Chapter 83
Rowan's POV
I called an emergency meeting with HR and legal.
"Contain this," I said flatly. "I want to know who leaked information to that blog. And I want a statement prepared—neutral, professional—saying we take all allegations seriously and are investigating."
"Are we investigating?" HR asked.
"I am." I met her eyes. "Personally."
The media attention was intensifying. Two more legal advocacy sites had picked up the story. Someone had leaked Jack's name—it was only a matter of time before it went fully public.
I texted him at six: [My office. Now.]
He arrived ten minutes later, carrying a leather messenger bag that looked like it weighed forty pounds. His face was grey with exhaustion.
"Mr. Reynolds, I—"
"Show me everything," I interrupted. "Every piece of evidence you have. I want the full picture."
He hesitated, then began unpacking the bag onto my conference table. Documents, printed emails, text message transcripts, receipts—a small mountain of evidence organized with the same meticulous care he brought to his work.
"Start from the beginning," I said, taking a seat.
"We met on a dating app eighteen months ago." His voice was steadier now, back on professional ground. "Long distance at first—she was in Portland, I was here. We video chatted most nights, visited on weekends. After about six months, she started talking about wanting a change. She hated her job, felt stuck."
He pulled up a text thread. "This is from last March. She wrote: 'Work has been hell lately. I'm thinking about quitting. Maybe I should just move somewhere new, start fresh.'"
I read his response: "If you're really unhappy, why not? Life's too short to stay somewhere that makes you miserable."
"That's it?" I asked. "That's what she's calling a promise?"
"According to her lawyer, yes. They're claiming I 'encouraged her to relocate with the implicit understanding that we would build a future together.'" He pulled out another document. "But look—this is her correspondence with Silverton Tech Solutions. She'd been applying to jobs here for weeks before that conversation. This offer letter is dated March 15th. The text I showed you is from March 28th."
The offer letter was impressive—senior analyst position, twenty percent salary increase, stock options. This wasn't someone running toward a relationship. This was someone pursuing a career opportunity.
"She accepted the job on March 20th," Jack continued, showing me her acceptance email. "Before she even told me she was considering the move. When she finally mentioned it to me in April, she framed it as a career decision. I supported her. We talked about how we'd transition from long-distance to local. That's all."
"And the relationship?"
His expression tightened. "We dated for three months after she moved. Everything seemed fine. Then one night in July, she brought up moving in together. I told her I wasn't ready for that. She pushed. I held firm. A week later, she ended things."
He handed me a screenshot of their final text exchange.
Claire: I think we want different things. I need someone who can give me what I'm looking for.
Jack: I understand. I'm sorry I couldn't be that person.
Claire: Me too.
I stared at the messages. "She broke up with you."
"Yes."
"And now she's claiming you abandoned her?"
"Her lawyer's narrative is that I 'created an illusion of commitment to induce her relocation,' then 'revealed my true intentions' once she'd already 'sacrificed her career and financial stability.'" Jack's voice was bitter. "Except she didn't sacrifice anything. Look."
He spread out more documents. Claire's layoff notice from her Portland employer, dated February—a month before their conversation about moving. Her company had been downsizing. Her entire department was on the chopping block.
"She was getting laid off anyway," I said slowly.
"Right. So the 'career sacrifice' never happened. She traded a sinking ship for a promotion." He pulled out one more document—a moving company invoice. "And this is the receipt for her relocation. Her new address is 42 minutes from my apartment and eight minutes from her office."
I read the invoice twice. The evidence was overwhelming. Claire hadn't moved for Jack. She'd moved for a better job, in a city where she happened to have a boyfriend. When the relationship didn't work out, she'd decided to rewrite history.
"Why didn't you show this to her lawyer?" I asked.
"I did." Jack's hands clenched. "I sent them everything—texts, offer letter, layoff notice, timeline. Their response was that my 'pattern of behavior' constituted fraud regardless of specific promises. That I'd created an 'implied contract' through my actions."
"What actions?"
"Supporting her during the job search. Helping her find an apartment. Being—" He stopped, jaw tight. "Being a decent boyfriend, apparently. According to them, that's evidence of fraud."
I sat back, anger simmering in my chest. This wasn't justice. This was weaponized grievance, packaged in the language of victim advocacy and aimed at a man whose only crime was failing to propose.
"Who's representing her?" I asked, though I already knew.
Jack pulled out the demand letter. "Grant & Clarke Law Firm. Attorney Diana Clarke."
Lena's firm.
My chest felt tight.
"Leave everything with me," I said quietly. "Don't respond to any more communications from Grant & Clarke. Don't talk to anyone about this case—not colleagues, not friends, nobody. Understood?"
"Mr. Reynolds, I can't ask you to—"
"You're not asking. I'm telling you." I met his eyes. "You work for me. That means you're under my protection. And I don't let my people get destroyed by false accusations."
After he left, I sat alone in my office, surrounded by evidence of a relationship that had simply... ended. No fraud. No manipulation. Just two people who'd wanted different things and parted ways.
Except one of them had decided that disappointment was grounds for a lawsuit.