Chapter 98
Lena's POV
The shift in topic threw me. "What?"
"My mother said something tonight. About Vivian hurting you long before the marriage." He glanced at me again, and this time I caught something in his expression I couldn't quite name. "Was it always like that? Even when you were young?"
I looked away, focusing on the passing streetlights. "Why are you asking me this now?"
"Because I should have asked two years ago."
The honesty of it startled me into silence.
"I should have asked about your family," he continued, voice quieter. "About your childhood, about what you wanted, about whether you were actually happy. I should have asked a lot of things."
"But you didn't." I kept my voice even, matter-of-fact. "For two years, you treated me exactly like what the contract said I was—a business arrangement. You were polite, professional, careful never to let things get too personal. Which was fine. That was the deal."
"Lena—"
"So forgive me if I'm a little confused about why you suddenly care now." I turned back to him. "We're divorced, Rowan. The contract ended. You fulfilled your obligations, I fulfilled mine. We both walked away clean."
"Is that what you think?" His hands tightened on the wheel. "That I walked away clean?"
"Didn't you?" I studied his profile. "You got everything you wanted. Strategic alliance with the Grant family—well, what was left of it. Business connections. A wife who didn't make demands or cause problems. And when it was over, you got to be the gentleman who let me go without a fight."
"That's not—" He stopped, seeming to struggle with something. "That's not what I wanted."
"Then what did you want?"
The question hung between us. Rowan pulled the car to a stop—we'd reached my building without me noticing.
He didn't answer immediately. Just sat there, staring through the windshield at nothing in particular.
"I don't know," he said finally. "I thought I did. I thought I had it all figured out—what I needed, what the marriage was supposed to be, how to keep everything clean and uncomplicated." He exhaled slowly. "I was wrong."
"About what?"
"About thinking I could treat you like a business partner and not..." He trailed off.
"Not what?"
But he shook his head. "It doesn't matter now. You're right—the contract's over. You don't owe me explanations about your life, and I don't have any right to interfere in your decisions."
"No," I agreed quietly. "You don't."
"But I couldn't let her push you into another arrangement like ours. I couldn't—" He stopped again. "You deserve better than that."
Something twisted in my chest. I reached for the door handle.
"Thank you for dinner. And for the ride." My voice came out more detached than I felt. "As for Nexus—I appreciate the intervention, even if I didn't ask for it. At least now Vivian can't use the company to control my choices."
"Lena, wait—"
I was already opening the door. "You said you wanted me to have better options. Well, this is me choosing one—to handle my own life without anyone swooping in to manage it for me."
"That's not what I was trying to do."
"Wasn't it?" I looked back at him. "You saw a problem, you fixed it. Very efficiently, very thoroughly. Just like you handled everything else—the marriage, the divorce, all of it. Clean, professional solutions to messy situations."
"That's not fair."
"Maybe not." I climbed out of the car, then leaned down to look at him through the open door. "But it's accurate. You're good at fixing things, Rowan. At making strategic moves and solving problems. You're just not very good at..." I paused, searching for the right word. "At being messy. At letting things get complicated."
His expression shifted—something raw flickering across his features before he locked it down again.
"Goodnight," I said, softer now. "Tell your mother I meant what I said. I'll visit again soon."
I closed the door before he could respond and walked toward my building without looking back. But I felt his gaze following me until I disappeared through the entrance.
---
In the elevator, I leaned against the wall and let myself breathe.
The conversation had gone differently than I'd expected. I'd been prepared for defensiveness, for rationalizations about business strategy and practical solutions. Instead, I'd gotten something that looked almost like regret.
I should have asked two years ago.
My phone buzzed. A text from Rowan: You're right. About all of it. I'm sorry.
I stared at the message for a long moment, then pocketed my phone without responding.
Sorry didn't change what had happened. Sorry didn't erase two years of careful distance, of treating me like a pleasant stranger he happened to be married to. Sorry didn't explain why he suddenly seemed to care now that I was gone.
The elevator doors opened. I walked to my apartment, unlocked it, stepped inside.
Tomorrow I'd deal with the Nexus situation properly—figure out exactly what Rowan had done, what it meant for Vivian's position, how to protect myself from any fallout. Tomorrow I'd continue building my practice, focusing on the work that actually mattered.
Tonight, I just needed to stop thinking about the expression on Rowan's face when I'd accused him of being good at keeping things clean.
Because for just a moment, he'd looked like I'd hit something true and painful.
And I couldn't afford to care about that.