Chapter 108
Lena's POV
The silence stretched between us, measured only by the steady beep of the monitor. Rowan hadn't moved from his position by the bed, his wrinkled shirt and loosened tie such a stark departure from his usual controlled appearance that I found myself staring.
"Why are you here?" The question came out rougher than I intended, my throat still scratchy.
His jaw tightened. For a moment I thought he wouldn't answer, then: "Emily called me. She couldn't find you, tracked you to the hotel—" He stopped, ran a hand through his already disheveled hair. "It's one of Reynolds properties. The manager contacted me when she threatened to call the police."
Of course. Even in crisis, everything circled back to business connections and corporate ownership.
"So you came because of property liability." I kept my voice flat, reaching for that familiar armor of detachment.
Something flickered across his face—hurt, maybe, or frustration. "I came because you were in danger."
The words hung in the air between us. I looked away first, suddenly too aware of how thin the hospital gown was, how exposed I felt under his gaze.
"Why did you go meet her?" His voice turned sharp, almost harsh. "Nora, of all people. After everything she's done, you went alone to meet her in—"
"You should be asking her that question, not me." The words came out sharper than I'd meant, anger cutting through my exhaustion. "I'm not the one who drugged someone. I'm not the one who—"
I stopped, my breath catching. The fragments of memory were still too raw, too close to the surface.
Rowan's expression shifted, something like regret crossing his features. He exhaled slowly, and when he spoke again his tone had lost its edge. "You're right. I'm sorry. That wasn't—" He paused, struggling with the words. "I'm not trying to blame you. I just need to understand why you put yourself at risk."
Because I'm tired of running, I wanted to say. Because I thought I could handle it. Because I've spent my whole life being handled and controlled and I needed to face her on my own terms.
But I didn't say any of that. Instead I just shook my head, suddenly too tired to explain.
"Nora's been arrested," Rowan said after a moment, his voice carefully neutral. "The police have her in custody."
I nodded slowly, trying to process that. "Good."
"The investigation uncovered something else." He paused, and I saw his hands tighten into fists at his sides. "Marcus was behind it. Your father. He and Nora planned the whole thing together."
The words didn't make sense at first. I stared at him, waiting for the punch line, for the correction. But his expression remained grim, serious.
"That's—" My voice came out hollow. "He wouldn't. Even he wouldn't—"
But even as I said it, I knew it was a lie. Marcus would. Of course he would. The question had never been whether he was capable of such cruelty, only whether he'd find the motivation.
Apparently, I'd given him plenty.
"I'm sorry," Rowan said quietly. The genuine sympathy in his voice was almost worse than the news itself.
I turned my head away, staring at the wall. My father and Nora, working together to destroy me. The absurdity of it should have been funny, but I couldn't find even bitter humor in it.
"The man they hired." Rowan's voice cut through my spiraling thoughts, careful and deliberate. "He's also been arrested. I need you to know—he didn't harm you. Not in the way they intended. He was there to take photos, that's all. You don't need to worry about—"
He stopped abruptly, as if realizing he was saying too much.
I turned back to look at him, trying to understand why he was telling me this so specifically. Why it mattered to him that I knew the exact parameters of what hadn't happened in that hotel room.
Was he worried I'd... what? Spiral into some kind of breakdown? Or was this about him—about whatever complicated feelings he still had about his ex-wife's safety and autonomy?
Don't, I told myself firmly. Don't try to read into it. Don't look for meaning where there probably isn't any.
"Thank you for telling me," I said finally, my voice flat. Professional. The tone I'd use with any concerned acquaintance.
Something flickered in his eyes—disappointment, maybe—but before either of us could say anything else, the door swung open.
Emily got in, carrying a paper bag and two coffee cups. She glanced between us as she entered, clearly assessing whether the conversation had gone well or badly. From the tension still hanging in the air, probably badly.
"Got you some real breakfast," she said, setting the bag on the side table. "And coffee that doesn't taste like hot brown water."
"Thank you." I managed a small smile.
She pulled out a wrapped sandwich and a bottle of orange juice, arranging them within my reach with practiced efficiency. I noticed she didn't look at Rowan, though he was still standing by the bed.
Before the silence could grow too uncomfortable, there was a knock at the door. It opened to reveal Isabelle Reynolds, elegant even in what must have been hastily thrown-on clothes.
"Lena, darling." She swept into the room, heading straight for my bedside. "Jack told me what happened. I came as soon as I heard."
I glanced at Rowan, confused. He looked uncomfortable, shifting his weight.
"I asked him to notify Mother," he said quietly. "I thought... I wanted to make sure someone could stay with you. Someone you trust."
The implication hung unspoken: since I can't.
Isabelle took my hand, her grip warm and firm. "How are you feeling, dear?"
"Tired," I admitted. "But okay. I think."
"Good." Her expression hardened as she turned to look at her son. "And the people responsible?"
"Being handled," Rowan said, his voice going cold. "I need to go make sure of that. Emily, Mother—you'll stay with her?"
"Of course," Isabelle said.
Emily just nodded, still watching him with that unreadable expression.
Rowan moved toward the door, then paused, looking back at me. For a moment his mask slipped and I saw something raw in his eyes—guilt, anger, fear, all tangled together.
"I'll make sure they pay for this," he said quietly. "All of them."
Then he was gone, the door clicking shut behind him with a finality that felt like more than just a temporary goodbye.