LOGINCole Sutcliffe
The office is still half a promise. Boxes line one wall, blueprints stacked neatly on the desk, a single framed photo leaning against the window instead of hanging straight. The light in here is good, clean, honest, the kind that makes plans feel possible instead of theoretical.
Sawyer drops into the chair across from me and spins once, testing the weight of the room. “You know,” he says, glancing around, “for a guy who just survived public destr
Happiness doesn’t announce itself.I learn that slowly, in fragments, in the way mornings stretch instead of snap, in the weight of two children sleeping against me, in the fact that laughter no longer feels like something borrowed from the future.Jade is curled against my chest, all warmth and quiet insistence, while Aiden builds a tower on the living room rug with the kind of intense concentration usually reserved for surgeons and bomb disposal experts. Cole is on a call in his study, voice low and confident, the sound of a man who knows exactly what he’s doing and why.This, this ordinary miracle, is our life now.Two kids. Two businesses that no longer feel fragile or defensive but expansive. A house that holds noise and stillness in equal measure.I rock Jade gently and watch Aiden knock his tower over on purpose, delighted by the crash.“Again,” he declares.“Again,” I agree.Outside,
Niccola FairchildThe therapist’s office smells like citrus and old books, a combination I used to associate with survival. Today it just smells familiar.I sit on the couch with my hands folded over my stomach, round and warm beneath my palms, the steady weight of this pregnancy grounding me in a way I never expected. I’m further along now, far enough that strangers smile knowingly, far enough that my body feels like it’s working with me instead of bracing against something.Dr. Hale watches me with the same gentle attentiveness she’s always had, pen resting idle in her notebook.“So,” she says softly. “How does it feel to be here today?”I consider the question. Not the polite version of the answer. The real one.“It feels… complete,” I say finally.She smiles. “Tell me more.”I lean back, exhaling slowly. “When I first came here, everything
Niccola FairchildThe house is quiet in the way that feels earned.Not the tense quiet we lived with for so long, the kind that pressed against my ribs and asked me to listen for danger, but the soft, domestic kind that settles after a full day. Aiden is asleep upstairs, sprawled diagonally in his crib like he fought sleep and lost. The dishwasher hums. Somewhere outside, a siren passes and fades without dragging my pulse with it.I’m sitting at the dining table with a notebook open in front of me, a pen resting between my fingers, doing something that used to feel impossible. Planning. I don’t realize Cole is watching me until he clears his throat gently from the doorway.“You look serious,” he says.I glance up and smile. “I am. This child is going to need a place to put their things.”He laughs softly and comes closer, leaning over the back of my chair to kiss the crown of my head. “You’re n
Cole SutcliffeAnne calls on a Tuesday morning, which immediately tells me this isn’t casual. She never calls unless something has shifted from possible to inevitable.“The trial’s been booked,” she says without preamble. Her voice is steady, but I hear the edge beneath it, the kind that only comes when a long game finally shows its hand. “Six weeks from now. Criminal court. Not preliminary. The real thing.”I stop pacing mid-step in my study, the sunlight from the tall windows cutting across the floor like a line I didn’t realize I was standing behind.“Booked,” I repeat.“Yes,” Anne confirms. “And Cole, this isn’t symbolic anymore. The prosecution is confident. The evidence is airtight. Financial records, testimony, digital trails, and corroboration from multiple witnesses. She’s not walking away from this.”My grip tightens on the phone. “You t
Cole SutcliffeThe first thing I notice is the noise.Not the city, New York has always hummed like a living thing, but the cameras. The low, predatory click-click-click that follows us the moment the car door opens. Flashbulbs bloom like small explosions against the sidewalk, voices rising in a practiced chorus.“Cole, over here!” “Niccola, how are you feeling after court?” “Is this a celebration?”I instinctively angle my body, one hand settling at the small of Niccola’s back, not to hide her, she doesn’t need hiding, but to anchor us together. She doesn’t flinch. That alone feels like a miracle. She leans in, lips brushing my ear. “Ignore them.”“I’m trying,” I murmur back. “I preferred when dates didn’t come with a soundtrack.”She smiles, calm and conspiratorial. “Think of it as ambiance.”We move forward, guided by security, the doors of the restaurant opening like a promise. The noise drops away the second we step ins
Cole SutcliffeThe courthouse smells like disinfectant and old paper, clean in the way that tries to hide how many lives have been bent inside these walls.I arrive early because that’s who I’ve become: the man who doesn’t trust lateness, or chance, or anything that leaves room for Monica to slip through. Anne meets me at the steps, tailored and sharp, a folder tucked under her arm like a weapon that doesn’t draw blood but still ends things.“She’s already inside,” Anne says quietly.Of course she is. Niccola didn’t come. That was her choice, and I respected it. Not because she couldn’t handle it, she could, but because today isn’t about proving strength. It’s about finality. And she doesn’t owe Monica another ounce of herself.I’m here to finish what the law started.Inside, the courtroom is smaller than I expected. No grand drama. No sweeping gestures. Just bench
Niccola Fairchild“You’re playing a very dangerous game,” Cole says, and I offer him a smile before I push him away from me. Cole moves, and I turn around, walking into the elevator and waving my fingers saying goodbye. Once the doors close, I lean back against the wall, breathing heavily. Shit. I
Cole Sutcliffe“What was that all about?” Monica asks, and I shake my head. “Nothing, I thought I heard something in the corridor,” I let out as I sit next to Monica. My phone rings with an alarm, and I frown, staring at the Garage. She fucking didn’t. I watch as the video from the garage plays on
Niccola Fairchild“If you say so, but can we change the subject?” She asks as we enter the Uber, and I nod. I know what the question is going to be about, so I make sure to prepare myself for the hit it will be. “What happened?” She asks, and I close my eyes as I look out of the window. “I ended i
Niccola Fairchild“Okay, I know you are not in the best of moods, but can we please get this over with?” Steph asks, and I nod. We have a meeting for a birthday party. Something exquisite. I haven’t been in the best of moods the past few days. I have been looking at somewhere to live, but everywher







