His Father Bought Me

Meanwhile, Roman stormed down the hallway, his footsteps striking hard against the floor, each one echoing his frustration. His fists were clenched so tightly his knuckles ached, his thoughts a chaotic storm of anger and something he refused to name.

He headed straight for the elevator, then stopped. His gaze shifted to Estelle’s door and he exhaled sharply, dragging a hand down his face, but his feet were already moving before he could talk himself out of it.

In a few strides, he was standing in front of her door. He knocked once, the sound firm against the wood. "Open the door, Estelle," he said, his voice rough, still carrying the remnants of his anger. He ran a hand through his hair, his chest rising and falling unevenly. "I need to talk to you before I lose my mind."

—

Inside the room, Estelle frowned, the silence of the space wrapping around her. "What does he want now?" she murmured under her breath, her brows creasing.

Still, she turned her chair and wheeled herself toward the door. Her fingers hovered over the handle for a second before she pulled it open.

Roman stood there. He exhaled the moment he saw her, like he’d been holding it in all along. Something in her gaze cut through the noise in his head, grounding him in a way he didn’t expect.

"What are you doing here, Roman?" Estelle asked, her voice calm. "What do you want?"

Roman opened his mouth, then paused. For the first time since he got there, the words didn’t come easily. The anger, the urgency, it all tangled together, leaving him standing there, searching. He swallowed, his shoulders dropping just slightly.

"I..." He let out a breath, softer this time. "Can I come in? Please?" His voice had lost its edge, replaced with something quieter as he tilted his head just enough to meet her eyes.

Estelle held his gaze for a moment, searching his face, then moved aside without a word.

Roman stepped in. The door clicked shut behind him, and for a brief second, he just stood there. The air in the room was softer, the faint scent of lavender calmed him. He inhaled deeply, his shoulders easing just a fraction as the tension in him loosened.

"Did you know," he began, his voice lower now, almost dreamy, "this used to be my comfort place?" His eyes drifted around the room, lingering on the bed, the window, the small details that hadn’t changed.

"Mother would let me rest my head on her lap right there," he added, nodding faintly toward the bed. "After my father had yelled at me." A small, humorless breath left him. "And now—"

"What do you want, Roman?" Estelle’s voice cut cleanly through the moment. He stopped. She pressed her lips together as she studied him. "You didn’t come here to tell me about your childhood," she added, her tone calm but firm.

Roman nodded slowly, as if pulling himself back to the present. "You’re right," he said. He dragged a hand through his hair. "I don’t even know why I came here."

He paused for a moment and then his gaze found hers again. "But since I’m here," he continued, stepping a little closer, his voice hardening. "You need to know that my father can’t be trusted."

Estelle didn’t react the way he expected. She simply shrugged, leaning back slightly in her chair, her fingers resting loosely on the armrest. "And what exactly am I supposed to do with that?" she asked, her tone almost indifferent, like he had just told her something trivial.

Roman’s face twisted, frustration breaking through whatever restraint he had left. He dragged a hand through his hair, pacing once before turning back to her. "Don’t you get it?" he said, his voice rising, desperation creeping in. "He’s manipulating you, manipulating both of us."

The words hung in the air, sharp and urgent.

Estelle didn’t flinch. "He’s manipulating you, Roman," she shot back, her tone cool. "Not me. You’re the one spiraling."

Roman frowned, thrown off by her steadiness. He let out a short breath, shaking his head. "You know what? I don’t even get you anymore. Just hours ago, we had a plan and—"

"And you’ve already lost focus," Estelle cut in, her voice snapping like a whip. She leaned forward slightly, her fingers tightening on the armrest, her gaze locking onto his.

"Ever since you saw Lena here, you’ve been off," she continued, her tone sharpening. "Like she has you wrapped around her finger." A scoff slipped past her lips. "You even threw me under the bus. Seriously, Roman?"

"Este—"

"What for?" she pressed, not giving him space to recover. "For love? For her?" Her words landed one after the other, deliberate and relentless. "So you’re ready to lose everything for her?" she asked, her eyes burning into his.

Roman swallowed. His shoulders dipped slightly, the fight in him draining. "That wasn’t the plan," he muttered.

"You’re right," Estelle fired back immediately. "That is not the plan." Her voice filled the room now, steady but charged, like a storm. "And it’s already falling apart because of you," she added, her gaze unwavering. "Because you can’t see past your own ego."

"My ego?" Roman echoed, his brows knitting together.

"Yes, your ego," Estelle said, her voice quieter now, but just as sharp. "Why did you say those things to her? That I asked for the ring as some kind of payment? Why?"

Roman opened his mouth, but she kept going, her words cutting deeper. "Because it would hurt your ego if she walked away from you."

Roman froze and when he spoke again, his voice had changed. It was lower, steadier now. "You’re wrong about that," he said. He met her gaze fully now, something raw sitting just beneath the surface. "I did it because I was scared... of losing her. Of losing what we have." he paused. "I love her, Estelle."

The words were like a knife to Estelle’s heart and she hated it. Her jaw tightened for just a second, sadness passing through her eyes before it hardened again. "Then what are you doing here?" she asked, her voice quieter, but no less intense.