Chapter 69
Lena's POV
The morning after the gala, I sat at my desk reviewing the evening's outcomes. Three new potential clients. Not bad, considering I'd spent half the night bracing for Victor Hargrove's threats.
Rachel knocked and entered with her tablet. "I've compiled the contact information from last night. Should I start scheduling follow-up meetings?"
"Please." I glanced at the list. A tech startup needing corporate governance advice. A family business facing succession planning. A real estate developer looking for contract review. All legitimate. All professional.
Diana appeared in my doorway, coffee in hand. "You know what impressed me most last night?"
I looked up.
"How you kept networking even after that asshole backed you into a corner." She settled into the chair across from me. "Most people would've called it a night."
I turned back to my computer. "Victor Hargrove doesn't get to dictate how I run my business."
"Damn right he doesn't."
But I'd be lying if I said I wasn't worried.
---
Over the next three days, I prepared for war.
Rachel compiled everything she could find on Victor Hargrove—his business dealings, his reputation in Silverton's legal circles, the whispers that never quite made it to official complaints. I reviewed case law on defamation and tortious interference. Drew up response plans for every scenario I could imagine: smear campaigns, client poaching, manufactured scandals.
"Do we have monitoring in place?" I asked Rachel on the third day.
"Yes. I've set up Google alerts for the firm name, your name, and Diana's. I'm also checking legal forums and industry newsletters daily."
"Good. Flag anything unusual immediately."
She hesitated. "Do you really think he'll follow through?"
I thought about the cold calculation in Victor's eyes when I'd refused his offer. The way his smile had hardened into something uglier.
"Yes," I said. "Men like Victor Hargrove don't make idle threats."
---
But by the fourth day, nothing had happened.
No whisper campaigns. No sudden client cancellations. No leaked stories about Grant & Clarke's supposed incompetence.
Instead, two new clients reached out—both referrals from contacts I'd made at the gala.
I stared at my inbox, confusion creeping in.
Victor wasn't the type to back down. He'd made that clear when he'd threatened to "make sure no one in this city works with you again." So why the silence?
---
Late that night, alone in my office with the city lights stretching below, I let myself consider the possibility.
Rowan.
I could still see him walking toward me across the ballroom floor, his eyes sharp as he scanned my face. Everything alright?
And my immediate deflection. I'm fine. This isn't your concern.
I closed my laptop harder than necessary.
The marriage was over. I'd signed the papers. I didn't want to owe him anything—didn't want to wonder if every small mercy in my life now came with his fingerprints on it.
Maybe Victor had simply reassessed the risk. Maybe threatening a new firm with connections wasn't worth the potential blowback. Maybe this had nothing to do with Rowan at all.
I pushed the thought away and reached for the next file.
---
One night, my phone rang just as I was closing my laptop for the night.
Marcus.
I considered letting it go to voicemail. Then I answered.
"Lena." His voice carried that familiar blend of exhaustion and calculation. "I hope I'm not calling too late."
"What do you want?"
"Straight to the point. I always admired that about you." A pause. "Your mother is making my life very difficult."
I said nothing.
"She's pushing for the divorce, demanding I return assets I helped build, freezing accounts, threatening legal action at every turn." His tone shifted, became almost conversational. "I'm sure you can understand my position. A man has to protect himself."
"And?"
"I'm proposing a partnership. Help me counter Vivian's claims—provide testimony about the company's operations, perhaps sign an affidavit supporting my contribution to Nexus Investment—and I'll delete those videos. All of them. We both walk away clean."
My fingers tightened on the phone.
"If you refuse..." He let the sentence hang. "Well. You know what happens then."
I kept my breathing steady. "I need time to consider."
"Of course. You're a smart woman, Lena. I'm confident you'll make the right choice." His voice warmed slightly. "I'll wait for your answer."
The line went dead.
I set the phone down. Stared at it for three long seconds.
Then I picked it up again and dialed.
---
Vivian answered on the second ring. "Lena?"
Time to perform.
I let my voice shake—just slightly, just enough. "Mom, I... Marcus just called."
"What did he say?"
"He wants me to help him. Against you." I swallowed audibly, added a tremor of fear to my tone. "He said if I don't cooperate, he'll... he mentioned videos. Mom, what videos is he talking about?"
Silence on the other end. I could practically hear her mind working.
"Those are lies he's fabricated to manipulate you—"
"But what if they're not?" I pressed, letting genuine anxiety bleed into my words. It wasn't hard—the videos were real, even if I didn't know their contents. "What if he actually has something? I need to know what I'm facing. If those videos get out—"
"You don't need to worry about that." Vivian's voice had gone cold and sharp. "Whatever Marcus claims to have, it's nothing but empty threats."
She was lying. The evasion was too quick, too practiced.
I tried again. "But he seemed so certain. He described them as insurance, as—"
"Lena." Vivian cut me off. "This is not your concern. What you need to focus on is that your father just attempted to use you as leverage against me. Against your own mother. Do you understand how deeply that betrays—"
"I'm scared," I said quietly. And that, at least, was partially true.
"Don't be." Her voice turned to ice. "I won't tolerate Marcus's games any longer. He thinks he can threaten my daughter? He thinks he can use my own child against me?"
I heard something crash in the background—a glass, maybe, or a vase.
"I will make him regret every single decision that brought him to this moment," Vivian continued, her words clipped and vicious. "He will learn exactly who holds the power in this family. He will wish he'd never dared to—"
"Mom—"
"Do not contact him again. Do not respond to his calls. Do not, under any circumstances, give him what he wants." She took a breath. I heard it rattle. "I will handle Marcus. You just need to stay out of it."
"But the videos—"
"I said I'll handle it." Final. Absolute. "Now get some sleep. You sound exhausted."
She hung up.
---
I stood by the window, phone still in hand, and watched the city lights blur together.
The fear drained out of my voice, my posture, my face. What remained was cold clarity.
Vivian knew about the videos. Her evasion confirmed it. Whatever Marcus had recorded—whatever evidence of my childhood he'd collected—it threatened her too. Otherwise, she wouldn't have shut down my questions so aggressively.
Interesting.
I pulled up my notes app and typed out a summary of the conversation while it was fresh: Vivian refused to specify video content. Deflected to Marcus's betrayal. Extreme emotional reaction suggests personal stake in keeping footage private. Promised to "handle" Marcus—likely escalation imminent.
I saved the file and locked my phone.
Let them tear each other apart. Let Marcus push Vivian's buttons, let Vivian retaliate with everything she had. They'd burn through their energy, their resources, their carefully maintained facades.
And when they were both too exhausted to fight anymore, I'd be there to pick through the ashes.
I turned away from the window and headed to bed.
For the first time in days, I felt almost calm.