His Father Bought Me Chapter 20: A Mad Plan

Roman stared at her like she’d just said sothing absurd. "You’ve lost your mind," he said, a short, disbelieving laugh escaping him. "Did you even hear what I just said?"

He took a step closer as if he wanted to check for her sanity. "He will destroy , and whatever is left of you, before we even co up with a plan." His chest rose and fell as he spoke. "Why do you think I’ve resigned to just surviving under him for the last twenty-five years?"

Estelle didn’t flinch. Instead, she tilted her head slightly, studying him quietly. "Roman," she said, almost gently, "this is exactly why you have a lot to learn from figure skating."

A faint crease appeared between his brows. "What does that even an?" he asked, his ego surfacing.

Estelle shifted in her chair, the soft squeak barely breaking the stillness. "In skating, every move is calculated," she said. "Every step, every turn, every landing." Her gaze held his as she spoke. "And as long as you don’t fall flat on your knees, no one notices the imperfections."

Roman exhaled sharply, running a hand over his jaw. "That still doesn’t explain anything."

"It does," she replied calmly. "We give them a performance." She gestured faintly toward the door and the unseen world beyond the room. "We give his informants sothing clean, sothing convincing to report back. And beneath that, we move quietly and do what we actually need to do."

Roman’s eyes narrowed as he considered it, the idea settling uneasily in his mind. "So you’re saying we outwit him," he said slowly.

Estelle’s lips curved into a small, knowing smile, and she extended her hand toward him. "Are you in?"

For a mont, the room seed to hold its breath.

Roman looked at her hand, then at her. He let out a long, heavy exhale and shook his head. "Magnus is dangerous," he said, his tone dropping. "You can’t even stand, Estelle."

He stepped back, as if distancing himself from both her and the idea. "I can’t do this with you," he said, his voice hardening. "He will destroy us, and I’m not about to lose my life over a broken skater’s dream."

The words landed hard.

Estelle’s fingers tightened around the armrest of her chair, the leather groaned beneath her grip. For a split second, sothing raw flashed across her face, but it was gone just as quickly. She inhaled slowly, steadying herself.

When she looked at him again, her expression had cooled. "Is that what this is?" she asked quietly. "A defense chanism?" Her lip curled. "Or just a front because you’re scared?"

The words hit deeper than he expected.

"I’m not scared!" Roman shot back imdiately, his jaw locking. "I’m never scared."

Estelle gave a small, almost absent shrug. "Things look very different from where I’m sitting."

"Stop that," he snapped, his voice rising. "I’m not scared of anything." He took a step forward, frustration spilling over now. "I am Roman Whitehall. Nothing scares ."

A faint smile touched Estelle’s lips. "Then there’s no need to get worked up," she said lightly, mockery slipping through her words before her expression hardened again. "Prove it," she challenged, holding his gaze. "Do this with ."

Roman turned away, pacing a few steps, the quiet thud of his shoes against the floor filled the room as his mind raced fiercely.

Estelle watched him in silence, reading every hesitation in his movents. After a mont, her voice softened. "What’s really holding you back, if you’re not afraid?" she asked.

Roman paused, a sharp breath leaving him as he dragged a hand through his hair. Then he turned back to face her. There was sothing new in his eyes now. Sothing raw, unguarded, and dangerously close to desperation. It caught Estelle off guard, twisting faintly in her chest.

"My father holds everything," he said, his voice lower this ti, heavier. "Every card that could destroy my career, and everything I’ve built my life on." He took a step closer, leaning slightly as his gaze fixed on her. "One wrong move, Estelle, and he ruins ."

The room fell quiet for a second.

Estelle’s expression didn’t soften. If anything, it sharpened. "Then we’re already behind schedule," she said evenly. "Which ans we don’t have ti to hesitate." She leaned forward slightly in her chair. "We need to move... now."

Roman stared at her incredulously. "Were you even listening to ?"

Estelle held his gaze, unshaken. "Do you want your freedom?" she asked, pausing briefly. "Do you want to be with the woman you love?"

Roman hesitated, then gave a reluctant nod.

"Good," Estelle said softly. "Because I want my surgery, I want my rehabilitation. I want my life back," she said, her voice becoming steadier, gaining strength. Then a flicker of sothing darker passed through her eyes. "And more than that, I want them to pay for what they did to ."

Roman studied her in silence. Sothing unfamiliar stirred in his chest, sothing that felt dangerously close to admiration. She was sitting in a wheelchair, her body still recovering, her future uncertain, and yet she was the one taking control of the room. Taking control of him.

And against his will, he found it compelling.

"Listen to , Roman," Estelle continued, her voice cutting through his thoughts. "It’s ti we stop reacting and start directing," she said. "We give them a performance. It doesn’t have to be perfect, it just needs to be sothing believable."

Her gaze locked onto his. "We stop looking like victims, we stop looking offended." She paused briefly. "We take control of the narrative."

The soft hum of the room settled around them as her words sank in.

"We give the world exactly what it wants to see," she went on. "And behind closed doors?" Her lips curved slightly. "We live... on our own terms." She extended her hand toward him again, for one final ti. "So, what do you say?" A second passed. "Are you with ?"

Roman looked down at her outstretched hand. This is madness, but why does it feel like a way out?