His Father Bought Me

"Are you going to say anything, or should I hang up?" Lena asked, a thin thread of impatience woven into her voice.

Estelle closed her eyes for a brief second, exhaling through her nose. "I really wish I could deal with this right now, but I can’t," she said, her tone tight but controlled. "If it can wait, then I’ll deal with it later."

There was a pause, then Lena spoke again.

"I see," she replied, softer now. "And here I was thinking you’d want to know I threw him out. I’d rather stand with you than let a man play both of us."

Estelle’s eyes flicked open. She rolled them, slow and unimpressed, even though Lena couldn’t see it. If that was supposed to earn her trust, it missed. "I need to go," she said flatly.

"But you—"

Estelle ended the call before she could finish and the silence rushed back in. She stared at the phone for a moment, her jaw tightening. "Oh, Roman," she muttered under her breath, wheeling herself toward the door. "What have you done now?"

The handle clicked under her grip. She pushed the door open and moved into the hallway, the soft hum of the house settling around her. The air felt cooler out here, thinner somehow.

She turned toward the elevator, her hands steady on the wheels even as her thoughts raced ahead of her. Please, let it be open. Her breath came a little faster as she approached. She reached out and pressed the button.

A moment passed, then a soft ding broke the silence, and the doors slid open. Relief loosened something in her chest. With a bit of effort, she pushed herself inside, the faint scent of polished metal and stale air closing in around her.

She turned her back to the doors and reached for the panel, pressing the button. The doors began to slide shut and then stopped. They jerked, hesitated, and slowly slid open again.

Estelle frowned, lifting her head, and that was when she saw him. Her breath felt stuck in her chest. She turned sharply, as if the reflection in the mirrored walls might be lying to her. But it wasn’t.

Magnus stood there, composed as ever, his presence filling the small space before he even stepped in. A chill slid down her spine. Oh no. The thought hit hard, fast. This is going to ruin everything.

Before she could react, her chair rolled back slightly. She glanced down, then up again, catching sight of Magnus’s hands resting firmly on the handles.

"Mr. Whitehall, please—"

"Relax," he said smoothly, stepping in as he adjusted her position with ease. "I’m just making room for myself."

He angled her chair to face forward, then took his place beside her as if it were the most natural thing in the world. The doors slid shut with a soft, final click and the air shifted.

Estelle clasped her hands tightly in her lap, her fingers pressing into each other as her pulse thudded in her ears. The space suddenly felt smaller, the walls closer, the silence heavier.

She tapped her fingers lightly against her thigh, the faint rhythm betraying her impatience as the elevator began its slow descent.

"Why didn’t you ask the maids to help you?" His voice cut through the quiet, calm but strong.

Estelle jolted slightly at the sound, and he noticed. Of course he did and a faint smile touched his lips.

"Or," he continued, glancing at her from the corner of his eye, "are you going somewhere you don’t want anyone to know about?"

Her heart kicked harder, faster, so loud she was sure he could hear it. She drew in a slow breath, forcing her shoulders to relax. "I," she started, then steadied her voice. "I just wanted to go for a drive."

Her fingers tightened briefly in her lap before she forced them to loosen. "I need some air."

Magnus studied her for a moment, then gave a small, knowing nod. "I can understand how trapped you must feel," he said evenly, his gaze flicking briefly to the wheelchair. "In that chair, and in this house."

He paused, smoothing an invisible crease on his sleeve. "But don’t worry," he added, almost casually. "You won’t be in that chair for much longer."

Estelle turned her head toward him, her eyes flashing with disbelief. He wasn’t stopping her?

The elevator chimed softly, the sound slicing through the tension. The doors slid open, and Magnus stepped out without another glance, his polished shoes quiet against the floor as he walked away.

Estelle watched him go, her breath caught somewhere in her chest. Only when he disappeared from view did she finally exhale, the air leaving her lungs in a shaky rush. Then she moved.

She pushed herself out of the elevator, her wheels humming softly against the marble floor, her thoughts spiraling faster than her hands could keep up.

Why would he let me go? The question lingered, heavy and unsettling.

She barely made it a few feet into the foyer before the front doors swung open and two men stepped inside. Estelle’s hands froze on the wheels. A frown pulled at her brows as they approached. What now? No. No, no—

"Good evening, Ma’am," one of them said politely, stopping a respectful distance away. "Mr. Whitehall has asked us to take you wherever you wish to go."

Estelle’s stomach tightened. Of course, Magnus never did anything without a second move. She swallowed, her mind racing. She couldn’t let them know where she was going, but refusing outright would raise even more suspicion.

A moment passed and then an idea slipped into place.

She leaned back slightly, masking the tension in her shoulders. "You," she said, pointing to one of them. "Find me a cab. I want some freedom tonight. I don’t want any of you taking me."

The man nodded immediately. Too quickly in fact.

Estelle’s eyes narrowed for a fraction of a second, but she said nothing. This wasn’t the time to question small mercies.

Moments later, the door opened again. Cool evening air drifted in, brushing against her skin.

"Your ride is here, Ma’am."

"Thank you," Estelle said, her voice steady.

They helped her down the steps and into the cab, the faint scent of worn leather and fuel wrapping around her as she settled in. She adjusted slightly, then looked forward. "Take me to Townslake Rink."

The driver nodded, and the car pulled away.

As the house faded behind her, Estelle’s gaze flicked upward, searching the windows out of instinct. Nothing. No silhouette. No movement. Still, something about it felt wrong.

She exhaled slowly, leaning back against the seat, though the unease stayed coiled tight in her stomach.

—

Minutes later, the cab slowed and came to a stop.

The driver stepped out. The night air was cooler now, carrying a faint metallic scent. He helped her back into her chair, then drove off without another word. The sound of the engine faded, and just like that she was alone.

Estelle looked around, her heart beginning to pick up again. The rink loomed ahead, dark and silent, its emptiness pressing in on her from all sides. It wasn’t just quiet, it was too quiet. She swallowed, her grip tightening slightly on the wheels as she pushed herself forward.

The doors creaked faintly as she entered, the sound echoing through the hollow space.

"Justin?" she called out, her voice bouncing off the walls, thinner than she expected. "Are you here?"

There was no answer, only the faint hum of emptiness.

She moved further in, the cold air brushing against her skin, raising a faint chill along her arms. And then she saw it.

A shadow. Stretching along the floor behind her. Slowly pulling closer.

Estelle’s breath stopped. That wasn’t Justin’s shadow.