Chapter 65
Lena's POV
Two days after signing the divorce papers, I was in my old house—the one I'd lived in before the marriage—sorting through files at the dining table when I heard a car pull into the driveway.
I glanced at the window. A black Mercedes. Vivian's.
Of course.
I'd known this was coming. She'd probably gone to Lakeview Estate first, demanded to see me, and gotten the news from the staff: Mrs. Grant moved out. Back to her old place.
I set down my pen and waited.
The doorbell rang. Once. Twice. Three times in rapid succession.
I opened the door.
"Mother."
She swept past me without waiting, her Chanel suit immaculate despite the November chill. She stopped in the foyer, taking in the familiar space—the house I'd bought six years ago, after I had my first year's salary, back when I'd believed in building something of my own.
"So you ran back here." Her voice was cold.
I closed the door quietly. Said nothing.
"You had an estate on the lake. A property worth millions. And you walked away from it to hide in this—" She gestured dismissively at my living room. "This place."
"I'm sorry." The words came automatically. "I thought it was better to—"
"Better?" She turned on me. "Better to walk away from everything? To throw away two years of strategic positioning? To make yourself—" Her voice rose. "Do you have any idea what you've done, Lena?"
I lowered my gaze. "I know it wasn't ideal."
"Ideal?" She laughed, harsh. "You're devalued now. Do you understand that? A divorced woman at thirty. You'll never land another man like Rowan Reynolds. Not with his family background, his business empire, his connections."
I nodded slowly. Let her see my acceptance of the judgment.
"You couldn't hold onto him," she continued, voice cutting. "Everyone's saying it. 'Poor Lena Grant, thought she could manage a man like that.' 'What did she expect, marrying someone so far above her league?' You've made yourself unmarketable. A failure."
The familiar script. I'd heard versions of this my entire life.
"I understand." My voice stayed quiet. Compliant.
She studied me, eyes narrowing. "And what's your plan now? Sit here in this house and wait for the whispers to die down? Hope people forget?"
Let me disappear, I thought. Let me build something that doesn't require your approval.
But I didn't say it.
"I'm working on the firm," I offered instead. "Diana and I have several new clients, and—"
"Your little law practice?" She waved it away. "That's not a plan, Lena. That's a hobby. I'm talking about your future. Your position. Our family's standing in this city."
I clasped my hands in front of me. Waited.
Vivian stepped closer, her tone shifting from anger to something sharper. More calculated. "You need to fix this. Quickly. Before the damage becomes permanent."
"Yes, Mother."
"I've spent decades protecting our name. After everything your father did—the disgrace, the investigations—I held things together. Maintained our reputation." Her gaze burned into me. "And now you've made it harder. You've given people something new to whisper about."
"I'm sorry," I said again. Let my shoulders curve inward slightly. The posture of shame.
It was easier than fighting.
She exhaled, her anger cooling to calculation. "You need another arrangement. Soon. Someone appropriate. Someone who can restore what you've lost."
I hesitated, then spoke carefully. "Actually... there might be an option."
Vivian's head snapped up. "What?"
"Alexander Pierce." I kept my voice measured. Deferential. "We've been talking. He's... open to discussing an arrangement."
Silence.
Her expression shifted—surprise, then sharp interest.
"Alexander Pierce," she repeated slowly. "Samuel Pierce's youngest son?"
"Yes. We went to high school together. Stayed in touch." I paused. "He mentioned he's been considering a formal arrangement. For family reasons."
Vivian's entire demeanor changed. The anger drained from her face, replaced by keen focus.
"The Pierce family trust company," she said softly. "One of the oldest wealth management firms in the region. Discretion. Old money. Conservative values." Her eyes locked on mine. "And he's willing? Despite your... situation?"
Despite being damaged goods.
"He seems to be."
She studied me for a long moment, her expression calculating. Then, slowly, she smiled.
It wasn't warm. It never was.
"Well." She adjusted her purse. "Perhaps you haven't completely destroyed your prospects after all."
The transformation was instant. Thirty seconds ago I was unmarketable, a disgrace. Now I was suddenly acceptable again.
Because of a name. A family connection.
"You're lucky, Lena." Her tone warmed slightly. "Most divorced women don't get opportunities like this. Certainly not with families like the Pierces. Old money doesn't usually mix with... complications."
With failures, she meant.
"I know." I kept my voice humble. Grateful. "I won't waste the opportunity."
"See that you don't." She moved toward the door, then paused. "Finalize things quickly. Before circumstances change. Before he has time to reconsider."
Before he realizes what a poor investment I am.
"I'll handle it carefully."
"Good." She opened the door, stepped onto the porch. "I expect to hear news soon. And Lena—" She looked back at me. "This time, make it work. Make it last. Our family can't afford another mistake."
The door closed with a decisive click.
I stood in the foyer, listening to her heels on the walkway, the car door closing, the engine starting.
Then silence.
I walked slowly back to the dining table. Sat down. Stared at the files in front of me without seeing them.
My hands were steady. My breathing even.
But inside, something cold settled deeper into my chest.
Just wait. I'll personally crush every dream you have. All these years of swallowing my pain, of bending to your will—it's time for payback.