His Father Bought Me-Chapter 11: You Drowned Me

The Mercedes had barely begun to slow when Estelle started tapping the headrest of the driver’s chair, and who could blame her? Her heart was pounding with excitement that was almost impossible to contain.

"Get me out quickly!" she said urgently, her breath fogging the window as her eyes settled on the towering blue-and-white sign ahead that read Rutledge Center... a promise of her salvation.

"In a moment, ma’am," the driver replied, easing the car to a smooth stop.

Now, everything will be fixed.

For Estelle, everything felt too slow, she needed to get out immediately. She drummed her fingers restlessly against the chair as her chest tightened, not with fear this time, but hope, raw, fragile, blinding hope.

Finally, she was home again. The one place that had ever made sense, the one place where the ice obeyed her, where gravity bowed, where she had been more than a burden, and now, the nightmare could end.

As the chauffeur opened the door, cold air rushed in, sharp with the scent of frost and metal.

She didn’t wait.

Before the chauffeur could even reach for her, she already threw herself at him, but he caught her just in time, placing her carefully in the chair.

She had barely settled into the chair before she grabbed the wheels. They hit pavement with a jolt, and she pushed forward hard. The incline toward the entrance burned her shoulders instantly. Her palms stung, her muscles trembled, but she didn’t care.

The glass entrance doors slid open with a mechanical hum, and the cold air spilled over her skin the moment she crossed the threshold.

The first thing that hit her was the unmistakable scent of ice and rubber mats. It felt familiar and somehow comforting. She inhaled deeply, her lungs expanding.

Then more sounds came. Music, blades cutting, and applause.

And then the whispers started. Heads turned, voices lowered.

"Is that her?"

"I heard—"

"Didn’t Magnus—"

The words followed her like gnats, but she kept going, faster now. Her arms screamed in protest, but the office door was right there at the end of the corridor with frosted glass and gold lettering.

Henry Rutledge, her father. The one person who would fix this.

She stopped outside the door, taking a deep breath as hope flared bright in her chest. Then, she twisted the handle and wheeled inside.

Henry was behind his desk. Pen in hand, glasses low on his nose, a large book open before him. He looked up, and as he saw her, he stood slowly.

"Estelle?" His brows drew together. "W-what are you doing here?"

He wasn’t expecting to see her, that much was clear, but something about the question made Estelle’s stomach twist. Her father didn’t sound surprised, he sounded resigned... like he would never see her again.

No. It’s just in my head. She forced a smile and pushed forward again.

"I need your help, Father." Her voice wavered despite her effort to steady it. "I need you to convince Mother that there are other ways to get funding for my surgery. You need to tell her that I do not need to become a bargaining chip just to walk again."

Henry exhaled, his shoulders dropping slightly, and lowered himself back into his chair. "It’s not that simple, Estelle." Regret coated the words.

Estelle’s brows drew tight as she looked at him. "What do you mean, Father? It’s actually very simple," she countered, her pulse spiking in her ears now.

She moved closer to him, and instantly, Henry’s hand moved, covering the large book on his desk. Her eyes followed the movement, and then she saw it.

It was the ledger, still visible beneath his palm. Numbers were circled in red ink, and balances showed negative. But one line stood out.

Whitehall Holdings. Three hundred thousand. Paid in full.

Her stomach dropped, and she looked at him. "When did that payment clear?" she asked quietly.

Henry looked at the book surprised. That was when he noticed he had not done a good job covering it. He closed the book, avoiding her gaze. "The day you signed," he said.

"I didn’t sign anything!" Her voice sharpened as she cut in. "Mother put me up for sale and Magnus bought me like a piece of equipment. For a son who despises me!" Her voice dropped and she reached for her father’s hand on the table. "I need you to fix this... please."

Henry slowly pulled his hand from her hold and adjusted the ledger instead, straightening it as if aligning columns mattered more than aligning her spine or her life.

"It’s for the best," he said quietly. "We were drowning..." he paused for another breath. "This accident... it gave us leverage. It saved the rink."

The words landed like a thunderclap in Estelle’s chest.

"Leverage?" she repeated faintly, looking at him with wide eyes

He swallowed. "It was an opportunity."

An opportunity. The air left her lungs.

"An opportunity?" Her hands tightened on the wheels until her knuckles whitened. "You’re talking about my spine... my career, my life!"

Her father’s jaw hardened. "You were finished on the ice, Estelle. Sponsors were already pulling out, and the insurance wasn’t enough to cover anything. And Magnus..." his voice dropped with something that resembled guilt. "He offered us security."

The words sounded hollow in the office.

Something inside Estelle’s chest shifted painfully. "Security?" she whispered. "For who?"

Henry didn’t answer.

Then, her gaze sharpened as a thought broke through her mind. "Hearing you say that," she said softly, the words tasting like ash on her tongue, "makes me wonder if it was really an accident at all."

The room held its breath.

Henry’s brows shot up. "How can you say that? You think we would intentionally ruin your life?"

"At this moment, I am searching for a reason not to believe that," Estelle shot back, her voice firm.

"No, Estelle," he said, reaching for her hand, but she recoiled. He exhaled slowly, shaking his head. "You don’t understand... the bills, the mortgage on the rink, the sponsors pulling out... We needed to stay afloat."

"So you drowned me?" she interjected quietly.