Chapter 72
Lena's POV
The morning light filtered through my apartment windows, cold and pale. I sat at the kitchen counter with untouched coffee, staring at my phone.
Emily's words from last night echoed: Alex's PR instincts are terrible. Lena doesn't need another liability.
She was right. Of course she was right.
I'd spent two years in a contract marriage, learning to manage appearances, control narratives, protect reputations. Alexander's carelessness with Megan—the restaurant photos, the lack of discretion—it was amateur hour. If Rowan's investigators could find those images that easily, anyone could.
And Rowan.
The memory of his expression in that conference room kept surfacing. The careful control. The flash of something unguarded when I'd said my life was no longer his concern.
"I hope I'm wrong about this."
I pushed the coffee away. Whatever Rowan hoped didn't matter. We were divorced. Done.
My phone buzzed—Rachel: Running late. Traffic nightmare. Be there in 20.
I grabbed my bag and headed for the door.
---
The moment I stepped into Grant & Clarke's lobby, I knew something was wrong.
Rachel was already at my office door, laptop clutched to her chest. "Lena. We have a situation."
Diana emerged from her office, face tight. "Conference room. Now."
I followed them in. Sophia was already there, her fingers flying across her keyboard.
"What happened?" I asked.
Rachel turned her laptop toward me. The screen showed a legal forum post with hundreds of comments. The title made my stomach drop: SHOCKING: Lena Grant Exposed as Professional Climber—Uses Marriages for Career Advancement
I scrolled through. More posts. Different platforms. All timestamped within the last three hours.
"Sources confirm Lena Grant had multiple affairs during her marriage to Rowan Reynolds..."
"Insider reveals: Grant was the real reason Reynolds and Kane split..."
"Attorney under fire for using personal relationships to land clients..."
Each post included photos—me and Rowan at charity events two years ago, me with Daniel at Rossi's, me and Alexander at that café. All carefully cropped, captioned to imply the worst.
My hands didn't shake. They never did. But my lungs felt tight.
"How bad?" I asked quietly.
Diana's jaw clenched. "It's coordinated. These posts went up simultaneously across six different platforms. Someone paid for this."
Sophia nodded. "I'm tracking the IP addresses now. They're routed through proxies, but there's a pattern."
Rachel looked stricken. "Two clients called already. They're 'reassessing' whether to continue working with us."
The tightness in my chest spread to my throat. Two years of building credibility, of proving I could succeed on my own merit—potentially destroyed by anonymous smears and manipulated photos.
"We don't respond," I said. My voice came out steady. Good. "Not yet. Any statement we release will just feed the cycle."
"We can't just sit here," Diana protested. "This is character assassination."
"I know." I sat down, forcing myself to think strategically. "But responding makes us look defensive. We need to identify who's behind this first."
Sophia looked up from her laptop. "Got something. All these posts route through the same PR firm's servers—Sterling PR. They specialize in reputation management for high-net-worth families."
"Which families?" Diana asked.
"Their client list includes Kane, Whitmore, and..." Sophia hesitated. "Grant."
The room went silent.
"Marcus," I said flatly. "Or Vivian. Possibly both."
Or Nora Kane, I thought but didn't say. This had her fingerprints all over it—the timing, the specific photos chosen, the narrative about me being a homewrecker between Rowan and his "real" love.
My phone rang. Eleanor Park.
"I'm in a meeting—" I started.
"I saw the posts," Eleanor cut in. "It's bullshit. All of it. What do you need?"
Something in my chest loosened slightly. "I appreciate that, but I don't want to drag you into—"
"I'm already in it. I'm on three legal forums defending you right now. Half these comments are from people who've never even met you."
"Eleanor—"
"Just tell me how to help."
I exhaled. "I'll call you back."
After hanging up, I looked at Diana and Sophia. "Keep digging. I want to know exactly who commissioned this campaign and what their instructions were."
"And in the meantime?" Rachel asked. "What do we tell clients?"
"The truth," I said. "We're investigating a coordinated smear campaign and will take appropriate legal action."
It sounded more confident than I felt.
---
By four PM, three more clients had called. One explicitly paused our contract. The others asked for "clarification" on the allegations—which was essentially code for "convince us you're not toxic."
I was drafting talking points when my phone lit up with texts from Emily:
Have you seen this shit?
I'm going to find whoever did this and—
Call me.
I didn't call. I couldn't afford to let anyone hear the hairline cracks forming in my composure.
Instead, I pulled up the posts again. Studied them with professional detachment, the way I'd analyze opposing counsel's arguments.
The photos of me and Rowan were at least two years old—public events where we'd played the perfect couple. The ones with Daniel and Alexander were recent but taken in public restaurants. Nothing compromising, but spun to look sordid.
Whoever did this knew exactly how to exploit ambiguity. They didn't need proof. Just plausible deniability and strategic timing.
My phone buzzed again. A text from an unknown number:
Enjoying your fifteen minutes of fame?
I stared at it for a long moment, then blocked the number.
---
At six PM, Sophia knocked on my office door.
"Found the money trail," she said, setting her laptop on my desk. "Sterling PR received a wire transfer three days ago from an offshore account. I can't trace the account holder directly, but the transfer was routed through a shell company—Meridian Holdings."
"And?" I prompted.
"Meridian Holdings' registered address is the same building as Kane Family Enterprises."
There it was. Confirmation.
Diana appeared in the doorway. "So we go after them. Defamation suit, harassment charges—"
"No," I said quietly.
Both women stared at me.