Chapter 154
Lena's POV
The breath I'd been holding for three hours released all at once.
"When can we see her?" Jack asked, already standing.
"She's in recovery now. Give her about forty-five minutes, then you can go in." Dr. Kimura smiled faintly. "She's fortunate to have such dedicated support."
After he left, I sank back into the chair, suddenly exhausted.
Emily squeezed my shoulder. "See? Told you she'd be fine."
I nodded, not trusting my voice.
But fine was relative when I remembered why Diana had needed surgery in the first place. The SUV that had come for me. Marcus Grant's hired killer behind the wheel.
My fault. All of it, my fault.
---
Recovery Room—Forty-Five Minutes Later
Diana was groggy but awake when they let us in. Her eyes found me first, then Jack, then Emily.
"Hey," she mumbled, words slightly slurred from the anesthesia. "Did I miss anything good?"
"Just Jack pacing a hole in the floor," Emily said lightly.
Diana's gaze slid to Jack, something soft crossing her features. "You stayed."
"Where else would I be?" he said simply.
I watched them look at each other, that same careful tenderness I'd noticed before, and felt like an intruder.
"I'm going to get more coffee," I said, standing. "Emily?"
Emily caught on immediately. "Yeah, I could use some."
We left them alone.
---
In the hallway, Emily linked her arm through mine. "Those two need to figure their shit out."
"They will," I said. "Eventually."
"What about you?" Emily asked, too casual. "How are you holding up?"
"I'm fine."
"Lena."
I stopped walking, leaned against the wall. "Marcus is in custody. The arraignment is in a few days. I'll have to testify." The words came out flat, emotionless. "I'm fine."
Emily studied me with those therapist eyes that saw too much. "You don't have to be fine all the time, you know."
"I know." I pushed off the wall. "But right now, I need to be."
My phone buzzed before Emily could respond.
Rowan: Federal prosecutor just called. Arraignment is set for day after tomorrow. 10 a.m., Fifth Circuit Courthouse. They're requesting you as a key witness for the bail hearing.
My pulse kicked up. I stared at the screen, reading the message twice.
The day after tomorrow. Forty-eight hours.
Me: I'll be there.
Rowan: Do you want me there with you?
I hesitated, fingers hovering over the keyboard. The old Lena—the one who'd signed a contract marriage and convinced herself she didn't need anyone—would have said no. Would have walked into that courtroom alone, spine straight, face blank.
But that Lena had also watched Diana nearly die taking a hit meant for her. Had spent three and a half hours in a waiting room, terrified, surrounded by people who'd shown up without being asked.
Me: Yes. Please.
Rowan: I'll pick you up at 8:30. We'll go together.
I locked my phone and looked up to find Emily watching me with a small, knowing smile.
"What?" I asked.
"Nothing," she said. "Just... progress."
I didn't argue.
---
Two Days Later—Morning of the Arraignment
I woke at 5 a.m., gave up on sleep by 5:30, and was showered and dressed by 6:15. The charcoal suit I'd chosen felt like armor—sharp lines, perfect tailoring, not a thread out of place.
In the mirror, I looked like the lawyer I'd been trained to be. Controlled. Professional. Untouchable.
The woman staring back at me gave no hint that her hands had been shaking since she woke up.
I found Rowan in the kitchen, already dressed in a dark navy suit, pouring coffee. He looked up when I entered.
"Morning," he said quietly. "You're up early."
"Couldn't sleep."
He nodded, like he'd expected that, and handed me a mug. "I made French toast. Your favorite kind—the one with cinnamon and vanilla."
I blinked at the plate on the counter. He'd remembered. Somewhere between our contract marriage and now, he'd started paying attention to the details I actually cared about, not the performance I'd put on for two years.
"Thank you," I said, and meant it.
We ate in comfortable silence, the only sound the clink of forks and the distant hum of the coffee maker. Outside, the lake was still dark, the sun not yet risen.
"Are you ready?" Rowan asked finally.
"No," I admitted. "But I'm going anyway."
His expression softened. "That's all that matters."
At 8:30 exactly, we walked out to his car. He opened the passenger door for me—a small gesture that would have felt patronizing two months ago but now just felt... considerate.
The drive downtown was quiet. Rowan didn't try to fill the silence with empty reassurances or meaningless small talk. He just drove, one hand on the wheel, the other resting on the center console within reach if I needed it.
I didn't take his hand. But I didn't move away either.
The Fifth Circuit Courthouse loomed ahead, all granite columns and imposing steps. News vans were already setting up on the street, reporters checking equipment, photographers positioning themselves for the best angle.
My stomach clenched.
"We can go in through the side entrance," Rowan said, reading my tension. "Avoid the cameras."
I shook my head. "No. I'm not hiding."
"Okay." He pulled into the reserved parking area, killed the engine, then turned to face me. "Lena. If at any point you need to leave—"
"I know," I interrupted gently. "You'll be there. You've said."
"I mean it."
"I know you do."
We sat there for a moment, the weight of what was about to happen pressing down on both of us.
Then I opened the door and stepped out into the cold November morning.
Rowan fell into step beside me as we approached the courthouse steps. Cameras began clicking the moment they spotted us. Reporters shouted questions I didn't answer.
At the top of the steps, I paused, turned to look back at the gathering crowd.
Somewhere in that building, Marcus was waiting in handcuffs.
I took a breath, felt Rowan's steady presence at my shoulder, and walked through the doors.