Chapter 56
Lena's POV
I woke up to sunlight streaming through the bedroom window and the distant sound of Martha moving around downstairs.
For a moment, I just lay there, staring at the ceiling, letting my mind catch up with my body.
Today should finally be the day, I thought. The day we sit down and finalize everything.
But when I walked past the garage on my way to the kitchen, I noticed Rowan's car was still there.
I stopped. Frowned.
He never stayed home on weekdays. Even when we'd had our worst fights, even during the weeks of cold silence, he'd always left for the office by seven-thirty.
Martha was in the kitchen, setting out breakfast—toast, scrambled eggs, fresh fruit.
"Morning," I said.
"Good morning, Mrs. Grant." She glanced up, then hesitated. "Mr. Reynolds is still upstairs."
I poured myself coffee. "Is he working from home today?"
"I don't think so." Martha's expression turned uncertain. "He seems to be ill. About an hour ago, he asked me to bring him some medicine. I offered to call the doctor, but he said it wasn't necessary—just rest."
I felt a small jolt of surprise.
Rowan rarely got sick. In the two years we'd lived together, I could count on one hand the number of times he'd been under the weather. And even then, he'd powered through it—conference calls from bed, emails at midnight, never missing a beat.
For him to stay in bed past nine in the morning... it had to be serious.
"Did he say what was wrong?" I asked.
"No. Just that he needed rest."
I set down my coffee cup. "I'll check on him."
Martha nodded and went back to arranging the plates.
I climbed the stairs, paused outside the guest room door, and knocked softly.
"Rowan?"
A long silence.
Then his voice came through the door—low, rough, slightly muffled. "I'm fine. Just need to rest."
"Do you need anything? Water? Food?"
"No. I'm good."
I stood there for another moment, hand still raised, trying to decide if I should push.
But what would be the point?
If he said he was fine, he was fine. And if he wasn't... well, Martha would keep an eye on him.
"Alright," I said finally. "Let Martha know if you need anything."
No response.
I turned and walked back downstairs.
Martha looked up as I re-entered the kitchen. "How is he?"
"He says he's fine. Just needs rest." I picked up my coffee again. "But keep an eye on him, okay? Make sure he eats something. And if he gets worse, call me."
"Of course."
I sat down at the table and ate breakfast in silence, my mind turning over the situation.
This complicates things, I thought. We were supposed to finalize the contract termination today. Sign the papers. Make it official.
But I couldn't exactly drag a sick man to the lawyer's office.
It can wait, I decided. Another few days won't make a difference.
And yet... part of me wondered if that was true.
Because every day we delayed felt like another thread tying me to this house, this arrangement, this illusion of a marriage.
I finished my coffee, gathered my things, and headed out.
---
The morning passed in a blur of emails and contract reviews.
I was working through a commercial lease agreement when my phone rang.
Alexander Pierce.
I answered. "Alex. What's up?"
"Lena." His voice was light, teasing. "I heard a very disturbing rumor."
"Oh?"
"Emily says you want to marry me."
I couldn't help it—I laughed. "That's not exactly how I'd phrase it."
"Really? Because she made it sound like you were planning our entire future. Spring wedding, maybe a honeymoon in Tuscany—"
"It's a business arrangement, Alex. You know that."
"Do I?" He paused. "Because I have to say, Lena, as flattered as I am... I'm not sure I'm brave enough to go through with it."
I leaned back in my chair. "Brave enough? What are you talking about?"
"I'm talking about Rowan Reynolds." His tone shifted, became more serious. "You really think he's going to let you waltz off with another man—contract or no contract?"
"He won't care," I said flatly. "This marriage was always just a business deal. He'll be relieved to be done with it."
"You don't understand men, Lena."
"Excuse me?"
"Guys like Rowan—the cold, controlled types—they're the worst. All that restraint? That's just a lid on a pressure cooker. The more they bottle things up, the more possessive they get."
I felt a flicker of irritation. "You're overthinking this."
"Am I? Because from where I'm sitting, it looks like you're underestimating him."
"Alex—"
"Look, I'm not saying he's in love with you. I'm saying he's not going to just let you go. Men like that... they don't give up their territory easily."
I opened my mouth to argue, then stopped.
Because the truth was, I didn't know.
I didn't know what Rowan would do. I didn't know how he'd react. I'd spent two years trying to read him, trying to understand him, and I still felt like I was staring at a locked door.
"He'll be fine," I said finally. "Trust me."
Alexander sighed. "You know what? I'll think about it. But if Rowan shows up at my office looking like he wants to murder me, I'm blaming you."
"Deal."
He hung up.
I set the phone down and stared at the wall.
Possessive, I thought. That's ridiculous.
Rowan had never shown the slightest hint of possessiveness. He'd barely acknowledged our marriage most of the time. He'd invited his ex-girlfriend to work on the same project as me, for God's sake.
If that wasn't indifference, I didn't know what was.
And yet...
Alexander's words lingered.
You don't understand men.
Maybe I didn't.
It doesn't matter, I told myself firmly. In a few days, this will all be over. And whatever he feels—or doesn't feel—won't be my problem anymore.
I turned back to my computer and forced myself to focus on work.
But the unease lingered, a quiet hum beneath the surface of my thoughts.