His Father Bought Me-Chapter 7: Deal With It

Roman gritted his teeth, his chest heaving. "I have never failed you. Even when—"

"Not yet, so you see why you need the reminder," Magnus cut in smoothly.

Roman’s eyes flicked toward Estelle, then to her legs. "Have you thought about my image? How will she help it? Or worse... how will she not destroy it?"

Magnus scoffed bitterly and shook his head slowly, eyes burning. "Your image?" His tone sharpened. "Every time you look at her, you should see a reflection of your own career."

Roman felt a muscle ticking in his cheek.

Magnus’ voice dropped lower, each word deliberate. "If you think she’s not worthy of you, then know this... your current status is not worthy of the Whitehall arena. And if you defy me, the world will know exactly why."

Roman’s chest rose and fell in rapid bursts. "How can you say that? I am the most successful hockey player alive!"

"Only because of me," Magnus fired back. His gaze didn’t waver. "She is your wife. Deal with it, or lose everything."

Estelle swallowed hard, her pulse hammering in her ears. Roman’s tongue pressed into his molar, anger radiating off him like heat. His eyes flicked to hers, dark and unreadable.

A storm brewed between them, fierce and magnetic. She wanted to protest. He wanted to fight.

Roman opened his mouth, but no words came. Instead, his fists clenched so tight his knuckles whitened. He glared at his father, a storm barely contained behind his eyes.

Then he turned to Estelle, his gaze landing heavily on her, blazing. Every inch of him screamed warning, anger and need tangled in one dangerous package.

"You’d better not think of coming inside my house," he said, his voice low, dangerous, sharp. "I don’t want you."

For a heartbeat, silence stretched.

Then Roman’s fingers tapped on his phone and the screen lit. He dialed and pressed the phone to his ear. "Yeah, Lena..." he growled into the line, his voice tight. "I’m on my way. Wear that red dress I like."

The phone beeped and went silent as he stormed off, his boots slamming against the floor. Each thud was a hammer striking Estelle’s chest. She swallowed, breathless, trapped, her body screaming that nothing today would go as she’d imagined.

Magnus’s jaw tightened as he watched Roman walk away. Then his eyes flicked to her. "This is my house. It’s my rules," he said, calm and unshakable. "You’re not leaving unless I say so. So get comfortable."

With that, he walked into the house.

Estelle sat, unmoving, staring at the space where they’d both stood and reality settled over her like a wet cloak. They weren’t fighting about her. She was just the weapon.

Before she could even catch her breath, Vance stepped forward. The soft click of his shoes against marble sounded louder than it should have.

"Section 4C, clause 2," he recited smoothly, as if discussing market shares. "If Roman engages in sexual relations with another woman, you, Miss Rutledge, forfeit all financial coverage for your treatment."

He let the words settle slowly before he continued. "So you’re going to sit there... and watch your husband go to another woman? And who knows..." he paused, letting the words settle. "Perhaps even propose to her."

The air seized.

Estelle’s face twisted, heat rushing to her cheeks. "Are you asking me to beg him to stay?" Her voice cracked despite her effort to steady it.

Vance stepped closer and bent slightly, his breath warm against the shell of her ear. "I am simply asking," he murmured, "that you do not let another woman steal your last chance to stand in skates again."

Her pulse roared at his words.

He straightened, smoothing his cuffs. "The decision is yours." His tone remained calm. "Skate again... or remain exactly where you are."

The words echoed in her ears as she watched him walk away.

Her fingers dug into the arms of the wheelchair until they hurt. She could almost feel the ice beneath her blades. The sharp glide, the freedom, and then... nothing.

Every instinct screamed at her to move, to chase Roman, to stop him, to do something, but Estelle felt suspended between two cliffs. She placed her palms on the cold rubber of the wheelchair tires, ready to go but not knowing in which direction.

Suddenly, the maids appeared before she could decide. Two women in crisp white uniforms, hands folded, eyes soft with that unbearable pity.

"Mr. Magnus has asked us to take you to your bedroom and ensure you are comfortable," one of them said gently.

The words struck her like a slap.

Estelle’s fingers locked around the armrest. "What bedroom?"

They didn’t answer. Instead, one stepped behind her wheelchair and the handles clicked into position. Just like that, she was moving. Whether she wanted to or not.

Estelle twisted, trying to look back. "What bedroom are you talking about?" she demanded, her heart kicking against her ribs.

"Please, Ma’am," the older one replied calmly, already guiding the chair forward. "Remain at ease. We’ll take the elevator now."

Remain at ease? In this house? How can I? 𝕗𝗿𝕖𝐞𝐰𝗲𝕓𝐧𝕠𝕧𝗲𝐥.𝚌𝐨𝚖

The wheels rolled across the marble, the faint hum of motion echoing in the vast hall, but the house swallowed the sound whole. They stopped before a narrow, polished elevator hidden in the wall. The doors slid open with a quiet mechanical sigh.

Estelle’s reflection stared back at her in the mirrored interior. She looked pale, rigid, trapped. Then the doors shut. Her ears popped softly as they rose. Her pulse did not settle.

When the doors opened again, they stepped into the top floor. The air felt different here, it felt quieter, colder. Long hallways stretched ahead, lined with portraits and closed doors.

Her breathing grew shallow. She pressed a trembling hand to her chest, trying to steady the frantic rhythm beneath her ribs.

Then, the wheelchair stopped. It was only then that Estelle noticed they had reached a door at the end of the corridor.

The older maid stepped forward and knocked three times. Then, she turned, gave the other woman a small nod, and both of them began to walk away.

Estelle’s eyes widened.