Chapter 57
Rowan's POV
I waited until I heard Lena's car pull out of the driveway before I got out of bed.
The house fell quiet—just the distant sound of Martha moving around downstairs, the faint hum of the refrigerator, the creak of old floorboards settling.
I stood by the window for a moment, watching the empty driveway where Lena's car had been.
Coward, I thought.
But I didn't move.
I took my time getting dressed—dark slacks, a crisp white shirt, no tie. Then I made my way downstairs, laptop bag in hand.
Martha was in the kitchen, wiping down the counters. She looked up when I entered, and her eyes widened slightly.
"Mr. Reynolds. You're... up."
"Morning, Martha."
She set down the cloth, her expression somewhere between confused and concerned. "How are you feeling? Should I prepare something light for you? Soup, maybe? Or I could call the doctor if—"
"I'm fine," I said. "No need for all that."
She blinked. "But you asked for medicine earlier. Mrs. Reynolds was worried—"
"I appreciate the concern." I kept my voice level, matter-of-fact. "But I'm feeling much better now."
Martha nodded slowly, though the confusion in her eyes didn't fade.
I picked up my keys from the counter, then paused. "Actually, Martha—if Lena asks, could you tell her I'm still resting? That I haven't come out of the room yet?"
The confusion deepened. "You want me to...?"
"Just say I'm taking it easy. Staying in bed. Nothing to worry about, but I need the rest."
She hesitated, clearly uncertain.
"Please," I added.
After a long moment, she nodded. "Alright. If that's what you want."
"Thank you."
I left before she could ask any more questions.
---
The office felt like a refuge.
Jack met me at the elevator with a stack of files. "Morning, sir."
"Morning."
"Good. We've got the quarterly review at ten, and the Singapore team wants to reschedule the call for Thursday instead of—"
"Fine. Whatever works."
He gave me a look—brief, assessing—but didn't push.
We went through the meeting. I signed off on the reports, answered the necessary questions, kept my responses short and efficient.
By noon, I'd cleared most of my urgent tasks.
Jack appeared in the doorway again. "Mr. Reynolds, should I bring your lunch up now?"
"I'll grab something later. You can go have lunch now"
"Okay, I'll be back in an hour."
He left.
I sat back in my chair and stared at the city skyline outside the window.
What the hell am I doing?
Pretending to be sick. Hiding in my own house. Avoiding my own wife—ex-wife, technically, as of yesterday.
No, I corrected myself. Not ex-wife yet. The contract doesn't officially terminate until we both sign the papers.
A technicality.
But I was clinging to it like a lifeline.
---
I left the office at four, made it back to the estate by four-forty-five.
Martha was in the kitchen again, prepping dinner. She glanced up when I walked in, surprise flickering across her face.
"You're back early."
"Needed to rest." I headed for the stairs. "Could you bring something up to the room later? Doesn't matter what."
"Of course."
I shut myself in the guest room.
At six-thirty, I heard Lena's car pull in.
I stayed where I was, perfectly still, listening to the sounds of her coming home—the soft thud of the car door closing, her footsteps on the stairs, the faint murmur of her voice as she spoke to Martha in the hallway.
Then silence.
Martha knocked softly a few minutes later and brought in a tray—soup, bread, water. She set it on the nightstand without a word, gave me one more uncertain look, and left.
I waited until the house settled into its evening rhythms before I finally stood and crossed to the window.
From here, I could see the light on in Lena's room—soft and golden through the curtains.
She's right there, I thought. Twenty feet away.
And yet it felt like miles.
---
The next morning, I did it all over again.
Waited for Lena to leave. Got dressed. Went to the office. Came back before she did.
Jack didn't comment, but I could see the questions in his eyes.
Colin, on the other hand, had no such restraint.
He called at two in the afternoon, his voice far too cheerful. "You're avoiding her."
"I'm working."
"Bullshit. You're hiding."
I didn't answer.
"Look," Colin said, "I'm not judging. But this is getting sad, man. You can't keep sneaking around your own house like some kind of—"
"Did you call for a reason?"
He sighed. "Actually, yeah. Eleanor wants to drag me to the shooting range this weekend. Apparently she's on some kind of competitive streak and needs an opponent."
"So?"
"So I'm terrible at shooting, and she knows it. She's planning to destroy me for her own amusement." He paused. "But she said I could bring backup."
I frowned. "Backup?"
"Another player. Make it a team thing. You in?"
I should have said no.
I should have made up an excuse—work, a prior commitment, anything.
But the idea of getting out of the house, away from the weight of Lena's absence and my own spiraling thoughts, was too tempting.
"Fine," I said. "When?"
"Tomorrow afternoon. I'll text you the details."
"Alright."
"Great. Oh, and Eleanor said she's bringing someone too. Even the odds."
"Who?"
"No idea. Probably one of her close friends."
I hung up and went back to staring at my computer screen.