Chapter Four

The air in the Wolfe penthouse was thick with the scent of lilies—the same flowers Ethan used to send when he forgot my birthday. Now, the scent made me want to gag.

"You can’t be serious, Silas," Ethan’s voice cracked like a whip across the foyer.

"The Will is iron-clad, Ethan," Silas replied, his heels clicking against the marble as he prepared to leave. "Eleanor knew you’d try to freeze Grace out of the company assets. To prevent a messy public liquidation, you must both inhabit the primary marital residence for ninety days. You must prove to the Board that the marriage is 'stable' enough to prevent a stock crash."

Ethan turned his predatory gaze toward me. He looked like a man drowning and trying to strangle his lifeguard at the same time. "Stable? She’s engaged to my brother! She’s trying to dismantle my legacy!"

I crossed my arms, the silk of my Sterling-label blazer cool against my skin. "Your legacy was built on my silence, Ethan. I’m just here to collect the interest."

"Ninety days," Ethan hissed, stepping into my personal space. He smelled of expensive bourbon and desperation. "You think you can survive ninety days in this house without breaking? You used to cry if I didn't come home for dinner."

"That Grace is buried in the rose garden, Ethan," I said, my voice a flat, dead calm. "Try to keep up."

The first week was a psychological war zone.

Ethan tried to exert dominance by reclaiming the master suite. I simply had the locks changed while he was at a board meeting and moved his silk suits into the smallest guest room—the one he used to make me sleep in when he had "late-night conference calls."

The conflict reached a fever pitch on night four.

I was in the kitchen, pouring a glass of wine, when Ethan stormed in. He ripped a folder of papers out of my hand. "My investigators found the link, Grace. The shell company that funded Sterling International. It was Eleanor’s private trust. She didn't just help you; she bankrolled a competitor against her own grandson!"

"She bankrolled the only Wolfe with a spine," I retorted, snatching the papers back.

He grabbed my wrist—not hard, but enough to stop me. His eyes were searching mine, looking for the girl who used to worship him. "Why, Grace? If you wanted the company, you could have asked. If you wanted power, I would have given you a seat."

"I didn't want a seat at your table, Ethan. I wanted to build my own." I leaned in, my breath hitching as his thumb brushed against my pulse point. For a split second, the old, traitorous spark of attraction flickered. "And don't touch me. I'm a business partner now, not a possession."

He didn't let go. Instead, he pulled me closer, his voice dropping to a gravelly low. "Is that what Julian does? Treat you like a partner? Or does he just give you the attention you were so starved for that you'd ruin a dynasty to get it?"

"Julian loves me," I lied. The truth was, Julian was a safety net, a shield I used to keep Ethan at bay.

"Julian is a boy playing at love," Ethan growled. "He has no idea what it's like to actually own a woman like you."

The tension was broken by the sharp chime of the elevator.

The doors opened to reveal Julian. He stood there, frozen, taking in the sight of his brother holding my arm in the dim light of the kitchen.

"Get your hands off her, Ethan," Julian said, his voice trembling with a rage I hadn't known he possessed.

Ethan didn't let go. He smirked, a cruel, triumphant expression. "We’re just discussing the house rules, Julian. This is a private matter between a husband and his wife. Why don't you go back to your gallery and paint something?"

Julian stepped forward, but I placed a hand on his chest, feeling his heart racing. "It’s okay, Julian. He’s just trying to provoke you."

"I’m here to take you to the gala, Grace," Julian said, ignoring Ethan. "The industry needs to see us together. It needs to see that this 'still married' nonsense is just a legal glitch."

I nodded, moving to get my clutch. But as I passed Ethan, he whispered just loud enough for me to hear:

"He doesn't know, does he? He doesn't know about the 'Superior Merit' clause. He doesn't know that if you marry him, you lose the right to the Wolfe shares. You’re using him, Grace. You're just as cold as I am."

I froze. I hadn't told Julian the full truth of the will. If I divorced Ethan to marry Julian, the shares wouldn't go to me—they would revert to the Wolfe charitable foundation, effectively destroying the company.

I looked at Julian’s trusting, hopeful face, then back at Ethan’s mocking one.

"I'm ready," I told Julian, taking his arm.

But as we walked toward the elevator, my phone vibrated in my hand. An encrypted text from Silas.

URGENT: Your medical results from the Sterling executive physical just came in. We need to talk before the gala. There’s a complication with the pregnancy clause in Eleanor’s will.

My heart stopped. Pregnancy clause? I looked at the dates on the calendar in my mind. The last night Ethan and I had been together—the night before the anniversary dinner—he had come home drunk and regretful, and for one final, weak moment, I had let him in.

I leaned against the elevator wall, the world spinning. I wasn't just trapped in a house with my enemy.

I was carrying his heir.