His Father Bought Me

"You’re not going to give me the surgery anymore, right?" Estelle asked. Her chin stayed lifted, her voice steady even as her pulse thudded hard against her ribs. 𝚏𝗿𝗲𝐞𝐰𝚎𝕓𝐧𝚘𝘃𝗲𝐥.𝐜𝚘𝕞

Magnus didn’t answer immediately. He just looked at her. His eyes narrowed slightly, as if he were trying to peel her apart layer by layer, searching for something beneath the surface. "I’m glad you already understand the consequences," he said at last, his tone even.

The words settled in the space between them.

But Estelle didn’t flinch. She didn’t even plead. Instead, she smiled. It was small, but it was there, sharp at the edges. "Then I guess the contract is over," she said calmly. "And I’ll find my own path."

"No, Estelle." Justin’s voice broke in, strained, almost desperate. "You can’t stay in that chair."

Her head snapped toward him, her eyes blazing. "You should have thought about that before you betrayed me," she shot back.

The words hit harder this time, and she didn’t wait for his response.

Her gaze shifted, locking onto Victoria with something colder, something far more dangerous. "If I’m stuck in this chair for life," she said, her voice low but unshaken, "then understand this, I will still come back." A faint breath left her lips. "Somehow."

Her grip tightened slightly against her lap. "And when I do," she continued, her tone sharpening, "I will take what is mine, and I will make sure the empire you sold me to protect burns to the ground."

Victoria laughed. It started soft, then grew louder, echoing through the hollow rink. "Empty threats," she said, shaking her head in amusement.

But Magnus didn’t laugh. His gaze stayed on Estelle, focused, measuring. There it is. Something flickered in his eyes, brief, unreadable.

Estelle didn’t look at him. Not once. Her attention stayed fixed on Victoria, unwavering. "I want everything that belongs to me," she said, her voice firm, each word deliberate. "Every cent I earned from every championship. My medals. My trophies." Her jaw tightened. "All of it."

A beat passed. "And if you don’t return them," she added quietly, "then be ready to defend yourself before the entire skating world, because I won’t stop until I strip away every single thing you built with what was mine."

Victoria’s smile faltered just for a second. Her pulse kicked up, sharp and sudden, but she masked it quickly, lifting her chin as she turned toward Magnus. "Is it just me," she said lightly, though there was an edge beneath it, "or are you starting to lose control?"

Her gaze lingered on him, testing. "Or maybe," she added, her lips curling faintly, "you’re not as terrifying as I thought when we signed that agreement."

The temperature in the room seemed to drop.

Magnus turned his head slowly, his jaw tightening just enough to be noticed. "Watch your tone," he said, his voice low, dangerously calm. "Or I will be the one helping your daughter reclaim everything you took from her."

Victoria’s breath hitched, almost imperceptibly. Her composure wavered for a fraction of a second before she straightened, saying nothing.

Magnus looked away from her, his attention returning to Estelle. "Vance will take you back," he said, as if nothing had just happened. "And when you return to the estate, we’ll talk." He didn’t wait for a response. He turned and walked away, his footsteps fading into the distance.

Estelle watched him go, her chest rising and falling steadily now, though the storm inside her hadn’t settled. The moment he disappeared through the doors, the silence shifted again.

Victoria stepped closer. "I have one piece of advice for you," she said, her voice dropping into a quiet sneer.

Estelle didn’t look away.

"Get used to that chair," Victoria continued, her words slow and deliberate. "Because by sticking your nose where it doesn’t belong, you just lost your only chance to ever stand again."

The words hung in the air, cruel and final.

Estelle studied Victoria’s face, her gaze searching, digging, almost desperate, as if she might still find a trace of the woman who had once been her mother. But there was nothing. Not a flicker. Just cold distance.

Her lips parted, words forming, but the door creaked open, and Vance stepped in. The sound snapped something tight inside her chest, her pulse kicking harder. She tore her gaze away from Vance, then looked back once more, her voice low but edged with steel.

"You’d better pray I don’t remain in this chair," she said quietly. "Because if I do, that’s even more reason to destroy you."

Victoria inhaled, ready to fire back, but Estelle had already turned away. She wheeled forward, the soft hum of the chair cutting through the silence. As she passed, she added over her shoulder, almost lightly, "I’d be careful, Justin."

He stiffened.

"Because the moment she has no use for you," Estelle continued, her tone calm, almost thoughtful, "you might end up worse than I am right now."

Justin swallowed, the weight of her words settling uncomfortably in his chest. For a second, doubt flickered across his face. If Estelle could be discarded this easily, what did that say about his place?

He glanced at Victoria, but she didn’t look at him. Her eyes remained fixed on Estelle, sharp, unreadable. Regret? Irritation? It was impossible to tell.

Estelle met Vance halfway and stopped. Without a word, he stepped behind her, his grip firm on the handles as he took over. He didn’t spare anyone else a glance. The wheels rolled smoothly over the cold floor as he pushed her out of the abandoned rink, the echo of their movement fading into the hollow space behind them.

Outside, the night air was cool, carrying a faint metallic bite. The car waited.

Between Vance and the chauffeur, they lifted her carefully into the back seat. The door shut with a muted thud, sealing her inside. A second later, the engine came to life, low and steady.

Estelle leaned back, exhaling slowly, her fingers curling against her palm. I won’t let them bury me like this. I need to stand again. Not just to walk, but to make them pay. Her jaw tightened.

Just then, her phone buzzed in her hand, sharp against the quiet. She glanced down, her breath catching for a split second when she saw Roman’s name. Closing her eyes briefly, she steadied herself, then opened the message. It was a link.

She tapped it, and the glow from the screen lit her face as the headline loaded, stark and unforgiving:

Footage showing that the Avatar team captain, Roman Whitehall, nearly killed a rival player, leaving him hospitalized and in a coma. The world is calling for his ban, what will the NHL do? This might be the end for the captain, or the violent beast, as many now call him.

Estelle’s stomach dropped. Her grip tightened around the phone.

The car moved on, silent, steady, but inside, her pulse roared. The world had seen it.

But how? And more importantly, who released it?