His Father Bought Me

"Why are you so quiet, Estelle?" Roman asked, watching her closely. "Are you hiding something from me?"

Estelle shifted in her chair, letting out a soft scoff as she smoothed an invisible crease on her sleeve. "I’m not quiet," she said lightly. "I’m just taking in the rules." She lifted her chin, meeting his gaze. "And no, there’s nothing you need to know."

Roman didn’t look convinced. His eyes narrowed slightly, studying her face like he was trying to peel something back. "Nothing I need to know," he repeated slowly, "or nothing you want me to know?"

Estelle held his gaze, even as her pulse thudded louder in her ears. "Aren’t those the same thing?" she asked, her tone even.

"No, Estelle, I need to—"

"I’m not hiding anything from you," she cut in, smoother this time. The words settled between them, sharp and deliberate. She drew in a quiet breath, steadying herself. "I think we’re done here. The rules are set. I’ll send you a copy so you can go over them whenever you want."

She paused, her fingers tightening slightly around her phone before relaxing again. "And I hope you don’t break any of them. Because if you do," her eyes locked onto his. "The plan is over."

For a moment, the room felt too still. The faint hum of the air conditioning, the soft rustle of the curtains shifting with a barely-there breeze.

Then Roman smiled. "Understood," he said, his voice calm. "But these rules start tomorrow. Tonight doesn’t count."

Estelle opened her mouth, the protest already forming, but it faded just as quickly. The day was nearly over anyway. Arguing would only drag this out.

She exhaled softly and nodded. "Fine." After a brief hesitation, she extended her hand. "Deal."

Roman looked at it for a second before taking it. His grip was warm, firm, lingering just a second too long. "Deal," he echoed.

Estelle tried to pull away, but his fingers held for a beat longer. Her eyes flicked up to meet his. Something unreadable passed between them, charged, before he finally let go.

Without another word, Roman turned toward the door. His hand paused briefly on the handle before he spoke, his voice quieter now. "I’m heading to the rink," he said. "Too much happened today. I need to clear my head."

Estelle watched him for a moment, noticing the way his hand dragged through his hair, the way he refused to meet her eyes. A quiet certainty settled in her chest. He’s not going to the rink. Still, she nodded as if she believed him.

Roman didn’t look back. He crossed the room, opened the door, and left without another word. The soft click of it closing lingered longer than it should have.

Only then did Estelle release the breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding. Her shoulders dropped slightly as the tension drained, her gaze drifting aimlessly across the room before settling on nothing at all.

"I didn’t lie to him," she murmured under her breath, her voice barely louder than the faint hum of the air conditioner. "I just did what I had to, to protect my chance at standing again."

But the words didn’t quite comfort her.

Then her eyes shifted slowly toward the drawer and her pulse picked up again.

—

Outside, Roman moved fast, his steps sharp against the polished floors, each one echoing faintly behind him. His mind refused to quiet, his thoughts restless.

What you do outside this marriage is your business... and what I do is mine.

He scoffed under his breath, the sound rough, edged with frustration. "Unbelievable," he muttered, the word slipping out like a curse as he veered toward the staircase.

He took the steps two at a time, barely feeling them beneath his feet. The cool air of the foyer hit him as he reached the bottom, but it did nothing to ease the tightness in his chest. Without slowing, he pushed through the front doors.

The evening air was cooler, brushing against his skin, carrying the faint scent of wet pavement and trimmed hedges. He barely noticed. His focus was already elsewhere, his car.

He reached it in long strides, yanked the door open, and slid inside. The engine roared to life a second later, sharp and impatient. Then he was gone, tires crunching against gravel as he pulled away.

—

Upstairs, behind a pane of glass, Magnus stood still. His hands rested behind his back, his posture relaxed, but his gaze followed the car until it disappeared beyond the gates. The reflection of the room’s dim light flickered faintly across the window, barely touching his expression.

As soon as Roman’s car vanished from sight, Magnus reached into his pocket and pulled out his phone. He dialed without hesitation, lifting it to his ear. The line barely rang.

"Yes, sir?" Vance’s voice came through, crisp and attentive.

Magnus’s eyes remained fixed on the empty driveway, his tone low. "Is it done?"

"Yes, Sir. Everything is in place, we just need your permission to go ahead," Vance replied.

Magnus paused. "I have another assignment for you," he paused. "Roman just left," he said.

He turned from the window, the faint light shifting across his face as he made his way back toward his study. "I suspect he’s going to Lena. I need you to get there before he does and confirm it."

The door to the study clicked softly behind him as he stepped inside, the familiar scent of leather and polished wood settling around him.

"And if he goes there, sir?" Vance asked from the other end, his tone careful.

Magnus moved behind his desk, fingers brushing lightly over its surface as he walked. "Then it means he has too much free time on his hands," he replied coolly. He paused, his gaze dropping briefly, thoughts aligning. "And we need to keep him busy."

A beat of silence followed.

Then, in a colder tone, he added. "You know what to do if you find him there."

The line held for half a second longer before Vance answered. "Yes, sir. Consider it done."

Magnus ended the call and set the phone down carefully. He lowered himself into his chair, the leather creaking softly beneath him. One hand came to rest on the desk as the other tapped, slow, and steady.

A faint humorless smile touched his lips. "This will teach you," he murmured, almost to himself, "not to cross me again."

Time stretched. The quiet in the room deepened, broken only by the soft ticking of the clock on the wall. Then, his phone buzzed. Magnus picked it up immediately.

A single message from Vance lit the screen. He’s at Lena’s.

For a fraction of a second, Magnus went still. Then his jaw tightened, a flicker of something darker passing through his eyes. He dared to go against me. His fingers moved quickly over the screen, precise, decisive. Make the call. Remind him what happens when he disobeys me.