Chapter 8 - The Penthouse
The Cole penthouse occupied the top two floors of a high-rise glass tower overlooking Elliott Bay. It was a masterpiece of modern architecture—polished concrete floors, floor-to-ceiling glass windows, minimalist white furniture, and silence.
Or at least, it had been quiet until thirty minutes ago.
Now, the sound of tiny shoes squeaking against the polished floor echoed through the vast space.
“It’s so huge!” Hannah gasped, running toward the massive glass window overlooking the harbor. “Mommy, look! Big boats!”
Sophie had already located the plush white sofa in the center of the living room. She carefully climbed up onto the cushions and sat Mr. Buttons right next to her. “This couch feels like a cloud.”
Ellie stood near the entryway, holding her pink backpack tightly, looking around the pristine, expensive room with wide, cautious eyes.
Claire walked in behind Nathan, taking in the sheer luxury of his world. For five years, she had lived in a forty-square-foot room with peeling paint. Standing in a twenty-million-dollar penthouse felt surreal, almost intimidating.
“It’s... beautiful, Nathan,” Claire said softly, stepping carefully as if she were afraid of leaving footprints.
“It’s too empty,” Nathan observed, looking at the sharp lines of his home with a sudden critical eye. “It needs color. Toys. Pictures on the walls.”
He walked over to Ellie, crouching down to her eye level. “Ellie? What do you think?”
Ellie looked at him, her chin trembling slightly. “Are we allowed to touch things?”
Nathan felt a sharp pang in his heart. He reached out, gently unbuckling her backpack and slipping it off her shoulders. “Ellie, this is your house now. You can touch anything you want. If something breaks, we fix it. If something gets messy, we clean it up. You don't ever have to be afraid here.”
Ellie looked at him for a long moment, then slowly let go of her backpack. She reached out and wrapped her small arms around Nathan’s neck, hiding her face in his shoulder.
Nathan froze for a fraction of a second—unaccustomed to the raw, unconditional affection of a child—before wrapping his arms securely around her tiny frame, holding her tight.
Claire watched them, a tear slipping down her cheek, a feeling of deep, long-awaited peace finally settling into her chest.
That evening, after a dinner of pizza—which Nathan had ordered despite his personal chef’s protests—the three girls were tucked into a massive king-sized bed in the guest suite. They insisted on sleeping together, just as they had done their entire lives.
Nathan and Claire stood in the doorway, watching the steady rise and fall of their chests as they slept peacefully under a soft down duvet.
“They look so peaceful,” Claire whispered.
“They’re safe now,” Nathan said. He turned to her in the dimly lit hallway. “And so are you.”
Before Claire could answer, a loud knock echoed from the front door of the penthouse.
Nathan frowned. His private security team posted in the lobby didn't let anyone up without calling first.
“Stay here,” Nathan told Claire, his voice dropping into a cautious tone.
He walked down the long hallway toward the entrance hall. He pulled open the heavy wooden door—and froze.
Standing on the landing outside, flanked by two armed police officers, was Richard Sterling’s chief corporate attorney, Victoria Vance.
May you like
And she was holding a thick legal folder.
“Good evening, Mr. Cole,” Victoria said coldly. “We have an emergency court order signed by Judge Vance an hour ago. You need to read this immediately.”
