Chapter 62
Rowan's POV
I ended up at The Oak Club, holed up in one of the private lounges with a glass of scotch and a cigar I wasn't really smoking. The room was dark, quiet—exactly what I needed.
Or so I thought.
The door swung open, and Colin strolled in like he owned the place. Which, to be fair, his family practically did.
"Well, well," he said, dropping into the chair across from me. "Rowan Reynolds, drowning his sorrows. Never thought I'd see the day."
"I'm not drowning anything," I said flatly. "I'm thinking."
"Sure you are." He plucked the cigar from my hand and took a drag. "So. How'd it go?"
"It's done."
"Signed and sealed?"
"Yes."
He studied me for a moment, then smirked. "You look like someone just shot your dog."
"Your empathy is overwhelming."
"Hey, I'm here, aren't I? That's more than you deserve after ghosting everyone for a week." He leaned back, exhaling a ring of smoke. "So what now? You planning to mope in here until they kick you out, or are you actually going to do something about it?"
I took a drink instead of answering.
"That's what I thought," Colin said. "You know what your problem is, Rowan? You're a control freak. You thought you could keep Lena on your terms forever, and now that she's gone, you don't know what to do with yourself."
"I'm not asking for a therapy session, Colin."
"Good, because I charge extra for those." He grinned, but it faded quickly. "Look, I'm just saying—if you actually care about her, you'd better figure it out fast."
"What's that supposed to mean?"
He gave me a pointed look. "I heard something the other day. Thought you should know."
I set down my glass. "Heard what?"
"There's talk going around about Lena. Apparently, she's got a marriage arrangement in the works."
My hand tightened around the glass. "With who? Daniel Whitmore?"
"Not Whitmore. Someone bigger." Colin leaned forward, clearly enjoying this. "I was at a lunch last week—overheard some trust fund brat on the phone. He mentioned Lena's name, something about a marriage arrangement. From the context, it sounded like he was talking to her directly. And I'm pretty sure the guy was Alexander Pierce."
The name hit me like a punch.
Alexander Pierce. Old money, impeccable reputation, exactly the kind of guy Vivian Grant would approve of. And he'd been hovering around Lena for weeks.
"When did you hear this?" I asked, my voice carefully neutral.
"A couple of days ago."
I stared at him. "And you're only telling me now? What were you planning to do, wait until I'm six feet under?"
Colin shrugged. "I wasn't sure if you'd care."
I stood abruptly, grabbing my jacket.
"Where are you going?" Colin called after me.
"Out."
"Good luck with that!" he shouted as I slammed the door behind me. "You're going to need it!"
---
I was halfway to my car when my phone rang. My mother.
"Rowan," she said briskly. "Come to the house. Now."
"I'm in the middle of something—"
"It wasn't a request."
She hung up before I could argue.
I stood there for a moment, debating whether to ignore her. But ignoring Isabelle Reynolds was a losing battle, and I didn't have the energy for it today.
Twenty minutes later, I pulled up to my parents' estate.
The housekeeper let me in, directing me to the dining room. I walked in expecting to find my mother alone.
Instead, I found Lena.
She was seated at the table, a glass of wine in front of her, looking just as surprised to see me as I was to see her.
My mother sat at the head of the table, perfectly composed. "Rowan. Sit."
I didn't move. "What's going on?"
"I'm having dinner with both of you," she said calmly. "Sit down."
"Mother—"
"Sit. Down."
I sat.
Lena's gaze flicked to me briefly, then away. She looked tense, uncomfortable—like she wanted to bolt but was too polite to do it.
"I know you two signed the papers today," my mother said, folding her hands on the table. "And I know you think that means you're done with each other. But that's not how this family works."
"Isabelle—" Lena started.
"Let me finish." My mother's tone was firm but not unkind. "Lena, you've been part of this family for two years. That doesn't just disappear because a contract ends. You're still someone I care about. Someone I consider family."
Lena's throat bobbed. She didn't say anything.
My mother turned to me. "And you, Rowan, are going to treat her with the respect she deserves. You're going to act like the decent human being I raised you to be—not the emotionally stunted idiot you've been pretending to be for the past two years."
"I—"
"I'm not finished." She leveled me with a look that could have cut steel. "You two may not be married anymore, but that doesn't mean you have to be strangers. You can be civil. You can be friends. You can be family. That's what we're starting tonight."
She gestured to the table, where the housekeeper was setting out plates. "Now. We're going to have a nice dinner together. We're going to talk like adults. And we're going to move forward."
I glanced at Lena. She was staring at her wine glass, her face carefully blank.
"This is ridiculous," I muttered.
"No," my mother said sharply. "What's ridiculous is the way you've handled this entire situation. Now sit there, eat your food, and be grateful I'm giving you a chance to fix even a fraction of the damage you've caused."
I leaned back in my chair, jaw tight.
Across the table, Lena finally looked up. Our eyes met for a brief, searing moment.
Then she looked away again.
And I realized, with a sinking feeling in my chest, that my mother was right.
I'd lost her.
And I had no idea how to get her back.