Roman walked away from the door, his jaw tight, forcing himself not to look back. He didn’t know how close he had just been to uncovering what was behind the locked door.
—
Behind the closed doors of the surgical room, Estelle lay motionless on the operating table, her body still beneath the harsh white lights.
The steady rhythm of machines filled the air with soft beeps and the low hum of equipnt, while the surgical team worked with careful precision around her.
Her eyes remained shut, lashes resting against her cheeks, completely unaware of the storm unfolding inside her own body.
Then, suddenly, the lead surgeon stopped. His hands hovered for a fraction of a second, his breath catching beneath his mask. A crease ford between his brows as his gaze sharpened.
"Oh, we have a problem," he said quietly, but the weight in his tone cut through the room like a blade.
Every movent around him slowed, and every eye was fixed on him.
"What is going on?" the assistant asked, stepping closer, his gaze drifting to the exposed section of Estelle’s back.
The surgeon didn’t answer imdiately. He shook his head once, as if trying to dismiss what he was seeing, but his focus never wavered.
"Light. I need more light here," he ordered, urgency creeping into his voice.
"Here!" The assistant took the surgical light from the nurse and adjusted it, angling it downward. He leaned in, peering closer.
For a mont, there was only silence.
Then his eyes widened. "What is that?" he murmured, disbelief threading through his voice.
The lead surgeon exhaled slowly, tension settling into his shoulders. "This isn’t just nerve damage," he said slowly, his voice tightening. "There’s scar tissue here that shouldn’t exist. This... this looks altered."
The assistant glanced at him, unease flickering across his face. "Are you suggesting that soone’s been in here before?" he asked, his eyes fixed on the opening. Then he swallowed, his gaze flicking up. "Who would do sothing like that?"
The surgeon stayed silent for a mont. His hands moved again, slower this ti, more deliberate, like he was searching for an answer that wasn’t there.
"Can we fix this?" the assistant’s voice ca again.
The lead surgeon shook his head, releasing a slow exhale through his nose. "No."
The word landed heavy, and almost instantly, the machines reacted.
A sharp, rapid beeping shattered the fragile calm, rising in pitch and urgency. Numbers spiked across the monitors, flashing erratically.
"Her blood pressure is rising!" one of the nurses called out, her voice cutting through the chaos.
For a split second, it felt as though Estelle’s body reacted from sowhere deep beneath the anesthesia, like she had heard, like so part of her knew.
The lead surgeon’s head snapped toward the monitors. "We need to stabilize her. Now! This could spiral fast," he said, his tone firm, controlled, but filled with urgency.
The assistant turned sharply to the nurses. "Get her vitals under control. We are not losing her," he ordered.
The room burst into motion.
Hands moved quickly, efficiently, adjusting drips, checking readings, calling out numbers. The air grew tight, charged with pressure and the tension that threatened to swallow everyone of them whole.
But through it all, Estelle remained still, silent, and unaware.
—
anwhile, Roman stepped back into the locker room, the door swinging shut behind him with a dull thud.
The familiar scent of sweat, leather, and cold air wrapped around him, but it did nothing to steady the storm in his chest. His thoughts churned relentlessly. Sothing wasn’t right.
Magnus had refused to help him, he had made it clear there would be a price if he lifted a finger. And yet now, sothing had shifted. Or maybe it hadn’t. Maybe this was just another move in a ga Roman didn’t fully understand yet.
His jaw tightened as he grabbed his gear without thinking, his movents sharp and automatic, then turned and strode out of the arena, urgency driving every step. If Magnus was playing him, he needed to know how.
Within minutes, he was behind the wheel, the engine roaring to life as he sped off. The road blurred past him, but his mind stayed fixed on one thing. Answers.
The mansion gates lood ahead sooner than he realized. He pulled in hard, the car jerking to a stop as gravel crunched beneath the tires.
For a mont, he didn’t move. His hands tightened around the steering wheel, his breath uneven. Then he forced a slow inhale, grounding himself before stepping out.
Inside, the foyer was quiet. Then he lifted his head and saw him.
Magnus was descending the staircase, composed as ever, each step asured, unhurried. Roman’s eyes narrowed as they locked onto his father’s face, studying him, every line, every flicker, every hint of emotion.
But there was nothing reassuring there, nothing that looked like help. That confird it, sothing was indeed off. And Roman could feel it, deep in his bones.
Magnus said nothing at first. He simply continued down the staircase, one asured step after the other, his briefcase swinging lightly at his side. The soft click of his shoes echoed steadily through the quiet foyer.
Roman stood at the base, unmoving, his grip tightening around his hockey stick. "I heard you decided to help get rid of the scandal with the Saunders," he said, his voice cutting cleanly through the silence.
Magnus paused just long enough to look at him, his head tilting slightly, as if amused. "Should I take that as a thank you?" he asked, his tone laced with dry sarcasm.
Roman didn’t react. His expression stayed firm, unreadable. "I just want to know what the catch is," he replied. "You swore not to help unless I agreed to your plan. I don’t recall saying yes, so why are you doing this?"
For a mont, Magnus simply studied him. Then he gave a faint shake of his head as he stepped onto the final stair.
"If I had known this would be your reaction, I would have let you drown in it," he said lightly. "Don’t worry, I can have them release him and let the public have access to him. Maybe he’ll wake up and tell everyone exactly what happened."
The words hung there.
Roman’s jaw tightened. "Just tell what you took from , or gave , without my permission this ti," he said, his voice lower now, edged with suspicion.
Magnus’s expression hardened almost imperceptibly. His jaw flexed, but he said nothing. Instead, he stepped fully onto the landing and started toward the door, the polished floor carrying the sharp, rhythmic sound of his footsteps.
Roman didn’t move aside. They t each other’s gaze head-on, the space between them tight with tension.
"You have more important things to worry about," Magnus said as he looked into his son’s eyes. "You face the panel tomorrow. That alone should keep you occupied."
He adjusted his grip on the briefcase, his voice cool. "Who knows? You might walk out of there irrelevant. I suggest you spend your ti preparing sothing convincing, because I won’t be there to speak for you."
He stopped just short of Roman, his eyes flicking over him once. "Now, get out of my way."
Roman held his ground for a beat, his jaw ticking, his breath slow but heavy in his chest.
"I don’t want anything from you," he said finally. "And I’m not committing another cri for you. If you think you can drag into your ss again in exchange for help," he shook his head once. "Think again, because I won’t just sit by and watch this ti."
There was a quiet edge to his voice now, sothing more dangerous."I’ll protect myself this ti," Roman said quietly. Then, his gaze hardened. "So you’d better be ready, because I won’t be your victim again."
The words lingered between them.
Then Roman stepped past him, shoulder brushing lightly against Magnus as he walked away without another glance.
Behind him, Magnus didn’t turn, but the faint smile on his lips never quite reached his eyes.
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