“Here’s the whole truth about your fiancée,” his father said flatly, handing Oliver a flash drive.
Oliver kept glancing at his watch. He’d booked a table at The White Grand – London’s most exclusive restaurant. Emily was ten minutes late, and tardiness always soured his mood. Punctuality mattered deeply to him.
Sighing, he flicked through the menu again, though he already knew what he’d order. Fatigue and that unsettling conversation with his father left his thoughts tangled. Just as he reached for his phone, the restaurant door swung open.
“Darling! Forgive me!” Emily rushed to the table like a whirlwind in her pale blue dress that hugged her slender frame. She leaned down, pressing a light kiss to Olivers lips. The scent of spring flowers and something indefinably familiar washed over him, dissolving his irritation.
“You know how I hate waiting,” he tried to maintain sternness, but his lips betrayed him with a smile. It was impossible to stay cross with her.
“But I,” Emily shot him a playful glance, “adore seeing such a handsome man waiting for me. Traffic was horridsome elderly woman took ages to cross the road!”
Oliver laughed. “Let me guessyou spent half an hour on your makeup instead.”
“Rubbish!” She feigned offense. “Twenty-five minutes, at most!”
He couldnt look away. Chestnut waves tumbled over her shoulders, blue eyes sparkling, her dimples making her smile utterly disarming. Every time he looked at her, he marveled at his luck. Two years since theyd met, eighteen months together, a year engaged. And now…
“To us?” Oliver raised his champagne flute.
“To us,” Emily smiled, but something flickered in her gaze that twisted his gut.
They ordered and chatted easily about their day. She animatedly recounted her work at the clinic, a funny incident with a young patient, how the head doctor kept calling her his “golden nurse.”
“Hows work? Any progress with your fathers project?” she asked, spearing a bite of salmon.
“On schedule, but deadlines are tight,” Oliver shrugged.
Nodding, Emily casually added, “Speaking of deadlines when are we finally setting a wedding date?”
Oliver froze. Here it was again.
“Em, we talked about this. Once the project”
“Yes, yes, I know,” she waved impatiently. “But this has dragged on six months! Oliver, I dont want to wait anymore. Weve been engaged a year. Whats the hold-up?”
“Im not stalling. Its just not the right time.”
“And when will it be? When Im fifty? I want to be your wife, not your fiancée!”
“Emily, Im swamped with work”
“Oh, come off it! As if planning a wedding requires more from you than showing up!”
“Its not that,” Oliver bristled. “I want it perfect.”
“So do I!” she exclaimed. “And you know whats perfect? A destination wedding! Weve talked about thisMaldives, Bali, Seychelles, take your pick! They handle everything; we just show up.”
“Again with the island wedding! Do you need the glitz, or just to make everyone jealous?”
Emily shoved her plate away. “So thats it? You think Im after your money? That I only want some lavish spectacle?”
“Isnt that obvious?” The words slipped out before he could stop them. “All you talk about is weddings, trips, what *you* want to see. Never that you just want *me*.”
“Youre impossible!” Tears welled in her eyes. “I just want to be your wife! And you keep making excuses! If you dont want to marry me, say it!”
“Im not making excuses!” Olivers raised voice drew glances. “Why do you keep pushing?”
“Because I love you, you idiot! But you dont get itor maybe you dont care!”
He stood abruptly, tossing several large bills on the table. “You know what? I wont do this here. Call me when youve calmed down.”
Ignoring the waiters bewildered look and Emilys muffled sobs, he strode out.
***
Oliver sped through Londons streets, his latest-model Jaguar gliding around corners. Blaring music failed to drown his thoughts.
When had things with Emily gotten so complicated? He remembered their first meeting at his fathers clinic.
Dr. Richard Whitmorerenowned cardiologist and owner of private medical centersnever mixed family with business. “Keep it in the family,” hed say.
Oliver, the only son and heir, had grown up under scrutiny. School, university, workeveryone treated him differently. By twenty-five, hed wearied of women seeing only his wealth and status. Models, socialites, career climbersall wore the same calculating masks.
Then he met Emily.
That day, shed been at the reception desk, filling forms. Simple nurses uniform, hair in a ponytailnothing extravagant. When she looked up and smiled, something inside him shifted. No pretensejust warmth and light.
He found excuses to talk to her, then asked her for coffee, then dinner
Emily was unlike anyone hed known. Grew up modestly, worked since sixteen, put herself through school. He adored her genuineness, her humor, how she never pretended. Not like the women in his world.
His mother, Margaret, adored her instantly. “Shes real, Oliver. Hold onto her,” shed said after their first meeting, calling Emily “my girl” even early on.
But his father Richard never criticized her outright. He praised her professionalism. Yet whenever Oliver mentioned long-term plans, something unreadable flickered in his gaze.
“Shes a good girl, Oliver but not for you,” hed once said. The words festered, seeding doubt.
Had his father seen something hed missed? Was Emily just better at hiding her motives?
Thoughts like these surged during fights like tonights. Her wedding demands, the extravaganceit reminded him of his exes, all wanting status and luxury.
“Damn it!” Oliver slammed the wheel at a red light.
He loved Emily, unquestionably. But tonight cut deepfor the first time, he considered ending it. No matter how his heart ached, he wouldnt be usednot even by her.
***
Oliver returned home near midnight. The living room light was onhis father sat with a whiskey, staring at the muted telly.
“Youre up late,” Oliver said, collapsing into a chair.
Richard studied him. “Waiting for you. Your mother called Emilywanted to invite you both for Sunday. She was in tears. What happened?”
“Nothing. Just a row.”
“About?”
“Not now, Dad.” Oliver rubbed his temples. “Im knackered.”
Richard wordlessly poured him a whiskey.
Oliver took a grateful sip, the burn dulling his tension.
“Your mothers parents disapproved of me when we met,” Richard said abruptly.
“Really? You never mentioned that.”
“People dont like admitting mistakes.” Richard smirked. “They thought a nurse from Yorkshire wasnt good enough for a Whitmore.”
“Whatd you do?”
“Ignored them. Best decision I ever made.”
A weighted silence followed. Oliver knew this wasnt casual reminiscing.
“Did you and Emily fight about the wedding?” Richard asked bluntly.
Oliver exhaled. “She kept pushing. Why the delay, why no date. That island wedding obsessionlike she just wants a show.”
“And youre sure thats all it is?”
“No,” Oliver admitted. “But sometimes You always act odd when I mention marrying her. Like youre hiding something.”
Richard held his gaze, then stood decisively. “Wait here.”
He returned minutes later, handing Oliver a flash drive.
“The truth about your fiancée.”
Oliver stared at it. “What is this? Did you have her followed?”
“Just look. And Im sorry I didnt tell you sooner.”
Heart pounding, Oliver plugged the drive into his laptop. Medical files filled the screenECGs, lab results, specialist reports.
“What?” He scrolled frantically until he saw the diagnosis.
Congenital heart defect. Advanced. Progressive deterioration. Surgery required.
“This this is Emily?” His voice cracked.
Richard nodded. “Shes been my patient for five years. Thats why she joined the clinicfor monitoring.”
“Why didnt she tell me? Why didnt YOU?”
“Doctor-patient confidentiality. She forbade me. Said shed handle it.”
“Handle it?” Olivers skin went cold. “This says its worsening. That surgery might only buy” He couldnt finish.
“Yes,” Richard said quietly. “Her prognosis isnt good. Even with surgery, best-case scenario gives her five years.”
“How long?” Olivers throat tightened.
“Without surgery? A year, at most. With it no guarantees. The procedures high-risk.”
Oliver sat
