Chapter 138
Rowan's POV
I leaned back, eyes on the ceiling.
Marcus wasn't stupid. Cornered, yes. Desperate, absolutely. But not stupid.
He'd kept that old phone. Kept photos of what he'd done to Lena as a child—photos so vile I'd barely made it through the first few before nausea forced me to stop. He'd preserved them deliberately. Carefully.
Insurance.
If Marcus had those images on one discarded device, what else did he have? What other leverage had he stockpiled against the day someone tried to take him down?
My jaw tightened.
The legal case was solid. We'd dismantle Silverpine, freeze the money, put people in prison. Justice would be served.
But justice took time. Months. Maybe years.
And in those months, what would Marcus do?
He'd know by tonight that the walls were closing in. He'd see the asset freezes, the warrants, the coordinated international pressure. He'd understand he was losing.
And when powerful men started losing, they burned everything in reach.
I thought of Lena's face when she'd looked at those childhood photos. The dissociation. The trembling. The way she'd curled in on herself, lost somewhere I couldn't follow.
If Marcus released that material publicly—if he leaked it to the press, posted it online, sent it to her colleagues—it wouldn't just humiliate her. It would destroy her.
Not legally. Not professionally.
But in every way that mattered.
I picked up my phone. Stared at the contact I hadn't used in six months.
Kenneth Reynolds.
My father.
He'd ask questions. He always did. And he had an uncanny ability to extract truths I didn't want to admit.
But he also had resources. The kind that didn't appear in corporate directories or legal databases.
I hit dial before I could reconsider.
It rang four times. Then: "Rowan. It's been a while."
His voice carried that transatlantic polish he'd developed over two decades abroad. Cultured. Controlled. And beneath it, always, the faint rasp of a man who'd lived harder than his current life suggested.
"Dad."
"Must be serious if you're calling at—" a pause, presumably to check the time "—two in the afternoon your time. Which makes it eight p.m. here, just as I'm sitting down to dinner. Should I be worried?"
"No. Maybe. I need a favor."
"Ah." A smile in his voice. "Go on."
I summarized quickly. Marcus. Silverpine. The RICO case filing today. The probable retaliation.
Kenneth listened without interruption. When I finished, he said, "This is Lena's father we're discussing."
"Yes."
"And you're asking me to help you... what, exactly? Track him? Pressure him? The legal case sounds solid. What do you need from me?"
I hesitated.
He caught it immediately. "Rowan. What aren't you saying?"
"He has materials. Evidence of things he did to Lena when she was a child. Abuse. On camera." The words felt like gravel. "If he goes public with that before we can stop him—"
"I see." Kenneth's tone shifted. Less amused. More focused. "And you want to make sure that doesn't happen."
"Yes."
"Which would require finding him quickly. Applying pressure outside legal channels."
"If necessary."
A longer pause. Then, carefully: "Son, I've been retired from that world for a long time. I built my penance in steel and concrete. The people I used to know—"
"Still owe you favors. I know." My hand tightened on the phone. "I wouldn't ask if it weren't critical."
"Critical to the business?"
"Critical to Lena."
Silence.
Then Kenneth said, very gently, "Tell me why."
"I just did. Marcus will use those materials to—"
"No. Tell me why you care this much. About your ex-wife's reputation. Her trauma. Her safety."
I said nothing.
"Rowan." Not demanding. Just... patient. "You've never asked me for this kind of help before. Not for anyone. You're meticulous about keeping business clean, legal, above board. Now you're talking about extralegal pressure on a man in Switzerland."
"He deserves it."
"Possibly. Probably. But that's not why you're doing this." A beat. "Is it?"
My throat felt tight. "Does it matter?"
"To me? Yes. Because I won't mobilize old debts for a corporate grudge. But for family..." He let that hang. "Well. That's different."
"She's not family anymore. The contract ended."
"Contracts," Kenneth murmured. "You sound like me thirty years ago."
I frowned. "What?"
"Your mother and I—you know we married young. Your grandfather arranged it. Bowen-Reynolds alliance, very advantageous for both families."
"I know the story."
"Do you know it took me three years to realize I'd fallen in love with her?" His laugh was soft, self-deprecating. "Three years of living with the most extraordinary woman I'd ever met, and I kept telling myself it was just a successful partnership. Good marriage on paper. Efficient."
Despite everything, I felt a flicker of surprise. "You never mentioned—"
"Because I'm embarrassed by how blind I was. Isabella had to practically hit me over the head before I admitted what I felt." A pause. "You're like me in that way, I think. Careful. Controlled. Better at strategy than sentiment."
"Dad—"
"So when you call me, asking for help protecting a woman you claim is just your ex-wife, I have to wonder." His voice gentled further. "Are you protecting an asset? Or are you protecting someone you love?"
The question landed like a punch.
I opened my mouth. Closed it.
Across the apartment, I could hear Lena's voice on another call. Steady. Professional. Unbreakable.
And breakable in ways only I had seen.
"I hurt her," I said finally. "During the marriage. I was... distant. Cold. I treated the whole thing like a transaction."
"And now?"
"Now I'd do anything to keep her safe."
"That's not an answer, Rowan."
I exhaled. "I know."
"Then let me ask differently." Kenneth's tone shifted—less father, more the man who'd built empires in hostile territory. "If I help you with this, and Marcus is neutralized, and Lena is safe—what then? Do you walk away? Go back to your separate lives?"
"That's up to her."
"But what do you want?"
The apartment felt too small suddenly. Too quiet except for Lena's distant voice.
"I want..." The words stuck. "I want her to look at me the way she used to. Before I ruined it."
"And how did she look at you?"
Like I mattered. Like I was worth the effort.
Like she loved me, even when I was too blind to see it.
"Like I was someone worth believing in," I said quietly.
Kenneth was silent for a long moment.
Then: "There it is."
"What?"
"The truth." He sounded almost proud. "You love her."
I should've denied it. Deflected. Changed the subject.
Instead I said, "Yes. I do."
The admission hung in the air between us. Between continents.
"Well," Kenneth said at last. "That changes things."
"Does it?"
"Of course it does. I told you—I don't mobilize old favors for business. But for my son trying to protect the woman he loves?" A smile in his voice again. "That, I can work with."