His Father Bought Me Chapter 38: Talk To Me

Roman’s chest rose and fell sharply as he watched Lena disappear into Magnus’s office, the door swallowing her whole. "Damn you, Father," he muttered under his breath, the words bitter.

Before the thought could settle, Vance brushed past him, his shoulder clipping Roman’s just enough to be deliberate. Roman’s head snapped toward him, his eyes blazing.

But Vance didn’t so much as glance back, he just moved to the door and positioned himself there, his fingers interlacing neatly in front of him like a guard posted at a vault. "Please leave," he said, his tone firm, almost polite. "And close the door behind you."

Roman’s fists clenched instantly, the urge to snap back rising hot in his throat, but he swallowed it, forced it down. His jaw worked as he turned sharply, the soles of his shoes striking the floor harder than necessary as he stord out of the waiting room.

Then his eyes t hers, and his steps faltered.

Estelle sat in her chair, looking at him. Her lips didn’t move, but her eyes? They said more than enough. Roman slowed, sothing sank heavily in his stomach as guilt crept in, unwelco and persistent, tightening his chest in a different way now.

He hesitated, then turned back toward the office, as if he could still fix it or at least save himself from her gaze, but just then Vance closed the door, shut tight. Roman’s fist hit the doorfra after it clicked shut. Not hard enough to break wood, but enough to make his knuckles burn.

He was a man used to winning on the ice through sheer force, but here, in the quiet of this hallway, force could make him lose everything. He exhaled slowly as if to reset himself and then he turned back to her.

"E-Estelle," he stamred, smiling awkwardly. She didn’t smile, and his own smile died instantly. "W-why are you looking at like that?" he asked, his voice not as steady as he wanted it to be.

Estelle tilted her head slightly. "Like what?"

Roman frowned, frustration flashing across his face. "Like..." He gestured vaguely. "Like you’re disappointed or sothing. I don’t know."

She was. But she scoffed anyway. "You wish," she said, turning her chair smoothly. The soft roll of the wheels broke the mont as she started to move away.

Roman’s expression tightened. He glanced once at the closed office door where Lena was, then back at Estelle’s retreating figure, and then he moved fast after her. "Where are you going?" he called after her, throwing his hands out slightly. "Why won’t you just talk to ?"

But there was no answer, not even a glance back. It was like he didn’t exist to her.

Roman dragged a hand down his face, his frustration building again, then quickened his pace until he stepped in front of her, cutting her off. He leaned forward, one hand gripping the wheelchair to stop it. The motion was abrupt.

"What do you think you’re doing?" Estelle snapped, her chest rising unevenly as she looked up at him. "Get out of my way."

"No." Roman shook his head, tightening his hold on the chair. "Not until you talk to ."

"Well, I don’t have anything to say to you," Estelle replied curtly, her fingers fidgeting against the fabric of her dress. "Now, excuse , I need to go inside."

"I don’t understand this. Why are you upset with ?" Roman asked, his voice low. "We had a plan, right? To put on a show for the world, to maintain appearances as the perfect couple, and to still be with Lena. Yet here you are, clearly upset. This is what you wanted, rember?"

Estelle’s eyes burned, and she let out a short, exasperated sigh. Her chest felt tight, like the air around them was suffocating. I guess it all ant nothing. She straightened, eting his gaze with a steely calm. "You really think I have the ti to care who you touch?"

"Well, that’s what it looks like," Roman said, shrugging, the movent casual, but there was tension in his jaw, in the way his hands flexed at his sides.

You wish, Estelle thought, her lips pressing into a thin line before she scoffed. "News flash: you’re free to do whatever you want with your life, with your choices. That’s not my concern." Her voice sharpened as she placed her hands on her wheelchair again. "Now, get out of my way. I need to go into the room and take off this dress since the show is over."

Just then, her phone buzzed against her hip. She pulled it out, the screen lighting her hand, and her eyes skimd the ssage from Vance: Now you can see who is really on your side. If I were you, I would save my legs. See this as friendly advice. The rest is up to you. Don’t wait until you’re replaced.

Her pulse quickened, the words sinking into her like ice and fire at once. Minutes ago, the decision she had to make felt impossible, but now, standing in front of Roman, it was clearer and maybe easier. Still, it tugged at the corner of her heart, the part that still cared, and she hated the vulnerability it exposed.

"Who was that?" Roman asked, his tone careful, curious, watching her closely as she slid the phone back into place.

"You don’t get to ask that. What I do doesn’t concern you anymore. The caras are off now," she replied smoothly, her fingers brushing her side.

Roman’s eyes lingered on her movent. He pressed a hand to his forehead, his eyes closing briefly as if trying to block out the chaos in his chest. "I hate this feeling right here," he muttered, fingers pointing to his chest. "It feels like I’m doing sothing wrong—"

"I am not responsible for whatever you’re feeling," Estelle interrupted, her tone firm. She wheeled herself back, letting the air between them thicken with distance. "You are free to do whatever it takes to make yourself happy and fulfilled. Because I intend to do exactly that."

She didn’t wait for his response. She just turned and left him standing in the shadows of the hallway, clutching at a ghost.