Chapter 7

Alexandra Wolfe had three hours to save her company from the woman who orchestrated her pregnancy.

The thought sat heavy in her chest as the city outside her windows remained dark, quiet in that rare hour before dawn when New York seemed to hold its breath. At five in the morning, her dining table had become a war room.

Laptops glowed against the shadows, screens crowded with legal documents and financial projections. Coffee steamed in untouched mugs, the bitter smell hanging in the air. Corporate bylaws lay spread beside shareholder agreements, voting procedures flagged and highlighted. Legal pads filled with Marcus’s precise handwriting formed neat stacks, each page a calculated attempt to anticipate Eleanor Moretti’s next move.

Maya stood at the head of the table, blazer discarded, sleeves rolled up. Her eyes were sharp despite the hour, posture rigid with focus.

“Emergency votes require a simple majority,” she said, tapping the table lightly with her pen. “Eleanor’s motion hinges on fitness for duty. Medical instability. Perceived risk.”

Marcus swiped across his tablet and turned the screen toward Alex. “She’ll anchor everything to the collapse. The footage is already circulating internally. And she’ll lean heavily on Dr. Morrison’s report.”

Alex sat very still, hands folded in front of her. She could feel her pulse in her wrists, steady for now. Controlled.

“Which is fabricated,” she said.

“Yes,” Marcus agreed, not looking up. “But exposing that fabrication directly would destroy us as much as it destroys her. Anything we obtained illegally is unusable. The board won’t care how right we are if the evidence is tainted.”

Dominic leaned back against the counter, arms crossed, jaw tight. “I can vote against the motion.”

Alex shook her head immediately. “You do that, they dismiss it as favoritism. Ex-husband protecting the pregnant CEO. It weakens us.”

“So what do we have?” Maya asked.

Alex exhaled slowly, forcing her shoulders to relax. Panic would not help her now. Strategy would.

“We force Eleanor to explain herself,” she said. “Publicly. On the record.”

Silence settled over the table.

“She’ll never admit anything,” Marcus said.

“She doesn’t have to,” Alex replied. “She just has to overplay her hand.”

Her phone buzzed against the tabletop.

Unknown number.

You think you’re the first woman Eleanor Moretti destroyed? Ask her about Catherine Lang. – A Friend

Alex stared at the screen, the words sinking slowly, then turned the phone toward the table.

Dominic went pale.

“My father’s first fiancée,” he said quietly. “Before my mother.”

Maya frowned. “What happened to her?”

“She disappeared,” Dominic said. “Engagement called off. No explanation. My mother said Catherine never loved him. That she was after the money.”

Marcus was already typing, fingers flying across the keyboard. “Give me ten minutes.”

Alex met Dominic’s eyes. “Are you ready for this?”

There was no hesitation. “I’m ready to watch her lose.”

By eight thirty, WolfeTech’s boardroom floor hummed with tension.

Alex arrived armored in black. Tailored suit. Hair pulled back with ruthless precision. Heels sharp enough to puncture arrogance. She could feel the baby shift faintly as she walked, a reminder of everything at stake.

Dominic walked beside her, silent but steady. Maya and Marcus flanked them like generals heading into battle.

Board members gathered in small clusters. Some offered nods of support. Others avoided eye contact entirely.

At eight fifty-five, Eleanor Moretti entered.

Black Dior. Pearls. Funeral elegance.

“Alexandra,” she said pleasantly. “Dominic. How lovely.”

“Mrs. Moretti,” Alex replied, voice cool.

Gerald Whitmore called the meeting to order, his discomfort obvious as he cleared his throat.

The motion was read aloud.

Temporary leave of absence. CEO fitness for duty. Medical instability.

Whitmore slid a folder across the table.

Alex opened it.

Dr. Morrison’s falsified report stared back at her.

High-risk pregnancy. Severe cardiac instability. Recommended bed rest.

“I’m not on bed rest,” Alex said calmly.

“Not yet,” Eleanor replied smoothly. “But Dr. Morrison advises caution. For your sake. And the baby’s.”

“He’s not my OB,” Alex said. “He has no authority over my pregnancy care.”

“He’s a leading geneticist,” Eleanor countered. “His concern carries weight.”

Janet Lee shifted in her chair. “We did all witness the collapse.”

“A stress-induced arrhythmia,” Alex said evenly. “Managed with medication and reduced workload.”

Whitmore scoffed. “You were here at midnight last Tuesday.”

Alex felt the room tilt—but she didn’t show it.

“Running my company is not negligence.”

“But risking its stability is,” Eleanor said. “If something happens to you mid-pregnancy, WolfeTech is leaderless.”

“I’ve appointed Maya Patel as COO.”

“Interim appointments are not stability,” Eleanor pressed.

Alex felt the balance slipping.

So she leaned forward.

“Mrs. Moretti,” she said, “may I ask why you suddenly care about WolfeTech?”

“I’m a shareholder.”

“A passive one,” Alex replied. “You’ve never attended a board meeting before today. Why now?”

Eleanor’s smile tightened.

“Julian Thorne,” Alex continued. “His daughter died two weeks ago. Same genetic condition I carry. He’s been trying to acquire WolfeTech for months.”

The room stilled.

“And you’ve been in contact with him.”

“How dare you—”

“Fifteen calls,” Dominic said quietly. “Last month alone.”

Maya slid documents forward. Call logs. Timestamps.

Maya stood. “If Eleanor Moretti’s concern were genuine, she would have approached the board privately. Not called an emergency meeting designed to humiliate our CEO.”

Janet Lee nodded slowly.

“This is a hostile takeover,” Alex said. “Disguised as concern.”

Eleanor stood abruptly. “This is slander.”

“Then leave,” Alex said. “But the board stays. And votes.”

Eleanor’s eyes burned. “You have no idea what you’re dealing with.”

“Try me.”

Marcus’s phone buzzed.

He nodded once.

“Before we vote,” Dominic said, “there’s something you should hear.”

“Dominic—” Eleanor warned.

“Catherine Lang.”

Eleanor went white.

Marcus tapped the speaker.

“I can hear you,” a woman’s voice said.

Catherine Lang spoke calmly.

“She threatened my career. Blackmailed me into leaving Antonio. Told me if I loved him, I’d disappear.”

Gasps rippled through the room.

“She married him six months later,” Dominic finished.

The room erupted.

“This is a lie!” Eleanor shouted.

“It’s a pattern,” Alex said quietly. “And now you’re doing it again.”

Silence fell heavy.

Whitmore cleared his throat. “We vote.”

Hands raised.

Three in favor.

Six opposed.

“Motion fails.”

Alex exhaled, the breath shaking as it left her.

Eleanor gathered her things. “This isn’t over.”

“Yes,” Alex said. “It is.”

She made it to her office before the adrenaline crashed.

Pain bloomed in her chest.

“Alex?” Maya’s voice sharpened.

Dominic was already dialing.

“No ambulance,” Alex whispered. “Press.”

She passed out.

That evening, Eleanor sat alone, fury shaking her hands.

Julian Thorne’s voice crackled through the phone.

“Temporary setback,” she said.

Her smile returned—cold, precise.

“It’s time to remind Alexandra Wolfe she’s not alone in this.”

She dialed another number.

“Leo?” she said softly. “I think we should talk.”