Chapter 122
Rowan's POV
Her office was exactly what you'd expect—diplomas on the wall, a couch instead of a desk, soft lighting designed to make people feel safe enough to fall apart.
I stayed standing.
"Lena's stronger than she thinks," Dr. Taylor said without preamble. "But she's also more fragile than she shows. She's spent most of her life in survival mode—suppressing emotions, performing competence, convincing herself she's fine."
I already knew that. I'd watched her do it for two years.
"The next few weeks are going to be difficult," she continued. "Nightmares. Flashbacks. Emotional volatility. She'll need stability, but she'll also push people away because vulnerability feels like weakness to her."
"What should I do?"
"Be present. Don't try to fix her or save her—that'll make her feel weak. Just... be there. Let her set the pace."
I nodded. "Anything else?"
"Avoid triggers. Anything that might remind her of Marcus or her childhood. And—" She paused, measuring her words. "—don't make promises you can't keep. She's already had too many people betray her trust."
The implication hung in the air between us.
I met her eyes. "I won't."
She held my gaze a moment longer, then nodded. "Good. She needs someone she can rely on. Whether she admits it or not."
---
I found them in the parking lot. Emily was talking quietly, her hand on Lena's shoulder. Lena was staring at nothing, her arms wrapped around herself.
When she heard my footsteps, she straightened. Put the mask back on.
I wanted to tell her she didn't have to do that. Not with me.
Instead, I just said, "Ready to go?"
The drive back was quiet. Emily sat in the back seat, scrolling through her phone. Lena stared out the window, her hands folded in her lap.
I kept my eyes on the road and tried not to think about the evidence on the U-drive. About what Marcus had done. About how badly I wanted to find him and—
"Thank you for today."
Lena's voice was soft. Almost tentative.
I glanced at her. "You don't need to thank me."
"I know." She was still looking out the window. "But I want to."
My throat tightened.
I wanted to reach over. Take her hand. Tell her I'd do anything to make this easier.
But I just nodded and kept driving.
---
When we got back to the apartment, Martha had dinner waiting—soup, bread, something light and comforting that didn't require much appetite.
Emily lingered by the door. "I can stay if you want."
"I'm okay." Lena's smile was wan but genuine. "You should go home. Rest."
Emily hesitated, then pulled her into another hug. Over Lena's shoulder, she fixed me with a look that clearly said: Don't fuck this up.
I inclined my head slightly. I won't.
After she left, the apartment felt too quiet.
Lena sat down at the dining table, her movements careful. Controlled. Like she was trying very hard to appear normal.
I sat across from her. Martha served the soup and disappeared into the kitchen.
Lena picked up her spoon. Put it down. Folded her hands.
She was so obviously uncomfortable it hurt to watch.
I set down my own spoon. "You don't have to act like everything's fine."
Her eyes flicked up to mine. Wary.
"I know you're used to being..." I searched for the right word. "...composed. In control. But you don't have to be that way around me. Not anymore."
"I don't want your pity."
"It's not pity." I held her gaze. "It's... I think this is the most real I've ever seen you. And I realize I never gave you space to be real before."
She didn't respond. Just watched me with those careful, guarded eyes.
I took a breath. "I have my vulnerable moments too. I just never showed you. That was my mistake."
Silence.
Then: "What do you mean?"
I hadn't planned to say this. Hadn't even fully admitted it to myself until now.
But she'd spent three hours in therapy today, reliving her worst memories. The least I could do was be honest.
"The night we signed the contract marriage," I said slowly. "I sat in my office until dawn, asking myself if I was making a mistake. If treating this like a business arrangement was... wrong."
Lena's expression shifted slightly. Surprise, maybe.
"After we signed the divorce papers," I continued, "I drove around the city for three hours. Didn't know where to go. Didn't want to go home. Didn't want to—" I stopped. Started again. "I told myself it was business. That we both got what we wanted. Clean. Simple."
I met her eyes.
"But the truth is, I was terrified of losing you. I just didn't admit it until it was too late."
Her breath caught. I saw her blink rapidly, fighting tears.
I stood. Walked around the table. Crouched down beside her chair so we were eye-level.
"I'll be here, Lena. For as long as you need. And when you're ready—if you're ever ready—to let me back in... I'll be waiting."
Her voice came out shaky. "What if I'm never ready?"
I smiled—small, sad, honest. "Then I'll still be here. As your security detail. As your friend. Whatever you'll allow."
A tear slipped down her cheek.
I lifted my hand slowly, giving her time to pull away. She didn't.
I brushed the tear away with my thumb.
She caught my wrist. Held it. Her fingers were trembling.
"Don't go too far," she whispered.
My heart cracked open.
"I won't," I promised. "I'm right here."
And for the first time in months—maybe years—I meant it.