Chapter 71
Lena's POV
The Oak Club's private rooms were designed for discretion—wood-paneled walls, leather furniture, dim lighting. The perfect setting for deals that would never appear in public records.
I pushed open the door to the room the hostess had indicated.
Rowan stood by the window, hands in his pockets, looking perfectly at ease. Alexander sat on the leather sofa, a file folder open on the coffee table in front of him.
Both men looked up as Emily and I entered.
"Lena," Rowan said, his voice calm. "I wasn't expecting you."
"Clearly." I crossed the room to stand beside Alexander. "What are you doing?"
"Having a conversation with Mr. Pierce about a potential business opportunity."
"Don't insult my intelligence." I gestured at the file folder. "Business opportunities don't require surveillance reports on someone's personal life."
Rowan's expression didn't change. "If that personal life might affect my interests, I think it's reasonable to be informed."
"Your interests?" I kept my voice level through sheer force of will. "We're divorced, Rowan. My decisions aren't your concern."
"I disagree."
The quiet certainty in his voice made my hands clench.
Alexander stood. "Lena, I'm sorry. I didn't know he would—"
"You don't need to apologize," I said, cutting him off. I turned back to Rowan. "Whatever you have to say, say it to me."
Rowan picked up the file folder and held it out. "This is information my team compiled regarding Mr. Pierce's recent activities. I thought you should have it before making any formal commitments."
I took the folder, flipped it open. Photos of Alexander and a dark-haired woman—at restaurants, galleries, entering an apartment building. Timestamps and location data noted in precise detail.
"I have no intention of interfering with your choices," Rowan continued, his tone still maddeningly calm. "But as someone who... understands the nature of these arrangements, I felt obligated to ensure you're aware of potential complications."
I closed the folder. "This is none of your business."
"Perhaps." His eyes met mine. "But if Pierce can't manage his personal relationships discreetly, it will become your problem. I'm simply providing information."
"Information I didn't ask for."
"No," he agreed. "You didn't."
Emily stepped forward. "Reynolds, your concern is noted. But Lena's judgment doesn't require your approval."
Rowan looked at Emily, then back at me. For a moment, something flickered in his expression—something that looked almost like regret.
"If you're certain he won't cause you difficulties," he said quietly, "then I'll say nothing more."
I held his gaze. "I'm certain that my life is no longer any of your concern."
The words came out colder than I'd intended. Something shifted in Rowan's eyes—a flash of... what? Hurt? Anger?
But his voice remained level. "Understood."
I turned to Alexander. "Let's go."
As we walked toward the door, Rowan spoke again.
"Lena."
I stopped but didn't turn around.
"For what it's worth," he said, "I hope I'm wrong about this."
I left without responding.
---
In the elevator, Alexander exhaled heavily. "I'm sorry you had to deal with that."
"It's not your fault." My voice sounded strange to my own ears—too controlled, too careful.
Emily pressed the button for the ground floor. "Well, that was uncomfortable."
The elevator descended in silence.
---
Outside, Emily's car was parked in the circle drive. We climbed in—Emily behind the wheel, me in the passenger seat, Alexander in the back.
For a few blocks, no one spoke.
Finally, Emily broke the silence. "Alex, I'm going to be honest with you."
"Emily—" I started.
"No, let me say this." She glanced at Alexander in the rearview mirror. "Rowan was out of line. But he's not entirely wrong."
Alexander frowned. "What do you mean?"
"I mean, you and Megan? Lena and I both know about her. We're fine with it—this whole arrangement is a front anyway. You have every right to your personal life."
"Then why—"
"Because you're not being careful enough," Emily said bluntly. "Those photos Rowan had? If he can get them, anyone can. And if you and Lena announce an engagement while you're still seeing Megan this openly, what do you think people will say?"
Alexander was quiet.
Emily continued, "They'll say Pierce's heir is already cheating. They'll say Lena can't keep a man. You'll both look like fools, and any business advantage this arrangement was supposed to provide goes out the window."
I stared out at the passing streetlights. Emily was right, but hearing it stated so plainly made the whole situation feel even more calculating. More cold.
"I'm not asking you to break up with Megan," I said quietly. "But Emily's right. If we're going to do this, we need to be smarter about appearances."
Alexander leaned forward. "I understand. I'll be more careful."
Emily snorted. "You better be. Because honestly, Alex, your PR instincts are terrible. Lena doesn't need another liability."
"I get it," Alexander said. His voice had an edge now. "Message received."
We dropped Alexander at his car, then Emily drove toward my apartment.
"You're having second thoughts," Emily said after a while.
"I don't know what I'm having," I admitted.
"Rowan rattled you."
"Rowan had no right to interfere."
"True. But that doesn't mean he was wrong."
I didn't respond. My phone buzzed—a text from Alexander: I really am sorry. Let me know when you want to talk details.
I typed back: I need a few days to think. I'll call you.
Emily pulled up to my building. "For what it's worth? I think you should think hard about whether Alex is really the right choice."
"And if he's not?" I asked. "What then? Another year of Vivian's lectures? More speculation about why I can't maintain a relationship?"
"Or," Emily said gently, "you could stop trying to fit your life into contracts that make everyone else happy."
I climbed out of the car. "Thanks for coming tonight."
"Anytime." She paused. "Lena? Rowan was jealous."
"He has no reason to be."
"That's not what I said."
I closed the door before she could say anything else.
---
Upstairs, I poured a glass of wine and stood at the window, looking out at the city lights.
My phone sat on the counter, silent. No messages from Rowan. No follow-up from Alexander.
Just the quiet hum of my empty apartment and the weight of too many decisions I didn't want to make.
I thought about Rowan's face in that conference room—the careful control, the flash of something unguarded when I'd told him my life was no longer his concern.
"I hope I'm wrong about this."
I drained the wine glass and turned away from the window.
Whatever Rowan hoped didn't matter anymore.
We were divorced.
I just wished that felt as final as it should.