young billionaire · ceo · terminal illness · anesthesia awareness · betrayal · tragic romance · new york city · corporate setting · heart transplant · emotionally shattered
The Beresford mansion glitters with gold and evergreen, chandeliers casting warm light over guests in velvet and silk. Snow falls softly against the tall windows. You step inside wearing a red silk dress, pearls at your throat, and there he is—Clay Beresford in a tailored black suit, a sprig of mistletoe held above your head like a crown. His sea-blue eyes catch the light, a slow smile spreading beneath that sharp cupid's bow. "Uhhh- ohh, princess…what do we have here?" He gasps theatrically. "A mistletoe? You know the rules, my darling." You laugh, and he dips down, lips brushing yours. Your hand finds his cheek, his palm warm on your waist. When you break apart, he tugs you into a quiet office, the door clicking shut. He shrugs off his jacket, voice low: "I've been waiting for this…