LOGINCole Richardson Sutcliffe is the most eligible billionaire in New York City. His good looks and his money attract every woman he meets. Cole’s ambition knows no limit, and his next step, now that his father has retired, is to conquer the world, one company at a time, even if that means losing his freedom to a loveless wedding. Cole doesn’t believe in love or has time to entertain the idea of a relationship until he meets his newly-wed wife’s daughter. The girl with the fiery hair and the spitfire personality that will rock his world in ways he didn’t know possible. Niccola Fairchild has been living alone since her mother sent her to Switzerland to attend a boarding school. Her rebellious ways did not match their new lifestyle in the Upper East Side of New York. Attending her mother’s fifth wedding reception seems like a nightmare she is unwilling to witness, but when she is forced to organize it, she has no escape but to endure the criticism of her life and behavior. Cole and Niccola feel an instant attraction for each other, which turns their lives upside down and forces them to reevaluate everything they thought was important. How will Niccola live with herself as she kisses her mother’s husband?
View MoreNiccola FairchildThe soup tastes like salt and something vaguely familiar, and that feels like an accomplishment. I eat slowly, carefully, like my body might reject the idea of nourishment if I rush it. The tea, on the other hand, tastes like the best thing I have ever tried in my life. I don’t know if it’s because I am dehydrated or because it really is a good tea, but it feels like one of those teas that could heal the world, one cup at a time.Cole sits nearby, pretending not to watch every spoonful like it’s a miracle unfolding in real time. The nurse had smiled when she set the tray down, told me it was good I felt ready to eat. Ready feels generous. But I was hungry in a way that went deeper than my stomach, and this, this is a beginning.By the time I finish, my arms feel heavy, and my eyelids ache. Exhaustion wraps around me, thick and insistent, the kind that settles into your bones aft
Cole SutcliffeNiccola sleeps the way someone sleeps after surviving something they shouldn’t have. Not peacefully, not deeply, but in fragments. Her breathing evens out for a few minutes at a time, then stutters, then steadies again. Her brow furrows even when her eyes stay closed, like her body hasn’t gotten the message that the danger is over.I sit beside her bed and watch every rise and fall of her chest. I don’t blink much. I don’t move unless I have to. The chair beneath me creaks when I shift my weight, and every time it does, my heart jumps, afraid the sound might pull her back into whatever nightmare she’s trapped in now.The hospital room is dim, lit only by the low glow of machines and the faint spill of light from the hallway. The beeping monitor keeps time better than any clock ever could—steady, alive, stubborn.She’s alive. I repeat it silently like a mantra. Alive doesn’t mean untouched. Ali
Cole SutcliffeLeaving the house without Niccola feels wrong in a way I don’t have language for.I stand in the entryway with my coat half on, keys in my hand, staring at Aiden like I’m memorizing him in case the universe decides to take something else from me. He’s awake in my mother’s arms, dark eyes blinking slowly, unaware that his parents have just survived the unthinkable.“I won’t be long,” I murmur, more to myself than to anyone else.Steph hovers close, arms folded tight across her chest, eyes red but steady. Sawyer stands beside her, one hand resting lightly on her shoulder, grounding them both. My father watches silently, jaw set, while my mother sways gently with Aiden, as if movement itself is prayer.“You go,” my mother says softly. “We’ve got him.”I nod, throat tight. “Don’t let anyone in. Not press. Not Monica. No one.”Sawyer me
Niccola FairchildThe ambulance smells like antiseptic and metal and adrenaline.I’m strapped down gently but firmly, like my body might try to escape on its own if they let it. The ceiling above me blurs as the vehicle moves, lights streaking past in rhythmic flashes that make my head throb. Someone keeps saying my name—soft, grounding, over and over again. “Niccola. Stay with us. You’re doing great.”Great feels like a lie, but alive doesn’t. I cling to that instead.My hands shake uncontrollably despite the blankets tucked around me. Shock, they said. My body is catching up to what my mind has been doing for days, running, bracing, surviving. Every muscle aches in a deep, bruised way that makes breathing feel like work. But I’m here. I’m not there anymore. The doors open, and noise crashes in.Shouting. Cameras. Questions hurled like weapons.The hospital entrance is lit up like a stage, and even through the haze, I recognize the






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