Chapter 45
Lena's POV
The preparations for the new firm were progressing smoothly. I'd just received the last lease document from Isabel when my phone rang.
The name on the screen made my fingers pause.
Vivian.
I took a deep breath and answered.
"I heard you're starting a firm." Her voice came through the line, calm and controlled as always. "What's the plan?"
"Partnership," I said, keeping my tone steady as I flipped open the business plan in front of me. "Corporate law."
"Who's the partner?"
"Diana Clarke."
"I see."
There wasn't much interest in her voice—just a habitual inquiry. Clearly she didn't care who Diana was. She cared about something else.
Silence stretched for a few seconds.
"Lena," Vivian's voice carried that familiar note of condescension disguised as concern, "you're on your own with no resources. What are you playing at?"
I looked out the window, a cold smile tugging at my lips.
I knew this script too well. First undermine your confidence, then make you believe you can't survive without her protection.
For thirty years, she'd treated everyone who tried to break free this way—including me.
"You're right," I said evenly. "So I'll take it slow. But at least if Nexus needs legal support down the line, I'll be able to help."
The words came out perfectly calibrated.
Deferential enough to acknowledge her criticism, while suggesting I was still thinking about the family—at least on the surface.
Vivian seemed satisfied with this answer.
"Fine," her tone softened slightly. "At least it's respectable work. Better than getting pushed around at Madison."
I closed my eyes, suppressing the bitter irony rising in my chest.
Of course.
As long as I'm doing "respectable work," staying on a track she can understand, she won't interfere.
As long as I can still "help," she'll leave me alone for now.
"One more thing," Vivian shifted gears. "Don't rush into divorcing Rowan."
My fingers tightened, knuckles going white.
"Why not?"
"Men are all the same," her voice carried that weary tone of someone who'd "been there." "A mistress or two is normal. Rowan's actually been pretty good to you—at least he gives you dignity, and he's willing to help when it matters."
My stomach turned at those words.
Good to me? So I should be grateful to him? I should feel blessed he still remembers I exist in bed?
But I said nothing.
Because I knew what Vivian really cared about wasn't "how well Rowan treats me."
She cared that Rowan was still useful.
That seven-million-dollar check let her buy back her shares and stabilize Nexus Investment. In her eyes, Rowan was a walking ATM—and I was the debit card linked to that account.
"I'll think about it," I said calmly.
The words carried no promise, but they were enough to satisfy her for now.
"Good," Vivian paused. "And one more thing."
"What?"
"About Marcus," her voice went cold. "I've drafted the divorce papers. My lawyers are handling it. If you hear anything about what he's up to, let me know. I don't want him pulling any stunts."
I thought of the threatening text Marcus had sent a few days ago.
Two hundred thousand dollars in exchange for keeping those "videos" private.
Of course he'll pull stunts.
This man never passes up an opportunity to squeeze out a profit.
"Alright," I said. "I'll keep an eye out."
"That's it then."
The call ended.
I closed my eyes and took a deep breath.
To her, my marriage was never about my happiness. It was about what she could get from it.
Thirty years ago, she thought having me would keep Marcus tied down.
All she got was a long betrayal.
Now she wanted to use the same logic to keep Rowan on a leash—and I was still just the rope.
I opened my eyes, my gaze falling on the business plan.
Grant & Clarke LLP.
This was my firm.
Not Vivian's tool. Not Marcus's bargaining chip. Not Rowan's accessory.
Mine.
I picked up my pen and added a new line to my to-do list:
"Contact Alexander—confirm Marcus surveillance."
Below that, I added another:
"Prepare divorce documents—file immediately after contract expires."
I stared at those two lines, a cold smile crossing my face.
Vivian told me to "think about it."
I had thought about it.
And my answer was—
I wasn't waiting for anyone's permission anymore.
---
My computer screen lit up with a new email notification.
From Diana.
I clicked it open. The subject line read: Recent Case Inquiries.
The body was brief:
"Lena,
Attached are a few consultations from this week. Two corporate compliance cases, one labor dispute, and a small tech company stock restructuring.
Nothing huge, but all clean. I vetted them preliminarily and think we should take them.
Take a look. Let me know if you have concerns.
— Diana"
I opened the attachments and read through them line by line.
The first case involved a local restaurant chain needing franchise contract compliance review.
The second was a startup employee complaining about unpaid wages and overtime.
The third was an education software company whose three founders were fighting over equity distribution.
All small cases.
But each one was real. No political maneuvering. No family intrigue. No one using anyone else as a pawn.
Just real people with real problems who needed real help.
I stared at the screen, feeling something I hadn't felt in a long time.
This was what I wanted to do.
Not maintain some family's facade.
Not be some man's perfect wife.
But actually help people who needed help.
I replied to Diana:
"Let's take all of them. I'll handle the restaurant chain. You take the labor dispute. We can work the equity restructuring together—good chance to practice coordination."
Then I hit send.
The computer screen's glow reflected on my face.
My expression was calm, but there was something solid in my eyes.
Vivian said I was "playing around."
Let her see how far this game could go.