Chapter 113
Lena's POV
I turned on Rowan. "Satisfied?"
"I'm thinking about your safety."
"You're thinking about control." I crossed my arms, suddenly exhausted again. "But fine. You win this round. Just take me home."
His jaw tightened. "Lena—"
"A ride, Rowan. That's all you're getting. Don't push it."
Emily appeared at my elbow, giving Rowan a look I couldn't quite read. "I'll call you tonight," she told me. "Take care."
"I will. Thank you."
She left, and I was alone with Rowan in the bright, impersonal lobby. He gestured toward the parking garage without a word.
I followed without another word.
His car was exactly where I knew it would be. He opened the passenger door, waited until I was settled, then rounded to the driver's side.
The engine purred to life. Classical music played softly—Chopin, I thought, though I couldn't be sure. I stared out the window as we pulled into traffic, arms crossed, every muscle in my body screaming discomfort.
Ten minutes passed. Then fifteen. The silence stretched until it felt like a physical presence between us.
Finally, Rowan spoke.
"We need to talk about your security situation."
I didn't look at him. "What about it?"
"Marcus is still out there. He's dangerous, Lena, and he's made it clear you're a target." His hands flexed on the steering wheel. "I can't let you stay alone."
My laugh was bitter. "So what's your solution? Hire a bodyguard to follow me around?"
"Actually—" He took a breath. "I was thinking I should stay at your apartment for a while."
I whipped around to stare at him. "Are you serious?"
"Completely." He kept his eyes on the road. "Marcus knows where you live. He has resources, connections, and he's desperate. People like that are unpredictable. Dangerous."
"I can hire my own security, Rowan. I don't need you playing savior."
"Regular security isn't enough. If Marcus decides to escalate—"
"And you think you staying at my place will stop him?" I couldn't keep the edge from my voice. "Or are you just looking for an excuse to—"
I stopped. Wouldn't give him the satisfaction of finishing that sentence.
His jaw clenched. "This isn't about us. This is about keeping you alive."
"It's inappropriate." My voice came out flat, final. "We're divorced. You don't get to make decisions about my life anymore."
"I know." His knuckles went white on the wheel. "But if something happens to you because I didn't do enough... because I let my pride or your anger or whatever the hell is between us get in the way—"
He didn't finish. Didn't need to.
"You don't get to decide for me," I said quietly. "This is my life. My safety. I'll handle it my way."
"Which is what? Trust some random security company? Put your life in the hands of strangers?"
"More than I trust you with my personal space."
The words landed like a slap. I saw it in the way his shoulders went rigid, the way his throat worked like he was swallowing glass. The muscle in his jaw jumped once, twice.
The silence that followed was crushing.
I looked away, watching the city blur past my window. Felt something twist in my chest—guilt, maybe, or regret. The words had been cruel. True, but cruel.
He deserved it, I told myself. After everything, he deserved it.
But the look on his face...
"Okay."
His voice was so quiet I almost missed it.
I turned back. "What?"
"Okay," he repeated. His hands loosened slightly on the wheel. "Then let me arrange security for you. Top-tier team. Twenty-four-seven surveillance. Whatever you need."
I studied his profile—the tight set of his mouth, the tension in his shoulders that hadn't eased despite his words. He was conceding. Actually conceding.
It should have felt like victory.
It felt like something else entirely.
"Fine," I said finally. "But I approve the team. I meet them first, and if I don't like them, we find someone else."
"Fair enough."
"And you don't get updates about my schedule or my movements or anything beyond basic security briefings."
His jaw tightened, but he nodded. "Agreed."
I leaned back against the seat, suddenly bone-tired. "Thank you."
He glanced at me then—just for a second before his eyes returned to the road. Something passed across his face too quickly for me to name.
"You don't have to thank me for wanting you safe, Lena."
I didn't have an answer to that. So I turned back to the window and watched Silverton roll past until the familiar streets of my neighborhood appeared.
He pulled up to my building, put the car in park, but didn't kill the engine.
"The security team will be in place by tomorrow morning," he said. "Jack will coordinate with you directly."
"Okay."
I reached for the door handle. His hand moved like he wanted to stop me, then fell back to the steering wheel.
"Lena—"
"Goodbye, Rowan."
I got out before he could finish whatever he'd been about to say, shouldering my bag and walking toward the entrance without looking back.
But I felt his eyes on me all the way to the door.
And when I finally stepped inside, when the glass closed between us and the engine finally faded into the distance, I let myself lean against the wall and breathe.
Just breathe.
Tomorrow I'd deal with security teams and Marcus and whatever data Alexander had recovered. Tomorrow I'd be the lawyer, the professional, the woman who had her life under control.
Tonight, I was just tired.
So tired.