All Chapters of The CEO's Stepdaughter: Chapter 81 - Chapter 90

Niccola FairchildIt’s been a few days since Anne came over and dropped the bomb about the trial. She has been sending document after document with possible questions and how to answer them without ruining Cole’s life. I feel like this is going to be harder than I anticipated. I hate not being physically able to do anything. The house has been quiet, and that makes me feel even worse. Cole gave Ophelia some well-deserved time off. She has been harassed by the press nonstop since everything started. Ophelia has been dealing with it like a champ, but we thought she could have some time off and stay out of the spotlight. Not that her being called as a witness will make it better, but at least they are not following her outside her own house, and when she is with her family. They tend to go after her when she is coming to work. I stand at the kitchen sink staring at my reflection in the darkened window. My face looks the same, no cracks, no sign of the deranged thoughts crossing my mind

Cole SutcliffeThe headlines showed up before Niccola did. I stand at the kitchen counter with my coffee, going cold, watching my phone as it might explode. “Cole Sutcliffe’s fiancée spotted at elite NYC clinic - Health scare or strategy?” I read. I scroll to find the photos underneath. Grainy, invasive, cruelly timed as Niccola stepped out of the clinic with Steph. Niccola’s hand was near her stomach as Steph positioned herself in front of her, jaw set, already defensive. I close my eyes. I knew this was coming, Anne warned us. Still, seeing it, seeing her being reduced to speculations made something ugly coil in my chest. I wasn’t there with her, I couldn’t intercept the narrative, I couldn’t do anything but wait, and that was the part that is killing me. My phone buzzed again, a text from Niccola, “We’re on our way home, I’m okay.” I exhale a long and shaky breat

Cole SutcliffeI stand in the entryway longer than necessary, keys in my hand, jacket already on. The ankle monitor had been removed that morning as a temporary clearance for the trial, but my body hadn’t caught up yet. I still felt tethered, like the walls might pull me back if I moved too fast.Niccola noticed before I said anything. “You’re doing that thing,” she says softly.“What thing?” I glance at her.“Where you pretend you’re calm,” she replied, stepping closer. She reached for my hands, gently uncurling my fingers from the keys. “But you’re not.” She adds.I exhale, the breath shaky despite my effort. “If I walk out that door today, everything changes,” I say as her beautiful eyes meet mine in an effort to contain her own anxiety. She nodded. “That’s true.” She doesn’t sugarcoat it. She never does. That’s one of the things that makes me love her like crazy.“But,” she says, pressing her forehead to mine, getting on her tiptoes, “either way, you don’t walk out alone.”I clos

Niccola FairchildThe dress lies across the bed like a promise, dark blue silk, heavy and fluid at the same time. This is those types of gowns that didn’t just sit on your body, but asked you to stand inside it. I run my fingers over the fabric once before stepping into it, letting the weighr settles against my skin, grounding myself in the reality of it. When I turn to the mirror, I barely recognise myself. My hair is pinned up, every strand deliberate, my makeup soft and polished but confident, not a mask, I am not hiding anymore. Behind me, Cole was adjusting his tie. He is wearing a black suit with clean lines and a blue tie, almost exactly the same shade as my dress. Our eyes meet in the mirror, “You look incredible,” he says softly as I step closer to him, smoothing his lapels.“So do you,” I say, and Cole smiles as he exhales deeply. “This feels like a first,” he admits as he places his hands on my hips, pulling me closer slightly. “It kind of is, but you’re not doing it al

Cole SutcliffeI know something is wrong before she says a word. Niccola’s weight shifts against me, not dramatic, not sudden, just wrong. Her body goes subtly slack, like a wire pulled too tight finally loosening, and my instincts snap awake hard enough to drown out the music, the lights, and the crowd.“Hey,” I murmur, keeping my voice calm even as my heart kicks hard against my ribs. “Talk to me.” She doesn’t answer right away. Her hand grips my jacket, fingers trembling, and I feel it then, the heat of panic rising through her skin as the tears pool into her eyes.“I feel dizzy,” she says quietly. Too quietly. That’s when I see it in her eyes, the fear so sharp it focuses inward. I don’t ask questions. I don’t hesitate. I don’t look back toward the ballroom where laughter is already trying to reclaim the space Monica poisoned. “Breathe with me,” I murmur into her hair. “Slow. You’re safe. I’ve got you.” Stress isn’t good for the baby. The thought hits like a blade. And then she s