Chapter 37
Lena's POV
"Good to see you're self-aware," Isabel replied sharply.
Rowan moved to the sideboard and poured himself water. "Makes me feel pretty redundant around here."
I kept my eyes on my teacup, forcing my expression to stay neutral. I'd seen these mother-son exchanges before, but tonight felt particularly awkward—because I knew Isabelle was doing this for my benefit.
"As you should be." She turned to me, her tone immediately softening. "Lena, stay tonight. All the guest rooms are ready. You can take whichever one you like."
I was about to politely decline when she continued. "If you don't want to stay in your usual room with Rowan, just make him take a different one. Or you can sleep in my room."
The air went quiet for two seconds.
Rowan's hand paused mid-motion, but he said nothing, just looked at me thoughtfully.
I could feel his gaze but didn't lift my head.
"I don't want to intrude—" I started.
"Intrude on what?" Isabelle cut me off. "This has always been your home too. And right now, you shouldn't be alone."
Her voice carried that unmistakable firmness.
I took a deep breath. "I'll take the usual room. Rowan can have a different one."
As I said it, I finally looked up and met Rowan's eyes.
His expression was complicated—surprise, confusion, and something else I couldn't quite read.
"Smart choice." Isabelle nodded approvingly, then gestured toward her son. "You heard her. Go ask the housekeeper for keys."
Rowan was silent for a few seconds before smiling slightly. "Alright."
He set down his glass and headed toward the study. "I'll just have the housekeeper send up some pasta. See you later."
"Pasta?" Isabelle raised an eyebrow. "There's still roasted chicken in the kitchen—"
"I don't have much appetite." His voice drifted from the hallway.
His silhouette disappeared around the corner. I exhaled quietly, simultaneously relieved and oddly hollow.
Isabelle looked at me, her eyes gentle. "Don't worry about him. He deserves it."
"I'm not worried." I said it too quickly.
She smiled knowingly but didn't call me out. "Go rest. Call me if you need anything."
I nodded, finished the last sip of my tea, then stood and headed upstairs.
---
After my shower, I sat on the edge of the bed drying my hair.
This room was familiar—pale blue walls, white linens, a window overlooking the estate gardens.
Over the past two years, Rowan and I had stayed here at least once or twice a month.
To maintain the appearance of a loving couple.
To keep Isabelle happy.
To convince Silverton's elite circles that the Reynolds-Grant alliance was successful.
I turned off the hairdryer. The room fell silent.
Then my phone screen lit up.
A text message.
Sender: Marcus Grant.
My fingers tightened. A chill crept through my chest.
I opened it.
Marcus: [I need money. Wire $200,000 to my account by tomorrow or I'll make sure everyone knows exactly what kind of daughter you really are.]
I stared at the screen, my breathing gradually becoming heavier.
Another message appeared.
Marcus: [People love a good scandal. "Grant family heiress—promiscuous since childhood, private life in shambles." How does that sound?]
My fingertips went cold.
He was threatening me.
Threatening me with lies—complete fabrications.
I typed back immediately:
[Think carefully. I'm a lawyer. I know exactly what defamation costs.]
His response came within seconds.
Marcus: [I have other methods. Either wire the money or face the consequences. Even if I eventually get sanctioned, you'll suffer first.]
Then another: [And I have videos. Things you definitely don't want public.]
My heart clenched hard.
Videos?
What videos?
My mind raced through possible scenarios—company meetings? Family dinners? Something I didn't even know had been recorded?
The phone buzzed again.
Marcus: [Don't think I'm bluffing. You know what I'm capable of.]
Marcus: [$200,000. By noon tomorrow. I've already sent you the account number.]
I bit down hard, my finger hovering over the screen.
Logic told me he was bluffing.
But instinct warned me that Marcus Grant was capable of anything.
He'd already betrayed Vivian, betrayed the entire Grant family, kept a mistress and illegitimate children, embezzled millions from the company.
Going after me was just another piece of his revenge plan.
Or more accurately—his desperate, cornered retaliation.
I forced myself to breathe slowly and think clearly.
Vivian wasn't ready to strike back yet.
Her legal team was still building the paper trail of Marcus's embezzlement. The SEC investigation had barely started. The shareholder meeting hadn't been called. Board support wasn't fully secured.
If I provoked Marcus now, he might actually do something insane—spread rumors, manufacture scandals, release whatever "videos" he claimed to have.
And then not just me, but the entire Grant family—even the Reynolds family—would be dragged into a media circus.
Rowan had just spent seven million dollars stabilizing the situation for Vivian.
I couldn't let it all fall apart.
Not now.
I opened my banking app and entered Marcus's account information.
$200,000.
My finger hovered over "Confirm" for several seconds.
This wasn't a small amount for me.
Before confirming, I screenshotted everything—every text message, every threat, including the transfer details.
Then I pressed "Confirm."
The moment the money transferred, humiliation and rage surged up my throat.
But I swallowed it down.
I had to.
Because this wasn't the time for impulse.
This was strategic compromise.
I saved all the evidence—message screenshots, transaction records, timestamps.
When Marcus's crimes were fully documented, all of this would become courtroom exhibits.
Extortion. Blackmail. And what he had done to me.
I would make him pay for every word he'd sent tonight.
But for now, I could only wait.
My phone buzzed once more.
Marcus: [Received. Smart girl.]
I didn't reply.
I turned off the screen and lay back on the bed, staring at the ceiling.
The room was so quiet. So quiet I could hear my own heartbeat.
Thump. Thump. Thump.
Heavy, slow, filled with unspeakable exhaustion. I closed my eyes and took deep breaths.
Outside, wind rustled through the leaves.
I draped my arm across my eyes, trying to sleep.
But Marcus's texts kept circling through my mind.
"Things you definitely don't want public."
What videos?
What had he recorded without my knowledge?