Chapter Two : The Unbroken Will

LENA'S POV

The cold air hit my face as I stepped out of the house, my anger still pulsing like a living thing inside me. My grandfather’s words rang in my ears—his smug certainty, his absolute belief that I would submit to his will.

I wouldn’t. I would win this battle.

I shoved my hands into the pockets of my coat and walked briskly down the street, my mind replaying the conversation over and over. The thought of marrying Harlin Cartwright made my stomach turn. A business arrangement, a deal sealed without my consent, as if I were some asset to be traded.

Not me.

The streets of Hudsonville were mostly quiet, the occasional car passing by, the glow of streetlights casting long shadows. I had no particular destination, only a need to be anywhere but home. I needed to clear my head, drown my resentment in something stronger than rage.

And I knew exactly where to go.

The Black Rose sat on the edge of downtown, tucked between two aging brick buildings. A neon sign flickered above the door, half the letters dimmed, casting an eerie glow onto the wet pavement. It wasn’t the kind of place a Whitmore was supposed to be seen, but that was precisely why I liked it. No one cared about last names here.

Pushing open the heavy wooden door, I stepped inside, greeted by the thick scent of whiskey and smoke. Dim lights flickered overhead, illuminating the worn-out barstools and the scattering of people hunched over drinks. The hum of conversation filled the air, but no one paid me any attention.

I made my way to the bar, sliding onto a stool.

“What’ll it be?” the bartender asked, eyeing me curiously.

“Whiskey. Neat.”

He nodded, pouring the amber liquid into a glass and sliding it over.

I took a slow sip, the burn trailing down my throat, settling into my chest. The weight of the evening pressed down on me, but the alcohol dulled the sharp edges.

Reaching for a cigarette from the communal stash on the bar, I lit it with a shaky hand. The first inhale was acrid, filling my lungs with smoke and distraction.

Then, a voice from a nearby booth caught my attention.

“I heard they dumped him in the ocean. Tied up. Never surfaced.”

“Who knows, he might just be looking for an excuse to retire as an unknown man living in the suburbs, you know?”

“His girlfriend won’t approve of that.”

“He has a girlfriend?”

“Yeah. A crazy one. She could take Alex on, with no doubt.” Someone spoke, before uproars of laughter filled the air.

“I heard he was burned to ashes by the Leyton bandits, before throwing his ashes into the water.”

I stiffened. That can’t be true.

A woman gasped. “That’s horrible.”

A man let out a low chuckle. “If it’s even true. Just another town rumor, probably.”

“Still,” another voice chimed in. “If it is, that’s one less problem for the Whitmores.”

Laughter followed. My head started to spin.

I gripped my glass, my knuckles white against the smooth surface. My name always circulated in whispers, but this was different.

The Whitmores. A problem. The ocean.

They were talking about someone. Someone who had been missing. Someone whose disappearance seemed to be tied to my family.

Kian.

Kian Davenport.

I exhaled, forcing myself to ignore them. It was just another rumor, I told myself. Another exaggeration.

He’s Alive. And I know it.

And yet, the unease coiled inside me refused to settle. Kian’s slowly fading away from reality.

The door swung open behind me, the cold air rushing in before it shut again. I didn’t bother turning, not until I heard the unmistakable voice of Clara Hartley.

“Well, well,” she said, sliding onto the barstool beside me. “If it isn’t Lena Whitmore, drowning her sorrows in cheap whiskey.”

“Hey.”

I turned, meeting her amused green eyes. Her dark curls were pulled back loosely, and she wore a knowing smirk.

She paused before given me a long stare, making me uncomfortable.

“You look like hell,” she observed.

I took another sip. “Feel worse.”

She raised an eyebrow. “Now that’s impressive. What happened?”

I let out a sharp breath. “Marriage.”

Clara’s expression shifted. “Arranged?”

I nodded. I abrupt took a large gulp of the Italian—refined whiskey.

She winced. “Cartwright?”

“Yep.”

She let out a low whistle. “Damn. I’d rather be set on fire.”

A cold smirk appeared beside my cheek as I circled my index finger around the glass wine cup. “That makes two of us.”

We clinked glasses in mutual suffering, the bitterness of the whiskey mirrored in our laughter.

“But,” she added after a moment, “maybe marriage wouldn’t be so bad. You know, if it were to the right person.”

I raised an eyebrow. “Are you proposing?”

She laughed. “Tempting. But no.”

Something about the way she hesitated made my stomach tighten. I heavily released a loud sigh, before turning to face her.

I set my glass down. “Clara…”

Her smirk faded. “You’ve heard the rumors, haven’t you?”

I stilled. I should have expected this coming by now.

Rumors. The same ones I’d just overheard. The ones about someone disappearing into the ocean.

I forced a scoff. “Which ones? People in this town say a lot of things.”

She hesitated, swirling the ice in her glass before finally speaking.

“They’re saying Kian is dead.”

The world seemed to still.

For a moment, I could hear nothing but my own breathing, the rapid pounding of my heart.

Kian Davenport.

The name alone was enough to send memories crashing through me. The stolen nights, the whispered promises, the certainty that if there was anyone in the world who truly understood me, it was him.

But then he had disappeared. Vanished without a trace. And now—

Dead.

I swallowed. “That’s a lie.”

Clara watched me carefully. “You don’t know that.”

“I do,” I snapped. “Missing isn’t dead.”

She sighed, rubbing a hand over her face. “Lena, it’s been years. Five years.”

“And that means nothing.”

She gave me a look—one I had seen too many times before. Pity. Concern. A quiet sort of doubt.

I clenched my fists.

“He’s not dead,” I said, slower this time. “I would know if he was.”

She said nothing.

I exhaled sharply. “Where did you hear this?”

Clara hesitated. “Just around town. You know how people talk.”

My grip on my cigarette tightened. “And what exactly are they saying?”

She hesitated. “That he was… dealt with. That someone wanted him gone.”

The words hit harder than I expected.

Someone wanted him gone.

My stomach turned. Was this connected to my family? To my grandfather’s world?

No. It couldn’t be.

Could it?

I forced a smirk, masking the rising unease in my chest. “People love their stories.”

Clara frowned. “Lena—”

I waved a hand. “No. We’re not doing this. I’m not going to sit here and listen to gossip about Kian when no one has proof of anything, all this years.”

She sighed, taking a sip of her drink.

I forced a smile. “Come on, let’s talk about something else. Unless you want to ruin our night?”

She exhaled, then smirked. “Fine. But if you’re wrong, you owe me another drink.”

I let out a breath, nodding.

For tonight, I could pretend.

Pretend I wasn’t being forced into a future I didn’t want.

Pretend Kian wasn’t missing—or worse.

Pretend I wasn’t drowning in uncertainty.

For tonight, I could just drink.