Chapter 44 *
Scarlett’s POV
I looked at him. "It's a mansion."
"But no proper grounds. No security perimeter. No staff quarters."
"There's plenty of staff quarters."
"Not enough." He leaned forward. "You should move to the Wolfe estate. The family mansion. Much more suitable for raising the next generation."
My eye twitched.
This is getting out of hand.
A short, round man appeared at Grandfather Wolfe's elbow. He was wearing a perfectly pressed suit. Holding a leather-bound notebook.
"Mr. Wolfe?" His voice was soft.
"Ah, Finch!" Grandfather Wolfe gestured at me. "This is Scarlett. My granddaughter-in-law."
Finch gave me a small bow. Actually bowed.
"A pleasure, Mrs. Wolfe."
"Finch is my personal assistant," Grandfather Wolfe explained. "He'll be handling all the arrangements."
What arrangements? I didn't agree to anything!
Finch pulled out a fountain pen. Poised it over his notebook.
"What cuisine do you prefer, Mrs. Wolfe?"
I blinked. "Um. I'm not picky?"
"Any color preferences for the nursery?"
"I... haven't thought about it?"
"Do you have any requirements for the household staff?"
I stared at him. Then at Grandfather Wolfe.
They're actually doing this. They're just deciding everything without asking me.
"Grandfather Wolfe," I said slowly. "I appreciate your concern, but—"
"We'll need a full culinary team," he said to Finch. "Michelin-starred chefs. Italian, French, Japanese. Also get an American steakhouse chef. And a private pastry chef."
Finch was writing furiously. "Yes, sir."
"A Western cuisine specialist. Someone who does fusion. Modern creative."
"Of course, sir."
"Private physician on call twenty-four seven. Postpartum nurse. Nanny with references from European royal families."
My mouth fell open.
European royal families?
"Security detail," Grandfather Wolfe continued. "At least six men."
"I'll make the calls, sir."
"Private driver. Nutritionist. Personal trainer for after the baby comes."
Finch's pen was flying across the page.
"And a private pilot," Grandfather Wolfe added. "In case she wants to fly to Paris for shopping. Or Milan for fashion week."
I'm sorry, what?
I'd seen wealth before. I'd lived with the Romano family. They had money.
But this. This was different.
This was "money talks" in its purest form.
This was having-a-pilot-on-standby-for-shopping-trips level of rich.
I took a deep breath. Time to put my foot down.
"Grandfather Wolfe." My voice was firm. "I need you to let me live my life my own way."
He looked up. Surprised.
"I can take care of myself and the baby. I don't need Swiss doctors or chefs or pilots."
His face fell. He looked genuinely hurt.
"But Scarlett. You're carrying the Wolfe heir. My grandchild."
"I know that."
"We can't take any risks. Not with this baby."
There it is.
The baby. Always the baby.
I felt anger spike in my chest. Hot and sharp.
So that's what this is about. I'm just an incubator. A baby-making machine.
I looked down at my plate. Kept my voice low.
"I don't need bodyguards. I don't need drivers. I don't need Swiss doctors."
"But—"
"My doctor said stress is really bad for the pregnancy." I looked up at him. Let my voice get a little shaky. "I'm emotionally fragile right now. You keep pushing me like this..."
I paused. Let the implication hang in the air.
"I might lose the baby."
Grandfather Wolfe went pale. His whole demeanor changed instantly.
"Okay, okay." He held up his hands. "Whatever you want. We'll do it your way."
Finch closed his notebook quietly.
I felt a little guilty using the baby card. But desperate times.
"Thank you," I said.
Grandfather Wolfe was quiet for a moment. Then he smiled. That warm, grandfatherly smile.
"But if you want anything, don't be shy about asking."
"I won't."
"If Damon won't buy it for you, I will."
Oh God. Here we go again.
"So," Grandfather Wolfe said suddenly. "I had my lawyers start the paperwork for that coffee shop acquisition."
I nearly choked on my water. "What? No!"
"The Brew Station, right? The purchase should be finalized by—"
"Grandfather Wolfe, please don't buy the coffee company."
He looked surprised. "Why not? I thought you liked working there."
