Reclaiming Mrs. Wolfe

Chapter 9

The rain turned into a freezing sleet that stung my skin, but I couldn't feel it. I stared at the glowing screen of my phone, at the woman who wore my face like a stolen garment. She adjusted her designer lapel—a piece from my own autumn collection—and boarded the helicopter where a broken Julian lay.

"Grace?" Ethan’s voice was a jagged whisper. He was looking from the screen to me, his hands still stained with the soot of the wreckage. "You told me you were an only child. You told me the Harts were gone."

"I was," I choked out, the bile rising in my throat. "Eleanor told me my twin was stillborn. She gave me the death certificate when I was twenty. I kept it in my jewelry box for years. It was the only thing I had left of a sister I never knew."

"She didn't just hide her," Ethan said, the horror dawning on him. "She trained her. Look at the way she moves. That’s not a sister, Grace. That’s a replacement."

The helicopter’s blades began to blur on the screen, a low hum that seemed to vibrate through the very ground beneath our feet. As the bird lifted off into the storm, the woman—my shadow, my ghost—looked directly into the lens. She blew a kiss.

The screen went black.

The middle of the night was a descent into a new kind of madness. We retreated to the gardener’s truck, the heater blasting a dry, artificial warmth that did nothing to stop my shivering.

"We have to go back," Ethan said, his hand white-knuckled on the gearshift. "We have to drag Eleanor out of that basement and make her talk. She has Julian. She has your sister. She’s playing God with our lives."

"No," I said, grabbing his arm. "If we go back, we’re walking into her trap. She wants us there, Ethan. That basement is a bunker. She’s been down there for two years, orchestrating every move I made.

Every success I had with Sterling... was she the one who made the calls? Was it her designs or mine?"

The emotional conflict was a physical weight, crushing the breath from my lungs. My entire identity—the "Phoenix" who had risen from the ashes of a dead marriage—was being dismantled. If Eleanor had paved the way for Sterling International, then I wasn't a mogul. I was just a puppet who had been allowed to feel powerful for a moment.

"You built that company, Grace," Ethan said, turning to me. For the first time, there was no arrogance in his eyes, only a raw, desperate sincerity. "I saw you working at three in the morning in the penthouse when you thought I was asleep. I saw the sketches you hid in the pantry. Eleanor might have provided the capital, but the soul was yours. That’s why she needs your sister. She needs a version of you she can control."

"And Julian?" I whispered. "He loves me, Ethan. He thinks he’s being rescued by the woman he loves. He’s going to wake up in a hospital bed, see that face, and he won’t know he’s in the hands of a monster."

"I won't let her have him," Ethan vowed. He reached out, his hand hovering near my face before he pulled it back, as if he no longer had the right to touch me. "I spent my life being Eleanor’s perfect soldier. I know how she thinks. She doesn't just want the company. She wants the bloodline. She’s gathering all the pieces—you, me, the baby, and Julian—into one box."

"Why?"

"Because she’s dying for real this time," Ethan said, his voice cold. "And a woman like Eleanor Wolfe doesn't go into the ground without making sure her kingdom is locked tight.

We drove in silence for miles, bypassing the main gates of the estate and heading toward a small, private airfield Silas had once mentioned. If the helicopter was moving Julian, it was going to a Wolfe-owned medical facility in the city.

But as we approached the airfield, my phone buzzed again. It wasn't a video this time. It was a call.

I hit speaker.

"Grace," the voice was melodic, identical to mine, but with an edge of sharpened glass. "I must say, you look much more disheveled in person than you do in the tabloids. The rain hasn't been kind to our hair."

"Where is he?" I demanded, my voice trembling. "Where is Julian?"

"He's resting. He’s quite a romantic, isn't he? He keeps mumbling your name. It’s almost a shame I’ll have to be the one to break his heart when I tell him you died in the explosion."

"You won't get away with this," Ethan roared into the phone. "I'll burn every asset the family owns before I let you touch him."

"Oh, Ethan," the sister laughed. "Always so loud. Grandmother was right about you. You're all fire and no hearth. But don't worry. I’m not here for the money. I’m here for the legacy. And speaking of legacy..."

There was a pause, and then a sound that made my heart stop. It was the rhythmic, mechanical whoosh-thump of a fetal heart monitor.

"The medical wing at the Sterling headquarters has such wonderful equipment," she purred. "I’ve just checked in under your name, Grace. The board, the doctors, even your precious assistant Leo... they all think I’m you. And they all think I’ve just had a very stressful night that might put the 'Wolfe Heir' at risk."

"What are you doing?" I screamed.

"I’m signing the documents, sister. The ones you refused to sign. I’m merging Sterling and Wolfe Media into a single entity under my control. And since I’m officially 'Grace Sterling-Wolfe,' and you’re officially a 'casualty of a tragic accident,' there’s no one left to stop me."

"I'm coming for you," I whispered, the cold fury finally replacing the fear.

"I hope so," she said. "But you might want to check the news first. There’s a warrant out for the arrest of Ethan Wolfe. Apparently, he was seen tampering with the brakes of his brother’s SUV before fleeing the scene with a kidn*pped woman."

The line went dead.

In the distance, the first sirens began to wail, blue and red lights reflecting off the wet pavement behind us. Ethan looked at the rearview mirror, then at me.

"Grace," he said, his voice steady even as the world collapsed. "I need you to drive. Jump out and hide. I'll lead them away."

"No, Ethan—"

"Take the truck," he commanded, shoving the keys into my hand as he opened the door while the vehicle was still rolling. "Go to Silas’s old office. Not the main one—the one in the basement of the library. There’s a safe. The code is our wedding date. Inside is the original, unedited Will."

He jumped from the truck, disappearing into the dark woods as the police cruisers closed in. I scrambled into the driver’s seat, flooring the gas, my eyes blurred with tears.

I reached the city limits just as the sun began to bleed over the horizon. I pulled up to the Sterling headquarters, looking at the towering glass spire I had built.

There, standing on the balcony of the penthouse office, was the woman who looked like me. She was holding a press conference. She was smiling.

And as I watched the jumbotron across the street, I saw her hand a pen to a man standing beside her.

It wasn't Julian. It wasn't Silas.

It was a man who looked exactly like Ethan Wolfe, wearing a perfectly pressed suit and a wedding ring that caught the morning light.

I looked at the seat beside me—the seat Ethan had just vacated. Then I looked back at the screen.

There were two of them. And I was the only one left on the outside.