Chapter 165
Lena's POV
"She was desperate to cure her illness. She needed an organ transplant but couldn't afford to go through legal channels. When she couldn't pay the syndicate's full price upfront, she signed a contract with them—lifetime loyalty in exchange for the surgery. Since then, she's been their recruiter—finding vulnerable people, facilitating transactions."
The pieces began to fall into place, each one more sickening than the last. "And Marcus?"
"He was one of her clients. We're still piecing together the timeline, but it looks like he used her services more than once."
I closed my eyes, nausea rising in my throat. "What happened to her daughter?"
"We're still trying to locate her. Last known address was a boarding school in the Midwest, but she hasn't been enrolled there for over a year."
I thanked him and ended the call, my mind racing. Maria had a daughter. A sick daughter she'd sacrificed everything to save. And yet, something about the story didn't sit right.
If Maria had been desperate enough to sell her soul to save her own life, why had she been living in poverty before the surgery? Why hadn't she abandoned the girl earlier, if money was all that mattered?
No. There was more to this. There had to be.
I pulled up the photo again, studying Maria's face. Her eyes were hollow, her expression blank. She looked like someone who'd already lost everything that mattered.
The question was: what had she lost? And where was her daughter now?
I made a note to follow up with the detective, then leaned back in my chair, staring at the ceiling. My thoughts drifted back to Rowan, to the way he'd looked at me in the hallway, the weight of his words.
I'll make you admit it eventually.
I hated that he was right. Hated that, despite everything, a part of me still wanted to believe him.
But I couldn't afford to. Not yet. Not until I knew whether he meant it—or whether this was just another game he was playing.
For now, all I could do was focus on the case. On finding the truth about Maria, about Marcus, about the network that had enabled his cruelty for so long.
And maybe, if I was lucky, I'd find a way to silence the part of me that still cared what Rowan Reynolds thought.
---
The apartment was quiet when I woke. Too quiet.
I padded out of my bedroom, automatically glancing toward the guest room. The door stood ajar, the bed neatly made. Empty.
In the kitchen, a note sat on the counter in Rowan's precise handwriting: Emergency meeting. May be late. Security team on standby. —R
I stared at the note for longer than necessary, then folded it and slipped it into my pocket. Relief washed over me—at least I wouldn't have to face him after yesterday's hallway confrontation. The memory of his body caging mine against the wall, his voice low and certain as he called me "my Reynolds wife," sent heat crawling up my neck.
Better this way. Cleaner.
I told myself that as I poured coffee, as I checked my phone, as I tried to ignore the hollow feeling in my chest.
"Good morning, Miss Grant." Martha appeared from the laundry room, already bustling toward the stove. "Will Mr. Reynolds be joining you for breakfast?"
"He's out." I kept my voice neutral. "Emergency meeting."
Martha's expression flickered with something—concern? disappointment?—but she simply nodded. "Then I'll make your favorite. And that soup you asked about? Been simmering all night. Old family recipe—chicken, fish maw, red dates, goji berries. Diana will love it."
Despite everything, I smiled. "Thank you, Martha. I really appreciate it."
"That girl saved your life." Martha's tone turned fierce. "Least we can do is feed her properly." She paused, studying me with the frankness of someone who'd known me too long. "You look tired, dear. Are you sleeping?"
"I'm fine." The automatic response.
Martha's lips pressed together, but she didn't push. "Well, you take care of yourself too. Can't pour from an empty cup."
I nodded, though we both knew I wouldn't listen.
---
An hour later, I stood in the apartment lobby with a thermal container of soup, facing David's professional concern.
"Ms. Grant, I'll have a car ready in five minutes. Two team members will accompany—"
"That's not necessary."
"With respect, ma'am, Mr. Reynolds was very clear about security protocols."
Of course he was. I swallowed my irritation. "Fine. But they stay in the car."
David's expression didn't change. "Understood."
In the elevator down to the parking garage, I stared at the thermal container in my hands. Diana had thrown herself between me and a speeding car without hesitation. The least I could do was bring her homemade soup and pretend the guilt wasn't eating me alive.
---
Jack answered Diana's door looking rumpled but alert, his shirt wrinkled in a way that suggested he'd slept in it. Or hadn't slept at all.
"Lena." His smile was genuine. "She'll be happy to see you. Come in."
I followed him into the apartment, noting the blanket folded on the couch, the coffee mug on the side table. He'd definitely stayed the night.
Diana was curled on the sofa, a book in her lap and a throw blanket over her legs. When she saw me, her face lit up despite the lingering pallor.
"You came." She started to rise.
"Don't." I crossed the room quickly, setting the soup down to embrace her carefully. "How are you feeling?"