My name is Nicole Fisher. I'm forty-four. I live in The Hague in a house we call 404. With Michael on my right and Jordan on my left.

That's where they are. Always. That's where they stay.

I didn't plan this. I didn't plan any of it. I had a daughter, a job most people don't ask about twice, and a life I'd built out of what was left after everything else fell apart. I wasn't looking for anyone.

Jordan found me anyway.

He's thirty-eight. Born in Marrakesh. Storm energy from the moment he walks into a room. Elite bodyguard. Two black belts. The kind of man who protects people not because he was trained to but because he doesn't know how to be any other way. He called me Mi Reina before I gave him permission to. He's been right about most things since.

Michael came after. He's thirty-two. Amsterdam born. African American father, Brazilian mother. He went straight to the police academy — no detour, no doubt. He doesn't say much. He doesn't need to. He waited on a parking lot until I found him and he stood there like he had all the time in the world.

He did.

They're brothers. Not by blood — by me. They found each other through me and they stayed for each other. No rivalry. No drama. Just two men who understand that loving the same person doesn't make you competition. It makes you family.

We live in 404. All three of us.

That's the whole story. And the beginning of it.

One more thing. Their names — Michael and Jordan. We know. Trust me, we know. They didn't plan it and neither did I. But the moment someone pointed it out there was no going back. They've been running with it ever since. Together they'll dunk on you if you give them the chance. Don't give them the chance.

Nicole Fisher

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