Chapter 97
Lena's POV
I set down my fork carefully. "Yes. The board approved it yesterday."
"Good riddance, if you ask me." Isabelle's voice carried an edge I'd rarely heard. "That woman had it coming."
I looked up sharply. Isabelle's expression was calm, but something fierce flickered in her eyes.
"Isabelle—"
"I know what you're going to say. 'She's still my mother, I should be respectful.'" Isabelle leaned forward slightly. "But we both know Vivian Grant never earned that respect. And we both know you suffered because of her."
The words hit like a physical blow. My throat closed.
"I've known your mother for years, Lena. Ever since the families started discussing the marriage contract." Isabelle's voice gentled slightly. "I watched how she looked at you at those early meetings. Like you were a stock portfolio she was managing, not a daughter."
I couldn't speak. Couldn't deny it.
"I know she pushed you into that marriage," Isabelle continued quietly. "I know she used you as a bargaining chip. And I know—" She paused, her eyes searching my face. "I know she hurt you long before any of this happened."
Rowan's chair scraped slightly. When I glanced at him, his expression was unreadable, but his knuckles were white against his wine glass.
"You deserved better than her," Isabelle said firmly. "You still do. Whatever happens with that company, whatever she lost—she brought it on herself."
I managed a nod, not trusting my voice.
"Now." Isabelle straightened, her brisk tone returning. "Let's talk about something more pleasant. Tell me about this case Diana's working on—the housing discrimination one. I heard you went to the hearing."
I grasped the lifeline gratefully, launching into the details of Miller v. Westbrook Properties. The conversation flowed more easily after that, though I was acutely aware of Rowan's silence throughout the meal, the way he watched me when he thought I wasn't looking.
---
"You should come more often," Isabelle said as we finished dessert. "I miss having someone at this table who actually appreciates good conversation."
"Hey—" Rowan started.
"You mostly grunt and answer in monosyllables," his mother informed him. "It's like dining with a particularly well-dressed caveman."
Despite everything, I almost smiled.
"Thank you for dinner," I said, rising. "But I should get going. Early meeting tomorrow."
"Of course." Isabelle stood as well, pulling me into another hug. "But Lena—come back soon. And not because of him." She nodded toward Rowan. "Because I want to hear about your practice, about your cases. I'm proud of what you're building."
Something warm unfurled in my chest. "Thank you. That means more than you know."
"I mean it." She squeezed my hands. "You're stronger than you think. Don't let anyone—including certain stubborn sons of mine—make you forget that."
I left before the tightness in my throat could turn into something else.
Rowan followed me into the foyer. "Let me drive you home."
"That's not necessary—"
"Lena." His voice was quiet. "Please. We need to talk about Nexus. I promised we would."
I looked at him—really looked at him—for the first time all evening. There was something in his expression I couldn't quite read. Guilt? Regret? Something else?
"All right," I said finally. "But we talk in the car. Then you drop me at my apartment and we're done."
He nodded, already pulling out his keys.
As we walked to his car, I caught a glimpse of Isabelle through the dining room window, watching us leave. She raised her wine glass in a small salute.
You're stronger than you think.
I'd have to be.
We didn't speak until Rowan pulled out of the estate's driveway. The silence stretched between us—not uncomfortable exactly, but weighted with everything we weren't saying.
"Nexus," I said finally, watching the trees blur past in the darkness. "Colin Summers was listed as legal counsel on the acquisition documents."
"Yes." No deflection, no pretense of surprise.
"So it was you."
Rowan's hands shifted on the steering wheel. "Colin arranged the structure. I provided the capital."
I turned to look at him properly. His profile was sharp in the dashboard lights, expression carefully neutral in that way I'd learned meant he was choosing his words with precision.
"Why?"
"Because your mother was using the company as leverage to control your life." His voice remained level. "She was threatening to force you into another arranged marriage. Gerald Johnson, specifically."
My breath caught. "How did you—"
"I have sources." He glanced at me briefly before returning his attention to the road. "Johnson's fifty-three, twice divorced, known for preferring significantly younger women. Vivian had already arranged a meeting."
The clinical recitation of facts should have annoyed me. Instead, I felt something uncomfortably close to exposure—like he'd been watching parts of my life I'd thought were hidden.
"So you decided to solve the problem for me." I kept my tone light, almost amused. "Very efficient."
"Lena—"
"No, really. It was a solid business move." I leaned back against the seat. "Take over her company's debt, restructure everything, strip away her negotiating power. Clean, professional, effective."
"It wasn't just business."
"Then what was it?" I turned to face him fully. "Guilt? Obligation? Some misplaced sense of responsibility because we used to be married?"
His jaw tightened. "I couldn't let her use you like that."
"Couldn't, or didn't want to?" The question came out sharper than I intended. "Because there's a difference, Rowan. One implies necessity. The other implies choice."
He was quiet for a long moment, negotiating a turn with more care than it required.
"When did it start?" he asked finally. "Your mother treating you like... like an asset to be managed instead of a daughter."