Chapter 5
Rowan's POV
Sleep didn't come. I sat in the darkened living room until dawn crept through the windows, turning the lake beyond from black to steel blue. Mother's words circled my thoughts like vultures: Coward. Terrified. Emotionally stunted.
You're exactly what we agreed you'd be.
I heard Lena's shower turn on upstairs, heard her morning routine begin—the small sounds I'd memorized over two years without meaning to. The creak of her closet door. The soft thud of her jewelry box closing.
Three more weeks, and I'll never hear these sounds again.
The thought should have brought relief. Instead, it felt like standing at the edge of a cliff, looking down at rocks below.
I pushed off the couch, headed toward the kitchen. Coffee. Breakfast. Normal morning routines that might convince me everything was under control.
Mother was already seated at the dining table when I entered, her usual morning coffee untouched. The television murmured in the background—some news program I never watched.
"Early for you," I said, pouring myself a cup.
She didn't respond. Her attention was fixed on the screen, her expression carefully blank in that way that meant something had gone very wrong.
I followed her gaze.
"—federal investigators have arrested Marcus Grant, CFO of Nexus Investment Company, on charges of insider trading and securities fraud. The arrest comes after a months-long investigation into alleged kickback schemes and falsified financial reports. Nexus Investment's stock has plummeted in pre-market trading—"
The coffee mug stopped halfway to my lips.
Lena.
"Jesus," Mother breathed. "This is going to destroy them."
The screen switched to footage of Marcus being led from his office in handcuffs, his face carefully composed but his eyes wild. Behind him, reporters shouted questions. Cameras flashed like lightning.
"—sources close to the investigation suggest Marcus may have siphoned millions from company accounts. His wife, Vivian Bowen, sole heir to the Bowen family fortune and creator of Nexus Investment Company, has not yet commented—"
"Rowan." Mother's voice was quiet. "Does Lena know?"
I set the cup down, my mind already running calculations. Stock price implications. Shareholder panic. The inevitable board meeting where Vivian would have to explain how she'd let her husband—that bastard she married—gut the company from the inside.
And Lena, caught in the middle of it all.
Her mother's going to weaponize this. Use it to keep Lena locked in—to our marriage, to the Grant family obligations, to everything she's been trying to escape.
"Rowan." Mother's hand touched my arm. "She's going to need—"
Footsteps on the stairs. We both turned.
Lena appeared in the doorway, dressed in a simple cashmere sweater and tailored pants, her hair still damp from the shower. She looked fresh, composed, unremarkable—until her eyes found the television screen.
I watched her face transform. Not dramatically—that wasn't Lena's style. But I'd learned to read her micro-expressions over two years of studying her: the slight widening of her pupils, the barely perceptible tightening around her mouth, the way her fingers curled into her palms.
She stood frozen for exactly three seconds. Then she walked to the table, pulled out a chair, and sat down with the same measured grace she brought to every board meeting.
"Good morning," she said, reaching for the coffee pot.
Mother stared at her. "Lena, sweetheart, did you—"
"I saw." Lena poured coffee with a steady hand, added cream, stirred exactly twice. "It was only a matter of time, really."
The casual tone didn't fool me. I could see the pulse hammering in her throat, the slight tremor she was suppressing, the way she kept her eyes fixed on her coffee cup to avoid looking at the screen.
"You don't have to pretend," Mother said gently. "This is—"
"Unfortunate." Lena took a sip, her expression betraying nothing. "But hardly surprising. Marcus has been playing fast and loose with company funds for years."
"Lena." Mother leaned forward, her voice softening. "Sweetheart, listen to me. Whatever happens with Nexus Investment—whatever chaos this creates—you have the Reynolds family behind you. Do you understand? We'll handle the fallout. We'll manage the press. We'll—"
"That's very kind," Lena interrupted, still not looking up. "But I can handle my own family's disasters."
"You shouldn't have to handle them alone." Mother's eyes cut to me, sharp with expectation. "Right, Rowan?"
I met Lena's gaze across the table. For a moment, something flickered there—not quite vulnerability, not quite desperation, but close enough to both that it made my chest tighten.
"Of course," I heard myself say. "Whatever you need."
"I don't need anything." Lena's voice was perfectly level, perfectly controlled. "But thank you for the offer."
Liar.
I'd seen this performance before—the careful composure, the polite deflection, the walls going up so high and so fast that no one could possibly scale them. It was the same face she wore at depositions. The same tone she used with difficult clients.
The same mask she'd been wearing since the moment she'd proposed this goddamn contract.
"At least let us—" Mother began.
"No." Lena set her cup down with a soft click. "I appreciate the concern. Both of you. But this is a Grant family matter, and I'll handle it accordingly."
She stood, smoothed her sweater, picked up her phone. "I should make some calls. Excuse me."
She left the dining room with the same measured stride she'd entered with, her posture perfect, her expression neutral. The only sign of distress was the white-knuckle grip on her phone.