Chapter 70
Lena's POV
The Grant House dining room felt colder than usual, despite the morning sunlight streaming through the tall windows. I sat across from Vivian, her perfectly manicured hands folded on the mahogany table, her expression a practiced blend of concern and calculation.
"So," she said, her tone deceptively light. "Alexander Pierce."
I kept my face neutral. "We've been in contact."
"And?"
"He's agreed to discuss the possibility of a formal arrangement."
Vivian's eyes sharpened. "When?"
"This week. We're still coordinating schedules."
She leaned forward slightly. "Lena, you're thirty years old. A divorced woman. Do you understand how limited your options are becoming?"
I'd heard variations of this speech my entire life. The words no longer stung—they just settled over me like a familiar weight.
"I'm aware of my situation," I said quietly.
"Then you understand why speed is essential." Vivian's voice took on an edge. "The Reynolds marriage was supposed to secure your position. Instead, you walked away from one of the most powerful alliances in Silverton." She paused. "If this arrangement with Alexander falls through, the Grant name will suffer another embarrassment. I won't tolerate that."
Translation: I won't tolerate that.
"I'll finalize things with Alexander by the end of the week," I said.
Vivian studied me for a long moment, then nodded. "See that you do."
---
I drove back to my apartment with my hands tight on the steering wheel, Vivian's words echoing in my head.
Another contract. Another performance.
My phone buzzed. A text from Alexander: Lunch tomorrow? We should talk details.
I typed back: Sounds good. Noon at Seventh Sense?
His reply came quickly: Perfect. See you then.
I set the phone down and stared at the road ahead.
This was what I'd wanted, wasn't it? A clean, rational arrangement. No messy emotions. No expectations beyond what was written in a contract.
So why did the thought of sitting across from Alexander and negotiating terms feel so exhausting?
---
Rowan's POV
Jack appeared in my office doorway at three o'clock, tablet in hand.
"You asked for an update on Pierce," he said.
I didn't look up from the merger documents I was reviewing. "And?"
"He's been in regular contact with Lena Grant over the past week. Calls, text messages, lunch meetings." Jack hesitated. "There's also talk in certain circles that the two families are exploring a formal alliance."
My pen stopped moving.
"What kind of alliance?"
"The matrimonial kind."
I set the pen down carefully. "I see."
Jack shifted his weight. "There's... another matter."
"Go on."
"Pierce has been seeing someone. A woman named Megan Torres. She's an art curator at the Silverton Modern. They've been spotted together multiple times over the past month—restaurants, galleries, her apartment."
I turned to look at him. "How serious?"
"Hard to say. But the frequency and locations suggest it's more than casual."
I stood and walked to the window, hands in my pockets. Below, the city stretched out in orderly grids—buildings, streets, people moving in predictable patterns.
"Compile everything," I said. "Photos, timeline, locations. I want details."
"Sir?"
"Just do it."
Jack left without another word.
I stood at the window for several minutes, watching the afternoon light shift across the downtown skyline.
Lena was planning another contract marriage. With a man who was already involved with someone else.
None of my business. We were divorced. She could do whatever she wanted.
But the image of her signing another set of papers, binding herself to another arrangement that would inevitably disappoint her, made something tight coil in my chest.
After a long moment, I returned to my desk and picked up my phone.
"Jack," I said when he answered. "Set up a meeting with Pierce. Tell him Reynolds Industries wants to discuss a potential investment opportunity with Pierce Holdings."
"When?"
"Tomorrow evening. Six o'clock. The Oak Club."
"Understood."
I ended the call and returned to the merger documents, but the words blurred together on the page.
---
Lena's POV
The next day passed in a blur of client meetings and contract reviews. Diana noticed my distraction during our afternoon strategy session.
"You okay?" she asked when the others had left the conference room.
"Fine," I said automatically.
She gave me a look that said she didn't believe me, but let it go.
At five-thirty, my phone rang. Alexander.
"Hey," I answered. "We're still on for lunch tomorrow, right?"
"Lena." His voice sounded strained. "I need you to come to the Oak Club. Now."
I straightened in my chair. "What's wrong?"
"Your ex-husband invited me here to discuss business." A pause. "It's not about business."
My stomach dropped. "He's there now?"
"Yes. And he's..." Alexander's voice dropped lower. "He knows about Megan. He has photos, timelines, everything. He said if I can't prove I won't cause you problems, I should reconsider our arrangement."
I was already grabbing my bag. "I'm on my way."
I hung up and immediately dialed Emily.
"I need you," I said when she answered. "Rowan's interfering again. Can you meet me at the Oak Club?"
"I'm already in the car," Emily said. "Be there in ten."
---
Emily picked me up outside my building, her expression grim as I climbed into the passenger seat.
"What did he do this time?" she asked, pulling into traffic.
"He invited Alexander to 'discuss business,' then ambushed him with evidence about his girlfriend."
Emily's jaw tightened. "That controlling bastard."
"He has no right," I said, my voice sharp. "We're divorced. My life isn't his concern anymore."
"Clearly he disagrees."
I stared out the window, anger and something else—something I refused to name—churning in my chest.
"He thinks he's protecting me," I said quietly.
"From what? A contract marriage? That's rich, coming from him."
I didn't respond. My hands were clenched in my lap, knuckles white.
Emily glanced at me. "You okay?"
"I will be. Once I get him to back off."