Chapter 142
Rowan's POV
I read the statement again, slower this time.
She wasn't asking to be saved. She was announcing that she'd already saved herself.
And what had I done?
During our marriage, I'd never once asked what she wanted.
I'd done it again just yesterday—calling Kenneth, setting plans in motion without her knowledge. Deciding what information she could handle, what battles she should fight.
What she'd really needed was for someone to trust that she could fight for what she wanted, and there's always someone on her side.
My hand hovered over the laptop. I could close this document. Delete the draft. Tell her it was too dangerous, that I'd handle Marcus through other channels.
I could keep her safe the way I always had—by making her choices for her.
Or.
I could do the one thing I'd never managed during our marriage.
I could trust her.
Trust that she knew what she was doing. That she'd thought this through. That if she needed help, she'd ask for it.
My role wasn't to fight her battles.
It was to stand behind her while she fought them herself. To be there if she needed backup. Not to assume she couldn't handle it alone.
I touched the laptop screen gently, as if I could somehow communicate the thought through glass and light.
You're so much stronger than I ever gave you credit for.
Slowly, carefully, I closed the laptop.
Then I picked up the throw blanket from the chair and draped it over her sleeping form. She stirred slightly but didn't wake.
"I'm here," I whispered. "Whenever you need me. But this is your fight, Lena. Your truth to tell."
I backed toward the door, then paused one more time.
"You're great, and deserve to be loved and supported," I added, even though she couldn't hear me. Even though I'd never said it when it mattered.
Then I left, pulling the door closed behind me with a soft click.
In the hallway, I leaned against the wall and let out a long breath.
My phone was in my pocket. One text to Kenneth and I could accelerate the timeline. Have Marcus neutralized before Lena's statement ever went public.
I pulled out the phone. Stared at Kenneth's contact.
Then I opened a new message to Dad instead.
Stand down on the proactive measures. We proceed only if she asks for help. Her timeline, her terms.
His response came back almost immediately: You sure about this?
I looked at Lena's closed door.
Yes. She deserves the choice.
I pocketed the phone and headed to the kitchen to make coffee.
When Lena woke up, she'd have decisions to make. Battles to fight.
And I'd be here.
Not to fight them for her.
But to make sure she knew she didn't have to fight them alone.
---
Lena's POV
The headache woke me first—a dull throb behind my eyes that matched the ache in my shoulders. I'd fallen asleep at my desk again. The sheets were still tucked in, mocking my intention to actually rest.
I pushed myself upright, wincing at the protest from my neck. The apartment was too quiet. Then I caught it—the faint sound of movement from the kitchen, the soft clink of ceramic.
My laptop sat exactly where I'd left it, screen dark. But there was something different about the angle. A millimeter shift that most people wouldn't notice.
He'd moved it.
I was on my feet before I fully processed the thought, crossing the room with deliberate calm. The kitchen doorway framed him perfectly—Rowan at the counter, hands steady as he arranged food on a plate. Light fare. The kind I actually preferred, not the heavy breakfasts he used to order without asking.
"You read it." Not a question.
His hands stilled. He didn't turn around. "Yes."
"And?"
"And I made you breakfast." He finally faced me, holding out the plate. "Your actual breakfast. Not what I thought you should eat."
I didn't take it. "That's not an answer."
"No." He set the plate down, leaning back against the counter. "It's an apology. For every time I made decisions for you without asking. Starting with what you ate in the morning."
The deflection was transparent, but something in his posture made me pause. He looked... exhausted. Like he'd been awake as long as I had.
"The statement," I pressed. "What did you think?"
"I thought—" He stopped, jaw working. "My first thought was that I could stop you. Call Kenneth. Have Marcus... handled. Before you ever had to make yourself vulnerable like that."
My chest tightened. Of course. "But you didn't."
"No."
"Why not?"
His eyes met mine, and I saw something I'd never seen there before. Not pity. Not the cold calculation I'd grown used to. Something rawer.
"Because that would be me making your choice for you. Again." His voice was quiet. Careful. "I can tell you it's too dangerous. I can mobilize resources to make Marcus disappear before your statement ever goes public. But that's my choice. Not yours."
I crossed my arms, the familiar armor sliding into place. "So now you want credit for your restraint? Is that it?"
"No." He pushed off the counter, but didn't come closer. "I'm waiting for you to tell me what you need. Not what I think you need."
The words landed like a punch I hadn't braced for. I stared at him, searching for the catch. The subtle manipulation. The control dressed up as care.
There was nothing. Just Rowan, standing in my kitchen at six in the morning, looking at me like I was the only person who got to decide what came next.
My phone shattered the moment.
Diana. I answered on the second ring.
"We got the first drop from Raven." Her voice was tight with controlled urgency. "You need to see this. Now."