Reclaiming Mrs. Wolfe

Chapter 7

The silence of the room was heavy, broken only by the frantic thrumming of my pulse. I stared at the small, brass-grated intercom on the nightstand as if it were a venomous snake. Eleanor Wolfe had been buried in the family plot two years ago. I had stood in the rain, clutching a black umbrella, watching her mahogany casket lower into the frozen earth.

"Grandmother?" I whispered, my voice cracking. "This isn't funny. Ethan... if this is a recording, if this is some sick psychological game—"

"Recording? My dear, I never had the patience for technology," the voice crackled back, followed by a wet, rattling cough that sounded painfully real.

"And Ethan has no idea I’m here. He thinks I’m resting in the ground, just like you do. But a Wolfe never truly leaves their den until the work is finished."

I grabbed a heavy bronze lamp from the desk, my knuckles white. If Ethan had locked me in, I was going to break my way out. But as I approached the door, I noticed a small floor vent near the mahogany wardrobe. A sliver of light was bleeding through the slats—a soft, clinical blue that didn't belong in a nineteenth-century manor.

"The wardrobe, Grace," the voice urged. "The false back. Move the winter coats."

My heart hammered against my ribs as I shoved aside the heavy furs. Behind them sat a latch, cold and iron. I pulled. The back of the wardrobe swung inward, revealing a narrow, stone-carved staircase that spiraled down into the dark bowels of the estate.

I didn't think. I didn't breathe. I descended.

The air grew colder, smelling of damp earth and expensive antiseptic. At the bottom, the stone gave way to a modern, high-tech glass partition. Inside was a suite that looked more like a private hospital than a basement. And there, sitting in a motorized wheelchair amidst a forest of IV poles and monitors, was the matriarch herself.

Eleanor Wolfe looked like a skeletal version of the woman I remembered. Her skin was translucent, her hair a thin wisp of silver, but her eyes—those sharp, predatory blue eyes—were as terrifyingly alert as ever.

"You look well, Grace," she rasped, a ghost of a smile touching her pale lips. "Power suits you better than that beige linen ever did."

The initial shock faded, replaced by a searing, white-hot fury. I stepped into the room, the bronze lamp still gripped in my hand like a club.

"You let me mourn you," I hissed, my voice trembling with the weight of two years of grief. "I loved you, Eleanor. You were the only person in that godforsaken family who looked at me like I was a human being, and you let me cry over an empty grave!"

Eleanor’s expression didn't soften. "I let you grow. If I had stayed, you would have remained the 'mousy' wife, waiting for my protection. I had to die so you could find your teeth, Grace. And look at you now—CEO of Sterling, the woman who broke my grandson's pride. My investment paid off."

"Investment?" I laughed, a bitter, jagged sound. "Is that all I am? A stock option? You faked your death to trigger a will that would destroy your own grandson?"

"I faked my death to save the Wolfe legacy from a man who didn't understand its worth," she countered, her voice gaining a sudden, steel-like strength. "Ethan was turning this empire into a cold machine. It needed a heart. It needed you. But you were too weak to take it while I was alive. I had to become a martyr to turn you into a predator."

She rolled her chair closer, the hum of the motor the only sound in the clinical silence. "And now, you’re carrying the next generation. I saw the medical feed from the Sterling physical. Silas sends me everything."

I recoiled as if she’d struck me. "You’ve been watching me. Every move. Every board meeting. My entire 'independent' rise was just you pulling strings from a basement?"

"I gave you the spark, Grace. You provided the fuel. But now we have a problem." She pointed a withered finger toward a bank of security monitors. On one screen, I saw Ethan sitting in the library above us, head in his hands, looking utterly broken. On another, I saw a black SUV parked in the garage.

"Ethan is unstable," Eleanor whispered. "He’s obsessed. He won't let you leave this house, and he’ll use that child to tether you to him forever. He’s becoming his grandfather—a man who locks away what he fears he cannot control."

The emotional conflict tore through me. I hated Ethan for locking that door, but seeing him on that monitor, seeing the raw agony on his face, made my traitorous heart ache. And Eleanor—the woman I had modeled my new life after—was a master manipulator who had treated my life like a game of chess.

"What do you want from me, Eleanor?" I asked, exhausted.

"I want you to take the SUV and leave. Tonight. Silas has prepared the final documents to dissolve Wolfe Media and merge it into Sterling. You will have total control. Ethan will be left with nothing but his name."

"And the brakes?" I remembered her words through the intercom. "You said you did something to the brakes."

Eleanor’s eyes went cold. "Ethan is a Wolfe. He will chase you. If he follows you down the mountain road in his own car... he won't make the turn at the Devil’s Elbow. It’s the only way to ensure he never bothers you again. A clean break, Grace. For you and the heir."

I stared at her in horror. "You would kill your own grandson? Your own blood?"

"I would prune a dying branch to save the tree," she said simply.

I backed away, the stone walls of the basement suddenly feeling like they were closing in. This wasn't a rescue. It was an execution.

I turned and ran back toward the spiral staircase, my breath coming in ragged gasps. I scrambled up the stone steps, through the wardrobe, and began pounding on the bedroom door.

"Ethan! Ethan, open the door!" I screamed.

A moment later, the lock clicked. Ethan stood there, looking startled, his shirt untucked and his eyes wild. "Grace? What is it? I was just coming to—"

"Give me your keys," I gasped, clutching his arm. "We have to leave. Now. But not in your car. We take the old truck in the shed. Anything but the SUV."

"What are you talking about? It's midnight, there's a storm coming—"

"Ethan, listen to me!" I grabbed his face, forcing him to look at me. "Your grandmother... she’s not dead. She’s downstairs. And she’s trying to kill you."

Ethan froze, a look of pure confusion crossing his face. But before he could respond, the house’s alarm system began to wail—a piercing, rhythmic shriek that echoed through the hallways.

Ethan’s phone buzzed violently in his pocket. He pulled it out, his face turning ashen as he read the alert.

"The garage," he whispered, looking at me with wide, terrified eyes. "The SUV just started. It’s being remotely operated by the house's smart-system."

We ran to the window that overlooked the driveway. Down below, the black SUV roared to life, its headlights cutting through the rain like the eyes of a monster. But it wasn't empty.

Through the tinted glass, I saw a silhouette in the driver’s seat.

"Julian?" Ethan choked out.

The SUV peeled out, tires screaming against the gravel, heading straight for the mountain road. My phone, sitting on the charging dock where Ethan had placed it, lit up with a final text from an unknown number:

“A Wolfe always protects the pack, Grace. Even if one must be sacrificed to save the Alpha. Watch the screen.”

A massive explosion rocked the mountain, a fireball blooming in the distance where the Devil’s Elbow turned toward the cliff.

"NO!" Ethan screamed, lunging for the door.

But the door slammed shut and locked from the outside. The monitors in the room flickered to life, showing Eleanor’s face. She wasn't looking at us. She was looking at the fire.

"One brother for the empire," she whispered through the speakers. "Choose wisely now, Grace. Who is the father of your child today?"