His Father Bought Me-Chapter 46: Why Are You Stopping?

The words lingered between them. Something shifted, it was subtle, but undeniable.

Roman’s chest tightened. His gaze dropped, almost involuntarily, to her lips, and stayed there for a second too long. Then he turned away, as if breaking free from something he didn’t want to feel.

"I’m glad I can still trust you," he said, his tone lighter, too quick, almost forced. Then a beat passed. "But tell me where Vance took you."

Estelle let out a breath, her gaze lowering for a fraction of a second. You can’t tell him. Not yet. She swallowed, lifting her eyes back to his. "We went to check if the stylists had arrived," she said. The lie settled heavily on her tongue. "But no one was there. Apparently, the maids gave him the wrong information." Her fingers brushed absently against her dress. "But they should be here soon," she added, keeping her voice even. "I’ll get ready in my room when they arrive."

Roman nodded, a bright, easy smile spreading across his face as if everything had just fallen neatly into place. "Yeah, I think it’s a great idea for you to have your own room." He slipped his hands into his pockets, almost relaxed now. "Honestly, it gives me one more way to prove to Lena that what happened on the live was nothing." He glanced at her, grin widening. "She’s the only one I want."

The words landed harder than they should have.

Estelle felt them like a thunderclap, like something hollowed out inside her chest. Her gaze stayed on him, but his voice echoed louder in her head than in the room. It meant nothing. Not even the kiss? Her throat tightened. For a second, her fingers pressed into the armrest, grounding herself, but her face didn’t change. If anything, she simply nodded.

Roman, oblivious, tapped his lip thoughtfully, his gaze drifting for a moment before settling back on her. "Actually," he began, a spark of interest lighting his expression. "Do you think you could give me a few tips?"

Estelle frowned.

"You know, on how to win Lena over," he continued, his tone casual. "She’s being really dramatic right now." He let out a light breath, shrugging. "And we’ve got bigger things to deal with."

He smiled again, almost boyishly. "So if you could just give me a tip or two, I’ll handle the rest. Maybe come up with some grand gesture to seal it."

Each word settled heavier than the last.

Estelle swallowed, trying to force down the tight knot rising in her chest. It didn’t move, it just sat there, heavy and suffocating. Still, she shrugged lightly, like none of it mattered.

Roman’s smile faded a fraction. He caught something, just a flicker, in her eyes and his brows pulled together. "Hey... are you alright?" he asked, stepping a little closer. His voice softened without him realizing. "Did I say something wrong? I was just asking for your help."

Estelle let out a small scoff, waving her hand dismissively, though the movement felt more awkward than she intended. "Of course not," she said, a light, almost forced laugh slipping out. "Why would I care about what you do with your life?" Her gaze flicked past him, avoiding his completely now. "I’m not bothered," she added, her tone steadier. "My focus is on one thing."

Roman studied her for a second, then nodded slowly. "Skating again," he said, and then his brows furrowed, something sharper creeping into his expression. "I just wonder," he added, quieter now, his eyes searching hers, "how far you’re willing to go to get that."

"How far would you be willing to go in my shoes?" Estelle asked quietly, lifting her gaze to meet his and she didn’t look away.

"I mean, we’re talking about just your girlfriend," she continued, her voice steady, "and you’re already ready to do whatever it takes." A small breath slipped past her lips. "So tell me, how much more would you do if it were your career, your entire life, on the line?"

Roman opened his mouth. "Estelle—"

A sharp knock cut through the room before he could finish. The sound lingered, heavy in the air.

Estelle didn’t wait. She already knew who was there or hoped she did. She turned her chair and wheeled herself to the door, her movements calm. When she pulled it open, the faint scent of polished wood and fresh linen drifted in from the hallway.

The maids stood there, hands clasped neatly, heads slightly bowed. "We are ready for you, ma’am," one of them said.

Estelle nodded once. "Finally." She didn’t look back at Roman. "Help me," she added.

One of the maids stepped forward immediately, moving behind her, hands settling on the wheelchair handles.

"Won’t you take these?" Roman’s voice came from behind her, as if he needed an excuse for her to look back. He gestured toward the dresses laid out in the room.

Estelle paused, but didn’t turn. "They’ve served their purpose," she said, her tone flat. "I’d rather have something new." Then, slowly, she turned her head just enough to glance at him over her shoulder. "You wanted something to win her over with, right?" she added. "Well, there you go."

Roman frowned slightly, looking at the dresses again. He shook his head. "No, these are too thin for her. She’s curvier."

The words landed without thought.

Estelle’s fingers tightened in her lap. "Then get them in her size," she replied, her tone clipped. She turned forward again, the brief connection broken. "Let’s go."

The maids nodded and began to wheel her away, the soft roll of the chair echoing down the hallway.

Roman stood there, unmoving, watching her retreat. His brows pulled together slowly. Something about it didn’t sit right. "Is it just me," he murmured under his breath, stepping toward the door, "or is she different?"

He lingered there for a second, but didn’t step out. Instead, he closed the door, the click echoing softly. Down the hall, Estelle felt it, not the sound, but the finality of it. For a fleeting moment, something twisted in her chest. A quiet, stubborn part of her had expected something. A call, a step after her, anything.

She lowered her gaze, blinking once. Then she shook her head, as if physically pushing the thought away. He doesn’t care. Her fingers relaxed slowly on her knees. And you shouldn’t either.

Estelle kept her chin lifted as the maids wheeled her down the corridor, the soft hum of the chair blending with the hush of the mansion. The air here felt quieter, like it was holding its breath. As they approached the room, she saw them.

Magnus stood ahead, hands clasped neatly behind his back, his presence filling the space without effort. And beside him, as always, Vance stood still, his eyes watchful.

Estelle’s stomach tightened. She swallowed, drawing in a slow breath as she braced herself. Of course. The maids slowed, then stopped. The sudden stillness made her pulse spike, the sound of it loud in her ears. Why are you stopping? Her mind screamed.