Chapter 117
Lena's POV
David met my eyes. "It won't happen again. We're implementing new protocols immediately—full background checks on anyone who enters this building, verification calls for all service appointments, escort requirements for maintenance staff."
I wanted to scream. Wanted to throw something. Wanted to tear apart the careful professional facade and just feel the violation for what it was.
Instead, I nodded. "Do it. And send a full report to Mr. Reynolds."
"Ms. Grant, with respect—Mr. Reynolds should be notified immediately. This is a serious breach of—"
"I'll tell him myself."
David hesitated, then pulled out his phone. "Company protocol requires immediate notification of security compromises to the client who arranged protection services."
Of course it does.
"Fine. Call him."
---
Rowan answered on the first ring. I heard David's clipped briefing—the envelope, the breach, the fake maintenance worker.
Then Rowan's voice, tight with controlled fury: "Put Lena on."
David handed me the phone.
"I'm fine," I said before Rowan could ask. "Just angry."
"Jack's pulling the building's full security records now. We'll identify her within the hour." A pause. "You're not safe there, Lena."
I'd known this was coming. Still hated hearing it.
"I'm not abandoning my home because Marcus wants to play mind games."
"This isn't a game. He's demonstrating access. Demonstrating that he can get to you whenever he wants." Rowan's tone shifted—less sharp, more careful. "Pack a bag. You're moving tonight."
"To where? Your place?" The words came out sharper than intended. "So I can trade one form of surveillance for another?"
Silence on the other end. When Rowan spoke again, his voice was quieter. "To the estate if you prefer. Or a hotel under my security team's supervision. Your choice. But not that apartment. Not anymore."
I sat down on the couch. Stared at the envelope still sitting on my coffee table.
You never escaped.
My throat tightened.
"How long?" I asked.
"What?"
"How long would I need to stay away?"
"Until Marcus is in custody. Or until we neutralize the threat."
"That could be weeks. Months." I closed my eyes. "I just got my independence back, Rowan. I'm not giving it up again."
Another pause. Then: "Then I'm coming there."
"What?"
"Your building's compromised. You need on-site protection—someone who can verify every person who comes near you, someone who knows Marcus's patterns." His tone hardened into decision. "I'll take the guest room. Temporary arrangement. Pure security."
Every instinct screamed to refuse. To tell him I didn't need him, didn't want him in my space, didn't want the complication of his presence.
But the dress was still in my bedroom. The photo. The proof that Marcus could reach me whenever he wanted.
You never will.
"Ground rules," I said finally.
"Whatever you need."
I outlined them one by one. Hours. Shared space protocols. Absolute boundaries around bedrooms and personal items. The unambiguous reminder that this was security, not reconciliation.
Rowan agreed to everything.
"One more thing," he added. "If you feel unsafe—any time, for any reason—you wake me. No hesitation."
I wanted to argue. Wanted to maintain the illusion that I could handle this alone.
"Fine."
"I'll be there in an hour."
After he hung up, I sat in the growing darkness. Didn't turn on the lights. Just listened to the city sounds through the windows and tried to convince myself this was temporary.
Tried to ignore the small, treacherous voice whispering that part of me felt relieved.
---
Rowan arrived at 9:40 PM with a single suitcase and Jack in tow.
I let them in without comment. Rowan headed straight for the guest room—no small talk, no attempts at conversation. Professional. Detached.
Exactly what I'd asked for.
Jack spent twenty minutes installing upgraded security measures. Door sensors. Biometric locks. Network encryption. My home transforming into a fortress while I stood in the kitchen and watched my privacy evaporate.
When Jack finally left, the silence felt oppressive.
Rowan emerged from the guest room. Stopped in the living room doorway, maintaining careful distance.
"Anything else we need to cover tonight?"
I shook my head. "Just... stay in your room after ten. I'll do the same."
"Understood."
He turned to leave, then paused. "Lena?"
I looked up.
"I meant what I said. I'm not here to insert myself back into your life. I'm here to keep you safe. That's all."
The words should have been reassuring.
Instead, they left a hollow ache in my chest that I refused to examine.
"Good night, Rowan."
"Good night."
---
I lay in bed two hours later, staring at the ceiling. Listening to the faint sounds from the guest room—Rowan's low voice on a phone call, the creak of furniture, eventually silence.
He was twenty feet away. Sleeping under my roof. Again.
The difference was that this time, he was here because I'd allowed it. Because I'd needed it.
Because you're too afraid to face Marcus alone.
I turned onto my side. Tried to quiet my mind.
Tomorrow I'd have to look at the phone data. Tomorrow I'd have to face whatever secrets Marcus had been keeping.
Tomorrow.
Tonight, I just needed to get through the next few hours without screaming.
I must have dozed off eventually, because when I jerked awake, my phone read 1:17 AM. Heart pounding. Skin clammy. The dream already fading—something about locked closets and muffled crying.
I forced my breathing to slow. Listened to the apartment's familiar sounds.
And beneath them, faintly, the sound of Rowan moving in the guest room.
Awake. Alert.
Keeping watch.
I closed my eyes and pretended that didn't make me feel safer.