His Father Bought Me

Roman’s heart hammered in his chest like a trapped bird as he stared at the screen, barely blinking. Then it appeared.

A prompt. Enter password.

His shoulders dropped slightly. "No," he muttered under his breath, shaking his head as if the screen might change if he refused to accept it.

He closed the file and opened it again. Same thing.

A tight breath slipped through his teeth as he backed out and clicked on the second file, Estelle – Private. His pulse thudded harder, louder, as if urging him on. He clicked. The screen shifted again, and then it appeared. Enter password. Again.

Roman let out a frustrated breath, dragging a hand down his face before leaning back in the chair. The leather creaked softly beneath him as he tilted his head, his eyes closing briefly.

Think, Roman.

—

On the ground floor, the soft hum of movement followed Estelle as she wheeled herself behind Magnus and Vance toward the elevator. The air felt cooler here, quieter, but it did nothing to calm the storm inside her chest.

The elevator doors slid open with a soft chime. They stepped inside, and the doors closed. In the mirrored walls, Estelle caught Magnus’s reflection. His posture was relaxed, but his gaze was sharp, focused as it remained fixed on something unseen. The screen.

Her stomach tightened. Get out of there, Roman. She closed her eyes for a brief second, her fingers tightening slightly on the armrests, as if willing the thought to travel to him.

Magnus didn’t look at her. Vance stood beside him, still and silent, his expression unreadable. The space felt smaller with every passing second, the quiet pressing in, thick and suffocating, and it made Estelle’s pulse pound harder and louder.

The elevator chimed again, and the doors slid open.

Before anyone could move, Estelle pushed forward, her hands gripping the wheels as she tried to propel herself out, but firm hands caught the chair, stopping it suddenly.

Her breath hitched, and she turned her head. Magnus stood behind her for the second time in one night.

"Is... is there a problem?" she asked, her voice tight despite her effort to steady it.

Magnus smiled, but it didn’t touch his eyes. "I’d like to help you to your room," he said smoothly, already guiding the chair forward.

"No!" The word slipped out louder than she intended. She forced a quick breath, her tone softening. "I mean no. I can manage. My room is just there, so I’ll just—"

"I insist, Estelle," Magnus said, calm and final.

Estelle swallowed, her throat dry, and nodded slowly. Her body went still, her hands resting stiffly in her lap as he pushed her forward.

Behind them, Vance watched, a faint crease forming between his brows. For once, Magnus’s intentions weren’t entirely clear, but experience told him this was still part of a larger design. It always was.

Moments later, they stopped in front of Estelle’s door. The hallway was quiet, the soft lighting casting long shadows along the walls.

Estelle let out a slow breath she hadn’t realized she was holding. Then she turned slightly, forcing a small, trembling smile onto her lips as she looked up at Magnus.

"Thank you, Mr. Whitehall," she said, keeping her voice as steady as she could, smoothing out any tremor before it could betray her.

Magnus didn’t return the smile. Instead, his expression remained too composed. Calm, but hard at the edges. His gaze drifted briefly to the door, as though the room beyond it held no interest for him, before settling back on her.

When he spoke, his voice was lower. "If you say anything to Roman," he said, each word measured, "then you can be certain no one will come."

The warning settled between them, heavy and unmistakable.

Estelle lifted her chin slightly, masking the tightness in her chest. She nodded once. "Understood." A beat passed. "But I do have a question," she added, her tone controlled. "Why does Roman not finding out matter so much that you’ve had to repeat it this many times?"

Magnus’s gaze shifted away again, landing briefly on the door. Then he turned his back to her. "That is not your concern," he said over his shoulder, already walking away. "Play your part if you want to stand again. Or remain in that chair permanently."

His footsteps echoed softly down the hallway. Vance followed without a word.

Estelle watched them go, her eyes fixed on their retreating figures until they disappeared around the corner. Only then did the tension leave her body in a slow, quiet exhale she hadn’t realized she’d been holding.

For a second, the hallway felt still. Then her pulse kicked up again. Her hand moved quickly to her phone. She dialed Roman’s number, pressing it to her ear as her fingers began to tap lightly against her thigh, restless, anxious.

"Come on, Roman," she murmured, her gaze flicking once more toward the corner Magnus had vanished behind. "Pick up."

The line rang once, twice, then her breath caught.

Another sound bled into the silence, muffled but close.

Her throat went dry. Slowly, she turned her head. The ringing wasn’t just in her ear, it was behind her. From inside the room.

Her grip tightened on the phone as she shook her head slightly. No, that’s not possible. But as she edged closer, the sound grew clearer, sharper, echoing faintly through the wood.

It was coming from her bedroom.

Her brows knit together, unease curling low in her stomach. She wheeled herself forward, stopping just short of the door. For a moment, she leaned in, pressing her ear lightly against it, as if she needed confirmation.

The ringing continued, steady and real. Her pulse thundered. A second later, she reached for the handle and pushed the door open.

The room greeted her with soft lamplight. And him.

Roman sat on the edge of the bed, his phone in his hand, the screen still lit, ringing. Slowly, he lifted his gaze.

And found hers.