Chapter 119
Lena's POV
I was seven years old, running through the Grant house after playing in the garden. My dress was grass-stained, my knees scraped from climbing the old oak tree.
"Mommy! Mommy, look what I found—"
I pushed open the door to Marcus's study without knocking.
A woman's scream. Movement. Marcus's voice, sharp and angry.
The woman wasn't my mother.
She was blonde, younger, half-dressed and scrambling to cover herself. Marcus stood beside the desk, fury darkening his face.
"Lena." His voice was ice. "Get out."
"You—you're not supposed to—" My child's brain struggled to process what I was seeing. "I'm telling Mommy!"
I turned to run.
"Grab her."
The woman moved fast. Her hand closed around my wrist, yanking me back. I screamed, but Marcus was already at the door, locking it.
"Quiet," he hissed.
"Let me go! I'm telling! I'm—"
The woman's other hand clamped over my mouth. She dragged me toward the center of the room, and I kicked and twisted, but she was so much stronger.
"Stupid little brat," she muttered. "Always in the way."
Marcus approached with something in his hand. A belt.
"You want to tell your mother?" His voice was soft. Terrifying. "Let me give you something to tell her about."
The first strike burned across my shoulders. I screamed against the woman's palm.
"Hold her still," Marcus said.
The woman's hands moved to my dress, pulling, tearing—
"No! No, please—"
More strikes. More pain. The woman's laughter, high and cruel, as she—
Something bitter forced between my lips. Liquid. I gagged, tried to spit it out, but Marcus's hand clamped over my mouth and nose.
"Swallow."
I couldn't breathe. Couldn't—
Darkness.
When I woke up, I was in a hospital bed. White walls. Bright lights. A doctor's kind face explaining that I'd gotten into Mommy's medicine cabinet, that I'd wandered outside and fallen into the rose bushes.
"You're very lucky, sweetheart. But you must never touch medicine that isn't yours, understand?"
I nodded, confused. I didn't remember any rose bushes. Didn't remember—
What had I been doing before the hospital?
My mind was blank. Just pain and darkness and the doctor's stern face.
And when Mommy came to take me home, she didn't hug me. Just looked at me with those cold eyes and said, "I hope you've learned your lesson."
---
I came back to myself on the floor of my study.
Tears streamed down my face. My entire body shook. I was curled in on myself, arms wrapped tight around my knees, gasping for air that wouldn't come.
They lied. They lied. It wasn't roses. It wasn't—
A sob tore from my throat.
He took those pictures. He documented it. He kept them.
My stomach heaved.
The woman. She—they—
I couldn't finish the thought. Couldn't let myself see it clearly. My mind fractured around the edges of the memory, everything sharp and raw and wrong.
I heard footsteps in the hallway. A knock.
"Lena?"
Rowan's voice. Distant. Concerned.
I couldn't answer. Couldn't move.
The door opened wider. Footsteps came closer.
"Lena, what—oh God."
---
Rowan's POV
I'd been in the middle of reviewing Q3 projections when I heard it—a sound that didn't belong. A choked gasp. A thud.
I was on my feet before I consciously registered moving.
"Lena?" I called, already at her study door.
No response.
I knocked. Waited three seconds. Knocked again.
Still nothing.
Fuck protocol.
I pushed the door open.
And froze.
Lena was on the floor beside her desk, curled into herself so tightly she looked like she was trying to disappear. Her whole body shook with silent sobs. Tears tracked down her face, and her eyes—
Her eyes weren't seeing me. Weren't seeing the room.
"Lena." I dropped to my knees beside her, instinct overriding thought. I reached for her shoulder—
She flinched violently away from my touch, a small broken sound escaping her throat.
I froze, hands hovering uselessly in the air between us.
"Lena, it's me. It's Rowan. You're safe. I'm not going to hurt you."
She didn't respond. Just kept shaking, arms locked around her knees.
My gaze swept the room, searching for the threat. Landed on her laptop screen.
The photograph made my blood run cold.
A child. Bruised. Barely clothed. Huddled in the corner of a bedroom I recognized from the Grant house.
Oh God. Oh fuck.
Rage exploded through my chest—white-hot and consuming. But I forced it down, forced my hands steady as I reached past Lena and snapped the laptop shut. Ejected the U-drive. Shoved it in my pocket.
Then I turned back to her.
"Lena." I kept my voice low. Steady. "You're in your apartment. You're safe. Marcus isn't here. That woman isn't here. It's just me."
Still no response.
"I'm going to stay right here, okay? I'm not leaving. But I need you to try to breathe with me."
I started counting. Slow, deliberate inhales and exhales. After several cycles, I saw her chest start to match the rhythm—jerky at first, then gradually smoothing out.
"That's it. You're doing great. Just keep breathing."
Minutes passed. Maybe five. Maybe ten. Gradually, the tremors subsided. Her grip on her knees loosened slightly.
"Lena," I said again. Softer this time. "Can you hear me?"
A tiny nod.
Relief crashed through me.
"I'm going to move a little closer. Just to make sure you don't fall over. Is that okay?"
Another nod, barely perceptible.
I shifted carefully, positioning myself beside her with my back against the desk. Close enough that she could feel my presence but not so close that I crowded her.