Chapter 36
Lena's POV
The apartment felt too quiet at four in the afternoon.
The boxes from my office were stacked in the corner, a stark reminder of yesterday's chaos. Colleagues had watched in silence, some sympathetic, others clearly uncomfortable. Richard had tried one more time to convince me to stay.
I'd left anyway.
Now I stood in the kitchen, staring at the empty kettle, when my phone rang.
Isabelle.
I answered on the second ring. "Hello?"
"Lena, darling. Come for dinner tonight."
Her voice carried that warmth I'd learned to treasure over the past two years. Not a command. Not manipulation. Just... genuine care.
"I don't want to impose—"
"Nonsense. I haven't seen you properly since you got back from Oakridge. Seven o'clock?"
Something loosened in my chest. "I'll be there."
"Wonderful. See you soon."
I hung up and checked the time. Three hours to pull myself together.
---
The Reynolds estate still took my breath away—manicured gardens, stone driveway, just the right amount of old money elegance. But what really made my throat tight was the warm light spilling from the windows.
This felt more like a home than Grant House ever had.
Isabelle opened the door herself and pulled me into a hug before I could protest.
"You've lost weight," she said immediately. "Come on. I made all your favorites."
The dining table was covered with dishes—herb-roasted chicken, garlic mashed potatoes, balsamic vegetables, fresh bread still steaming. My favorites. All of them.
I blinked hard, fighting the sudden sting of tears.
At Grant House, meals were always tailored to my parents' preferences. Vivian's eternal diet food. Marcus's preference for red meat and heavy sauces. Even when Rowan and I went together, the menu catered to him—steak, whiskey, cigars in the study afterward.
Only here, with Isabelle, did anyone care what I actually wanted.
"Sit, sit." She gestured to my usual chair. "Wine?"
"Please."
She poured us each a glass of red, then settled across from me with satisfaction.
"Now. Tell me everything."
I took a sip of wine, organizing my thoughts. "I resigned from Madison & Partners yesterday."
"Good." Her response was immediate. "That place never deserved you anyway."
"You're not surprised?"
"Darling, I heard what happened. That Kane girl orchestrated the whole thing, didn't she?"
I nodded slowly. "She had someone tamper with a client contract, then made sure I took the fall. Richard was in on it too."
"Bastards." Isabelle rarely swore, which made it more effective when she did. "So what now?"
"I'm not sure yet." I set down my glass. "Maybe start my own practice. Or join another firm."
"You'll start your own practice." It wasn't a suggestion. "And you'll be brilliant at it."
"It's not that simple—"
"Lena." She reached across the table and took my hand. "I also want to talk about the divorce."
My breath caught. Right. The contract termination. The thing I'd been trying to keep separate from my professional implosion.
"You don't have to do this," Isabelle continued. "Stay trapped in a marriage that makes you miserable, I mean. I know Vivian's been pressuring you to renew. Ignore her."
"I'm not renewing," I said quietly. "I told Rowan weeks ago."
"Good." She squeezed my hand. "You deserve someone who actually sees you, darling. Not someone who treats you like a convenient arrangement."
The words hit harder than expected. I blinked rapidly, trying to maintain composure.
"And Lena?" Isabelle's voice softened. "Even after the divorce is final, you're still family to me. I'll still be here. Not as your mother-in-law—as someone who cares about you."
That did it. Tears spilled over before I could stop them.
"I don't—" My voice broke. "I don't know what to say."
"You don't have to say anything." She came around the table and pulled me into another hug. "Just know you're not alone. The Reynolds family will always have your back, whatever happens with my idiot son."
I laughed through my tears. "He's not an idiot."
"He is when it comes to you." She pulled back, hands on my shoulders. "But that's his problem, not yours."
I wiped my eyes, trying to compose myself. "Thank you. For everything."
"Now." Isabelle returned to her seat, pouring more wine. "Tell me about this law practice idea. What are you thinking?"
We spent the next hour talking through logistics—office space, potential clients, startup costs. Isabelle listened intently, occasionally offering suggestions with the sharp business mind that had helped build the Reynolds empire.
"If you need anything," she said as dinner wound down, "and I mean anything—funding, office space, introductions to potential clients—you call me. Understood?"
"I can't ask you to—"
"You're not asking. I'm offering." Her tone brooked no argument. "Consider it an investment in someone I believe in."
My throat tightened again. "Thank you."
"Don't thank me yet." She smiled. "Wait until you see how demanding I am as a client."
We both laughed, and for the first time in weeks, I felt like I could breathe properly.
The contract marriage might be ending. My career might be in transition. But I wasn't alone.
Maybe that was enough.
Isabelle and I had just finished clearing the table when I heard the front door open.
Rowan was home.
He walked into the dining room with his suit jacket draped over one arm, tie loosened, looking like he'd just ended a long meeting. His gaze swept over the empty table before settling briefly on his mother and me.
"Dinner's over?" His tone was neutral.
"Obviously." Isabelle lifted her teacup, her voice light but pointed. "You must have eaten out already."
Rowan smiled—that resigned, familiar smile. "Not like you saved me anything anyway."