Chapter 26
Lena's POV
The knock came early the next morning.
I set down my coffee and walked to the door. Through the peephole, I saw Nora Kane in a pale suit, concern etched carefully across her face.
I opened the door but didn't step aside.
"Good morning, Lena." Her voice was soft, practiced. "Rowan mentioned you were sick yesterday. I wanted to check on you."
"I'm fine now. Thanks for asking."
I didn't move. She stood in the hallway, her gaze drifting past me into the room, searching for something. Evidence, maybe. I stayed planted in the doorway.
After a few seconds of silence, I asked: "Was there something else?"
Her smile faltered, then recovered. "Actually... I tried calling Rowan last night. He didn't pick up. I was worried something might have happened." A pause. "Did he stay here late?"
There it was.
She hadn't come to check on my health. She'd come to mark her territory.
"Nora," I met her eyes, keeping my voice level, "you don't need to worry about me hanging onto Rowan. You can have him. I'm divorcing him."
Her expression crumbled. "I didn't mean—"
"Then what did you mean?" I cut her off, not interested in more performative denials. "Look, I don't like games. I won't interfere with whatever's between you and Rowan. Outside of necessary work handoffs, I don't want any more contact with you. Is that clear enough?"
She opened her mouth, closed it. The smile disappeared entirely, replaced by embarrassment and a flash of anger.
I moved to close the door. She spoke again: "Then why did you spend three nights helping him when his startup was under attack in college? When that competitor tried to destroy him with false accusations?"
My hand stilled on the handle.
"I heard about it from your roommate," she added, her tone probing. "If you didn't care about him, why go to all that trouble?"
I was quiet for a moment.
"I believe in fairness," I said flatly. "Couldn't stand watching someone use dirty tactics. That's all."
She looked like she wanted to say more, but I didn't give her the chance. I closed the door.
---
I leaned against it, eyes closed, breathing deep.
The memories came like a tide.
Seven years ago. I was studying law, and Rowan was a year ahead—already a campus legend. Smart, confident, ambitious. His tech startup was the talk of the graduate programs. Everyone said he'd be the next big name in business.
Nora was in my year, different program. Even then, she knew how to work a room. Gentle, graceful, always smiling at exactly the right moment.
I had a crush on him.
Not the dramatic, obvious kind. The quiet kind you keep locked away. When he pulled all-nighters in the library preparing pitches, I'd notice. When he spoke in seminars, I'd write down every case he referenced.
Then the crisis hit.
A competitor used underhanded tactics to accuse his company of patent infringement. The negative press nearly destroyed his project. Our professor called for student volunteers—said it was a rare practical opportunity.
I signed up.
Two days and nights, I combed through every piece of public information on the rival company. Found holes in their business model, contradictions in their legal filings, suspicious patterns in their financials. I compiled everything into a comprehensive report, noting every legal precedent and potential counterargument.
That report helped him win the case.
He never knew it was me.
The professor credited the whole team, and I never mentioned it. Because I knew if he found out, he'd just feel like he owed me. I didn't want his gratitude.
I wanted him to see me on his own.
But he didn't.
His attention was always on Nora. She brought him coffee when he was tired. She clapped first after his presentations. She acted like his girlfriend in front of everyone—even though they weren't official yet.
I didn't have the courage.
Back then, I wasn't confident enough to be direct, to take risks. So I buried those feelings and told myself to focus on my degree. Nothing else mattered.
After graduation, I returned to the States and joined Madison & Partners. Climbed from junior associate to partner track, handled countless M&As and family trust disputes. The work made me stronger, more confident. Sometimes I'd run into him at industry events.
Each time, I kept a polite distance. Two professionals with overlapping networks, nothing more.
Until two years ago.
It was at a business summit. We ended up working together on a client's acquisition deal. Watching him negotiate, handle the press, control the room—those old feelings surged back.
But this time, I didn't want to run.
I worked up the nerve. Asked him to coffee. Proposed the contract marriage.
On the surface, I laid out all the practical reasons—he needed an appropriate spouse to handle family pressure and expand his business network. I needed my mother to stop threatening me with arranged marriages. A contract marriage. Mutual benefit. Clean termination after two years.
But underneath, I had a hidden agenda.
I hoped that through those two years of living together, he'd finally see me. Not just as a sharp lawyer or a useful business connection, but as a real person. A woman with feelings.
I thought maybe, through daily proximity, he'd notice my qualities. Develop feelings. Transform me from "contract wife" to something real.
He said yes.
I thought it was a beginning.
One years later, I realized how wrong I'd been.
He never asked what I liked. Never cared about my moods. Never held me when I needed it without a script. Our conversations stayed locked on work and social schedules. His tenderness only appeared in bed.
I grew numb.
The hope eroded bit by bit, replaced by cold clarity—he didn't love me. Never would. I was just a role in his contract. A replaceable business partner.
And Nora came back.
Watching him arrange everything for her, watching him show her the attention and care he'd never given me—that's when I finally gave up completely.
He wasn't incapable of warmth. He just didn't want to be warm with me.
He wasn't bad at feelings. He just never felt anything for me.
---
I pushed off the door and walked to the bathroom. The woman in the mirror looked pale, exhausted, eyes heavy with resignation.
"Enough, Lena," I told my reflection. "You should've let this go a long time ago."
Yes. I should have.
That immature college crush—I'd already paid enough for it.