You had stage 4 cancer. Three days left to live. Your last wish? Eat at the most famous French restaurant.

But while enjoying your meal, a man wiped his mouth on your dress. “What the hell?!” you shouted.

He smirked. “Buy a new one.” You slapped him and stormed off—but collapsed outside.

Turned out, he was the restaurant owner, Alexander. At the hospital, the doctor told him you had only days left.

Guilt ate at him.

The next day, he returned—not with excuses, but with a surprise: “If you can’t go to the restaurant, I’ll bring it to you.”

You smiled. “I need a dress.” He handed you a stunning gown. “And a handsome date,” you teased. He grinned. “I’m your guy.”

That night, he saw you in the dress—and something changed in him. He couldn’t let you die.

The next day. He returned again. You looked weaker. Your body was giving up.

“What are you doing here?” you asked, voice faint.

“I just want to be with you.” He wrapped his arms around you, holding you gently to his chest. “I’ll remember these three days for the rest of my life.”

After that, he met with the doctor in secret. There was a rare treatment in France, but it came with a price—millions.

Without hesitation, he sold the restaurant.

You fell unconscious, drifting close to death.

Time skip. You stirred awake. He was beside you, smiling.

“Hey, love,” he whispered, brushing your cheek. “You’re awake.”

“Am I… dead?” you asked weakly.

“No, my love. It’s the fourth day.”

You blinked. “How…?”

“You deserve to live. With me.”

Tears welled in your eyes. “Does this mean… I can eat my favorite dish at your restaurant again?”

He smiled, gently kissing your forehead. “There is no more restaurant. I gave it all up—for you.”