Chapter 17
Lena's POV
Nora's voice came from behind me. I turned. She stood by the conference table, a friendly smile on her face.
"Want to join us for dinner tonight?" she said. "Rowan's taking me to Le Bernardin—that wonderful French place. I thought you might like to come? Since we're all on the same team."
Her tone was light, as if this were a casual invitation.
But I caught the expectation glinting in her eyes.
She was waiting for my reaction.
Waiting for hurt, jealousy, any emotional response.
"Thanks," I said, my voice steady, "but I have plans tonight. Enjoy your dinner."
"Really?" Nora tilted her head. "That's too bad. Next time, then."
"Um."
I picked up my briefcase and headed for the door. Rachel fell into step beside me.
As I left the conference room, I heard Nora say to Rowan, "She seems so busy."
I didn't catch his response.
Didn't need to.
---
In the elevator, Rachel finally exploded. "My entire opinion of Mr. Reynolds just changed."
I watched my blurred reflection in the elevator doors.
"I can't believe it," Rachel continued, disappointment thick in her voice. "A CEO like that—so commanding, so decisive—and he goes for that type? What terrible taste."
She paused, then added, "I heard rumors that tons of accomplished, elegant women in Silverton are interested in him. They must be blind."
My fingers tightened on the leather strap of my briefcase.
"Maybe they are," I said quietly.
Rachel seemed about to say more, but a glance at my expression made her think better of it.
The elevator doors opened. I walked through the lobby, pushed through the revolving door, and stepped into the evening air.
The wind had a bite to it.
---
I got back to Lakeview Estate at seven.
The kitchen fridge held what the housekeeper had prepared—salad, grilled chicken breast, some steamed vegetables. I heated a portion and ate standing at the counter. The whole process felt mechanical, like checking items off a task list.
Back in the bedroom, I went straight to the wine cabinet and pulled out a bottle of red.
Poured half a glass.
The liquid caught the lamplight, dark crimson and dull. I settled against the headboard and took a small sip, letting the warmth spread slowly through my chest.
Today's meeting replayed itself in my head.
Nora holding those coffee cups. The smile on her face when she set one in front of Rowan. The way she'd speared a piece of steak at lunch and placed it on his plate.
I closed my eyes.
The alcohol didn't relax me. It just made those images sharper.
My phone buzzed a few times. I didn't look. Just turned the sound off.
Half the glass later, my mouth felt dry.
I stood, thinking I'd grab some crackers or fruit from the kitchen.
The living room light was on.
I paused at the top of the stairs. This late, the housekeeper would've gone home hours ago.
Rounding the corner, I saw Isabelle on the sofa, a book in her hands.
"Isabelle?" I stopped at the bottom step. "When did you get here? Why didn't you call me?"
She looked up, smile warm. "About half an hour ago. I told the housekeeper not to disturb you. Thought you might be asleep."
"I wasn't sleeping." I descended the last few steps. "Just... staying in my room."
Her gaze traveled over my face, then down. "You've been drinking?"
"Yeah." I nodded. "Had a craving. Just a little."
"Come sit." She patted the cushion beside her.
I crossed the room and sank down next to her. She reached over and took my hand. The warmth of her palm loosened something in my chest I hadn't realized was tight.
"You don't have to put on a brave face with me," she said, voice gentle but firm. "I know about Rowan arranging for Nora to join your firm."
My fingers tensed briefly, then relaxed.
"It's nothing," I said, keeping my tone light. "Just another colleague."
"Just another colleague?" Isabelle's eyebrow arched, clear irritation in her voice. "That woman is his first love. And now she's been parachuted into your project as co-lead. You call that 'just another colleague'?"
I looked down at our joined hands.
If I said anything more, would it sound like I was running to a parent to tattle? Like some hurt child seeking comfort?
I didn't want that.
"I'll handle the work," I said. "It's not a big deal."
"Lena." Isabelle's voice softened. "You don't have to hold yourself together like this. I'm going to have words with that boy. He's way out of line."
I glanced up, managed a smile. "Really, you don't have to."
She sighed, patting the back of my hand with her free one. "Either way, I'm on your side. Always."
"I know."
And I did know.
Over these two years, there'd been plenty of times I'd thought about ending the agreement early.
The first year, I'd already felt the disappointment setting in.
Back then, Rowan traveled constantly. Most of our conversations happened over text. When we did have dinner together, he'd spend half the time on work emails. We were like roommates—polite, distant, occupying separate corners of the house.
I should've called it off then.
But I didn't.
A big part of why? Isabelle.
The way she treated me was more real than anything I'd ever gotten from my own mother.
Vivian had never pulled me aside like this to talk. She'd never asked "Are you okay?" She only ever said things like "A Grant woman should behave this way" or "Your duty is to uphold the family's interests."
But Isabelle was different.
She remembered which tea I preferred. She'd have the housekeeper send me late-night snacks when I worked past midnight. She'd run interference at family gatherings when the gossip-hungry relatives started circling.
Her complete, unabashed favoritism made me hungry for that kind of warmth.
So I told myself, over and over: Just wait a little longer. Maybe things will get better.
But eventually, I had to face reality.