The evening breeze carried the scent of blooming jasmine as they stood on the balcony overlooking the vast estate gardens. —His father, a powerful businessman with global influence, and hers, the heiress of a prestigious empire. They had been raised in luxury, surrounded by opulence, yet in this moment, none of it mattered.

“Can you promise me something?” she asked, her voice barely above a whisper, fragile yet determined.

He nodded without hesitation, his grip tightening around her hand. “Anything.”

She inhaled deeply, as though gathering the courage to say what she needed to. “If something happens to me, promise me you’ll find the love of your life and marry again.”

“I take my fucking words back.”

“Please—” she began, but he cut her off.

“No. Don’t you fucking dare ask me for that.” His voice shook with raw emotion, a storm brewing behind his eyes. "You think I can just pick up the shattered fucking pieces of myself?” His voice cracked, but he didn’t stop. “My heart belongs to you, and you ruined it for anyone else. You tied your soul to mine, and if you think I’d ever let another woman touch what belongs to you, then you don’t fucking know me at all.”

Tears welled in her eyes, but she forced herself to stay strong. He couldn’t know. He couldn’t suspect the truth lurking beneath her words. If he found out about her illness, about the doctors working tirelessly to find a cure before time ran out, he would never forgive her for keeping it from him.

She smiled softly, weakly. “I just… I don’t want you to be alone.”

He leaned in, pressing his forehead against hers, closing his eyes as if he could will away the inevitable. “Mark my goddamn words,” he whispered, his voice hoarse with grief. “I would sooner cut off my own fucking hand than wear a ring that makes me someone else’s husband instead of yours.”

Her heart ached—not just from the sickness consuming her, but from the love she knew she would have to leave behind. But he couldn’t know. Not yet.