Chapter 60
Lena's POV
"I don't regret it," I finally said, my voice quiet but firm. "I'll just move forward better."
It was the truth. I didn't regret signing that contract with Rowan, didn't regret these two years. Without this experience, I wouldn't have learned what I truly wanted, wouldn't have learned how to protect myself in power games.
In my peripheral vision, I saw Rowan's body tense slightly. He stared at me, his expression so complex I couldn't read it. Colin and Eleanor exchanged glances, both staying silent.
"Alright then." Eleanor clapped her hands, breaking the moment. "How about we grab a drink? I know a great bar nearby—"
"I can't," I said, reaching for my jacket. "I still have work to handle. Thanks for inviting me today, Eleanor. I had fun."
It wasn't just courtesy. These few hours at the range, letting off steam—I'd felt genuinely relaxed for the first time in a while.
"Wait." Eleanor caught my arm, lowering her voice. "Can I talk to you for a minute? Alone?"
---
We walked outside to the parking lot. November wind cut cold through the air. Eleanor pulled her scarf tighter, looking at me with hesitation.
"What is it?" I asked.
"I want to tell you something." She took a deep breath. "Rowan and I worked on a project together, about three years ago. He is very good at what he does—professional, decisive, powerful. I'll admit, I was attracted to him for a while."
My heart constricted, but I kept my expression neutral.
"But I got over it quickly," Eleanor continued. "Because I realized he's not the kind of person I want. Too cold, too good at turning everything into a transaction." She looked at me, sincere. "So, congratulations, Lena. You won't be tripped up by a man anymore. You're going to bloom even more beautifully from here on out."
I blinked, understanding what she meant. "Is that why you got close to me? Because of that experience?"
"God, no!" Eleanor laughed. "I like you because you're you, Lena. Not because of some man. You're smart, resilient, principled. You're unique and compelling." She thought for a moment. "It's like... I love lemon meringue pie. If I found out you love it too, I'd feel more connected to you, but that's not why I'm your friend. Does that make sense?"
I couldn't help but smile. The comparison was a little silly, but deeply genuine.
"I get it," I said. "I'm glad to have you as a friend too, Eleanor."
"Good." She hugged me. "Take care of yourself. If you need anything, call me anytime."
---
By the time I returned to the Lakeview Estate, night had fully fallen. I sat in the car, staring at the light glowing from the living room windows, and took a deep breath before pushing the door open.
Martha was in the kitchen, tidying up from dinner. She saw me and smiled warmly. "Miss Grant, would you like me to heat up dinner for you?"
"No need, Martha." I took off my coat. "I already ate. Where's Mr. Reynolds?"
"He's still in the study." Martha hesitated. "He came back not long ago and has been in there ever since."
I nodded and headed upstairs to the bedroom. I didn't knock on the study door. I knew now wasn't the time for conversation.
At my desk, I pulled out my phone and opened my message thread with Rowan. The last message was from three days ago—his terse "OK."
My finger hovered over the screen for a long time before I typed:
Tomorrow morning, 10 a.m. Marriage lawyer's office. Sign the papers. No more delays.
Send.
The screen showed "Read," but Rowan didn't reply. I didn't expect him to.
I opened the drawer and pulled out the termination agreement. The lawyer had already reviewed it. All the terms were clear: separate property, no alimony, my mother's shares in Grant Investment stayed with her, Rowan's shares in Reynolds Industries stayed with him. Clean and simple, just like when we'd signed the marriage contract two years ago.
I stared at the two blank signature lines at the bottom of the document. My mind drifted back to that afternoon two years ago—sitting across from Rowan in a private conference room, a mahogany table between us, while a lawyer explained each clause.
Back then, I'd thought it was a good start. Those clauses were just window dressing for my real feelings. I thought I could break through his walls, that I could finally have a real home with the man I'd loved since we were young.
I was wrong.
But tomorrow, I could correct that mistake.
Tomorrow, this adolescent dream would finally end.
And then I could stop running. Stop using this marriage as a shield against the real demons—my toxic family, those buried memories. No more hiding behind romantic fantasies. Time to face the darkness I'd been avoiding.
But not now.
I stood and began packing. There wasn't much to take, really. Most things in this house didn't belong to me. The expensive gowns and suits in the closet were for playing "Mrs. Reynolds." The jewelry on the vanity was mostly from Isabelle—I'd leave a note asking her to take it back. Half the books on the shelf were Rowan's.
I only took one thing that mattered: my diary, started when I was fifteen, filled with secrets I couldn't tell anyone. And some everyday clothes—enough for the next few days. Everything else, Martha could handle.
Martha would come with me. She'd come from the Grant house when I married, caring for me all these years. I'd already asked if she wanted to continue working for me after the divorce, at my old townhouse. Her eyes had reddened as she nodded. "Miss Grant, wherever you go, I go."
The memory tightened my throat.
I packed the diary and clothes into a small suitcase, double-checking for anything important. Then I sat on the edge of the bed, looking at this room I'd lived in for two years.
Outside the floor-to-ceiling windows, Silverton's night lights sparkled. The lake surface glinted silver under the moon, calm as a mirror.
Beautiful. And cold. Like this marriage.
I lay down and closed my eyes.
Tomorrow, it would all be over.