Chapter 47
Rowan's POV
I pulled into the garage and cut the engine, but didn't move to get out.
Eight o'clock.
Upstairs, Lena's light was on—a faint glow behind her second-floor curtains.
Five days now.
Every night I came home, she was already in her room. Door closed, no sound escaping. Sometimes when I passed in the hall, I'd hear her voice, low and focused. Working, probably. Handling calls.
Jack had told me her firm was doing well. She'd taken on a few small cases already. Nothing major, but she was handling them efficiently.
Grant & Clarke—her new venture with Diana Clarke.
I'd looked up their website. Clean, professional, minimal. Just like her.
I pushed open the car door and headed inside.
The house was quiet. Kitchen light on, a covered plate waiting on the counter—Martha's work, probably dinner she'd left for me.
I wasn't hungry.
At the base of the stairs, I stopped. Looked up toward the second floor.
Lena's door, still closed.
I took a breath and turned toward the study instead.
Not disturbing her—that was all I'd been doing these past few days. Maybe it was the only thing I could still do for her.
---
In the study, I opened my laptop and cleared through a few emails.
My phone buzzed.
Jack's message: [Marcus Grant update sent to your inbox.]
I clicked open the file and scanned it quickly.
Marcus was in Switzerland now. Geneva, specifically, holed up in a lakeside villa with his mistress and their two kids. The rent wasn't cheap.
He'd received Vivian's divorce papers. Refused to sign.
According to the report, he'd been reaching out to multiple attorneys lately, fishing for legal advice—specifically, how to squeeze more money out of the divorce settlement.
I let out a cold laugh.
Greedy bastard never knew when to quit.
He'd already siphoned a decent chunk of shares from Vivian. Now he wanted more.
Jack's report also noted that Marcus had been trying to shop stories to various media outlets—"inside dirt on the Grant family"—but so far, no one was biting. Vivian's PR team wasn't stupid.
I leaned back in my chair, fingers drumming the armrest.
Marcus and Vivian. Two vipers circling each other, both determined to draw blood. He wanted money. She wanted power. They'd tear each other apart.
And me?
I wasn't stepping in. Not yet.
Let them destroy each other first.
Once they'd both bled out, I'd clean up the mess. As long as Marcus stayed the hell away from Lena, I'd leave him alone.
But if he dared—
My hand clenched, knuckles going white.
If he laid one finger on her again, I'd make him regret ever being born.
---
My phone rang.
Eleanor Park.
I frowned, picked up. "Eleanor."
"Rowan." Her voice sounded tired.
"Been a while," I said.
"Yeah." A soft laugh. "What's it been, six months since that last project wrapped?"
Eleanor Park. Former colleague on a cross-border acquisition deal two years back. Smart, principled, solid instincts. After the project ended, she'd confessed she had feelings for me.
It was at some dinner. She'd had a drink or two, smiled, and said: "Rowan, I like you. Would you consider giving us a shot?"
I'd turned her down. Told her I respected her work, but I couldn't offer what she was looking for.
She'd paused, then smiled again. "Alright. At least I tried. Can we still be friends?"
"Of course."
We'd kept it professional since then. Occasionally crossed paths at events. That was it.
"What's wrong?" I asked. "You sound like you're in trouble."
"You always were perceptive," she sighed. "I am in trouble, actually."
"Talk to me."
"It's about a project I worked on last year," she said. "The investor's turning on me now. Claims my due diligence report had critical errors that cost them millions. They're threatening to sue."
I frowned. "Was your report flawed?"
"Of course not." Anger crept into her tone. "I'm meticulous. Every data point in that report was sourced and verified. But they're twisting the narrative now, lining up so-called 'expert witnesses' to back their claims."
"You need a lawyer."
"Exactly," she said. "A good one. But I don't trust the big firms anymore—you know how it is. They'll sacrifice principles for client relationships. I need someone who'll actually fight for me."
I was quiet for a moment.
Lena's face flashed through my mind.
She needed cases. Eleanor needed a lawyer with integrity and skill.
Perfect match.
"I have someone," I said.
"Who?"
"Lena Grant," I said. "She just started her own firm—Grant & Clarke. She's sharp, and she doesn't compromise. I think she can help you."
Silence on the other end.
"Lena Grant?" Eleanor's voice carried a note of surprise. "Your... wife?"
"Yes," I said. "But that's irrelevant. Her professional ability stands on its own. She can handle your case."
"Rowan," Eleanor's tone shifted, became more careful, "I heard your contract's almost up?"
"News travels fast."
"So this is... you helping her?"
"No," I said, voice firm. "This is business. You need a lawyer. She needs cases. That's all."
Eleanor laughed softly. "Alright, if you say so."
"But I have one condition," I added.
"What condition?"
"Don't tell her I referred her," I said. "I don't want her thinking this is charity."
She paused. Then nodded. "Fine. Send me her contact info?"
"Hold on."
I hung up, opened my contacts, found Lena's number.
My finger hovered over the screen.