," the taller one said.

"Take her away," Vance ordered, his voice cold.

Estelle’s heart threatened to escape her ribs as the realization settled in like a wet cloth. They were not nurses, not hospital security, they were Whitehall’s men, and they had been waiting.

Estelle’s pulse began to pound faster in her ears as they approached her bed. No... no... no. Her mouth opened to protest, but their hands were already on her. One beneath her shoulders, another beneath her legs.

They lifted her, and her world turned upside down.

Estelle had never let a man lift her on the ice, never trusted one to catch her. Balance had always been hers, control had always been hers, so her body recoiled on instinct, and her muscles stiffened. Her fingers clawed at the air, but there was nothing to hold on to.

"Let me go! Where are you taking me?" Her voice cracked as she screamed. "Mother!"

Victoria didn’t move, didn’t rush to her aid, didn’t soften her gaze either. Instead— "Don’t be dramatic, Estelle," she said coolly, smoothing an invisible crease from her sleeve. "This is for your family."

The words froze Estelle’s panic. She stopped struggling, and something shifted in her eyes. Suddenly, she had the same cold calculation she wore before attempting a quadruple axel.

"You want to put a leash on me?" she said softly, but her eyes had fire in them. "Make sure it’s steel, because when I stand again, I won’t run." Her gaze settled on her mother. "I’ll use it to drag every single one of you down with me. Starting with the people in this room," she declared.

"Get her out of here!" Victoria shot back, her fingers brushing her purse where the check lay.

"I will be back, Mother! Be ready!" Estelle declared, but the door closed behind them with a quiet, final click.

—

The gates of the Whitehall estate were tall with black iron bars crowned with spear-tipped points that caught the late-morning sun. And when they opened, they didn’t groan, they struck, metal against metal, like a judge’s gavel sealing a sentence.

The car rolled forward without hesitation as gravel crunched beneath the tires.

Estelle kept her hands folded in her lap. She refused to grip the leather seat, refused to give the men in front of her the satisfaction of seeing her knuckles whiten, even though her pulse battered her ribs.

As they drew closer, the mansion rose ahead, white stone, towering columns, and windows that stretched high and cold, reflecting the sky. It didn’t look like a home, but like inheritance, like power carved into architecture.

Estelle’s throat tightened. She had seen this place before in photographs, in blogs, in business sports profiles.

The Whitehall fortress. A place where careers ended, where empires were built on broken backs, and now she was being delivered to its gates like a signed contract.

Her mind raced through calculations, exits, leverage, and weaknesses. There had to be something. There was always something, she just had to find it before they locked her away.

The car stopped at the base of wide marble steps that gleamed brightly.

Vance stepped out first, smoothing his coat as if arriving at a luncheon instead of delivering cargo. He climbed the stairs quickly, entering the house.

Minutes passed by slowly, then the front doors opened again, and there he was.

Magnus Whitehall. The most powerful figure in professional hockey. A ruthless billionaire and owner of one of the largest NHL empires in the world.

She knew his face from business magazines, from ruthless headlines, from whispered commentary about trades and ruined careers, and from that night.

The night she fell.

He had been there, seated in a VIP box, watching.

Magnus stood at the top of the stairs now, suit impeccably tailored, silver threading his dark hair, his hands were clasped behind his back.

Vance gave a subtle signal, and the men moved immediately. One went to the boot for her wheelchair, while the other opened her door.

Before Estelle could brace, strong arms slid beneath her. "Don’t touch me," she hissed.

The man didn’t respond, he didn’t even flinch as if no one spoke.

Then her world tilted again, and her body remembered this helplessness, from the fall and the ice rushing up. The very moment control slipped through her fingers.

Never again, she’d promised herself in that hospital bed. Never again. But here she was again, being lifted, carried, powerless, up the marble steps to meet her executioner. 𝒇𝒓𝙚𝒆𝔀𝓮𝓫𝒏𝓸𝙫𝓮𝓵.𝓬𝙤𝙢

Then they set her down in the wheelchair directly in front of Magnus.

Her hands were shaking, but she instinctively wheeled back, steadying her trembling hands against the tires of her wheelchair.

Magnus stepped forward instead; his face was carved from granite, unreadable. The grand foyer behind him, all marble floors and chandelier light, suddenly felt airless as if the walls leaned in to witness the moment.

"What do you want from me?" Estelle demanded, fear and fury braided together in her throat as she retreated another inch.

Magnus’s mouth curved, not with warmth or amusement. He folded his arms and looked at her the way one inspects an acquisition, detached, assessing, already calculating return on investment.

Estelle took one breath to steady her heaving chest. "If you wanted a broken wife, Mr. Whitehall," her tone was fire. "You bought the wrong woman."

Her voice didn’t shake. She made sure of that.

Magnus didn’t flinch. He leaned down, his shadow swallowing her completely, his lips to her ear. "I didn’t buy a wife, Estelle," he whispered. "I bought a leash. Save your confidence for my son, trust me, you’re going to need it."

He straightened, his gaze sweeping over her one last time. "Let’s see just how tightly you can pull."