"I do! But it's a national chain. There are locations in forty states!"
"So? That just makes it a better investment."
This man is insane.
"Please." My voice was strained. "I'm begging you. Don't buy it."
He frowned. Studied my face.
I reached into my purse. Pulled out the black card he'd given me earlier.
"And I can't keep this either."
I set it on the table. Pushed it toward him.
"Take it back."
"Absolutely not."
"It's too much money."
"It's barely anything."
We stared at each other.
"Fine," he said finally. "I won't buy the coffee company."
I let out a breath of relief.
"But you're keeping that card."
"Grandfather Wolfe—"
"Non-negotiable." His voice was firm. "What if you need something? What if there's an emergency?"
He pushed the card back toward me.
"You're carrying my grandchild. You need to have resources available. Always."
I looked at the card. Then at his stubborn expression.
I'm not going to win this fight.
"Fine," I muttered. Picked up the card. Put it back in my purse. If I don't take it, he'll probably buy the entire city block my apartment is on.
"Good girl," he said. Smiled warmly.
After lunch, Grandfather Wolfe insisted on driving me himself. The whole way, he kept talking.
"The estate has a beautiful nursery wing. Your grandmother decorated it herself before she passed."
"That's very sweet."
"Six bedrooms. Private garden. Staff quarters nearby but not too close."
"Uh-huh."
"Whenever you change your mind, just say the word. Your room is ready."
"Thank you, Grandfather Wolfe."
The car pulled up to the mansion. I practically jumped out.
"Think about what I said!" he called after me.
I waved without turning around. Speed-walked to the front door.
Inside, I could finally breathe.
That was exhausting.
I walked into the living room and stopped dead.
Shopping bags. Everywhere.
Hermès. Chanel. Dior. Gucci. Prada. Louis Vuitton.
The entire living room was covered in designer shopping bags.
Arthur was in the middle of it all. Sweating. Directing household staff like a general commanding troops.
"Sort by color," he was saying. "Don't mix them up."
He spotted another bag. "Send the intimate apparel to the professional cleaning service for sterilization first."
He saw me. His whole face lit up.
"Mrs. Wolfe! Perfect timing!"
He hurried over. Practically bouncing.
"These are all gifts from Mr. Wolfe, ma'am."
I felt my eye twitch.
I specifically said I didn't need designer clothes.
"Where... where did all this come from?"
"Mr. Wolfe sent his personal shopper to Madison Avenue this morning. She had instructions to buy one of everything."
One of everything.
I'm going to kill Damon.
"The new items couldn't fit in your existing closet," Arthur continued. "So Mr. Wolfe had the room next door converted."
"Converted into what?"
"Your new walk-in closet. Would you like to see it?"
I followed Arthur through the hallway. He opened the door to the room next to mine.
I stepped inside and my brain short-circuited.
The entire room had been transformed.
Built-in wardrobes lined three walls. Professional clothing racks filled the center. Glass display cases showed off handbags and jewelry.
There was a shoe wall. An actual wall dedicated to shoes.
Everything was organized by color and style. Dresses. Pants. Casual wear. Activewear. Evening gowns.
Each outfit was complete. Perfectly matched accessories. Shoes. Bags. Jewelry.
I walked closer to one of the display cases.
A Birkin bag. Pink crocodile leather. Limited edition.
Next to it. A Kelly bag. Black. Also limited edition.
I knew enough about designer bags to know these were worth six figures. Each.
My eyes moved across the shelves. More bags. More jewelry. More everything.
I did a rough mental calculation.
This room. All of this stuff.
Worth millions. Easily.
My hands started shaking.
This is too much. Way too much.
I understood Damon spending money on the baby. That made sense.
I understood him caring about my health. Also reasonable.
But this?
This wasn't about the baby. This wasn't about health.
This was... I don't even know what this was.
The contract marriage was supposed to be simple.
These gifts. This room. The debt was piling up. Getting heavier.
I can't accept this.
I turned around. Walked out of the room.
"Mrs. Wolfe?" Arthur called after me. "Is something wrong?"
I need talk to Damon. We need to set boundaries before this gets even more out of control.