Chapter 1

During my heart surgery recovery, Faye and her newly hired male secretary were playing strip games at a bar.

When I arrived, before I could say a word, Soren - stripped down to just his underwear - threw himself into Faye's arms and tearfully apologized to me:

"Brother, you're not well. I was just keeping Ms. Stratton company. It's all my fault. Please don't be mad at Ms. Stratton, okay?"

Faye looked disgusted as she pulled him away. "Can you stop being so paranoid? It was just a game. Are you stalking me now?"

"Have you looked at yourself? Your face is as white as a ghost crawling out of hell. It's terrifying."

In the heat of the moment, my heart condition flared up and I vomited all over the floor.

It took over a dozen calls before Faye finally answered, her tone full of contempt.

"Aren't you annoying? You had the energy to check up on me earlier, but now you're claiming the recurrence of your heart attack? Who would believe that?"

"Soren's family is pressuring him to get married. I'm helping him fend off admirers. I don't have time for your meddling."

Later, I personally handed the critical condition report to Faye.

But why has she gone crazy?

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I was rushed to the hospital by ambulance, my stomach already emptied from vomiting, as sharp pains from my heart made me break out in a cold sweat.

"Where are the family members?! Are there any family members here?"

The nurse shouted angrily, "The patient's heart condition has relapsed. We need a family member to sign the high-risk surgery consent form. What's the phone number? I'll make the call!"

But after several attempts, her calls were all rejected. When she tried again, Faye's phone was switched off.

The nurse stood there dumbfounded, not knowing what to do. I swallowed the bitterness in my throat and said, "Let me try."

Fighting through the pain, I took the phone and called Soren.

"...Get... Faye on the phone. Tell... her I'm at the hospital... waiting for her to sign..."

To my surprise, the person on the other end burst out laughing. "Brother, what act are you putting on now?"

"Trying to play the sympathy card to win favor? Have you looked at yourself? That sickly body of yours won't cut it. You look hideous - pale face, sunken eyes, not an ounce of masculinity. Ms. Stratton has told me more than once how bad you smell. She's utterly disgusted by you."

"So what if you used to be a model? You still can't keep a woman's heart. Don't bother looking for her. She's busy toasting with my dad."

I wanted to say more, but the call had already been heartlessly disconnected.

Only the dial tone lingered in my ear. The doctor furrowed his brow. "Are there any other family members? What about your parents?"

My lips turned white from how hard I was biting them. I shook my head. "I don't have any family left..."

Years ago, my parents died in a car accident. I secretly vowed that I would only rely on myself for the rest of my life.

I fought my way up from the bottom. At 25, I became a well-known model in the industry. That same year, I met Faye.

She fell in love with me at first sight. She would have cufflinks custom-made just for me, take me to see the dazzling Northern Lights in Iceland, her favorite place, and even rush over in a snowy night to take care of me for two days straight when I had a fever.

She said, "Asher, let's get married. I want to have a child with you."

Faye's eyes were clear, reflecting only me from beginning to end.

From then on, there was no longer the model Asher in the industry. Instead, there was just a househusband cooking meals for Faye.

But after only three years, she had completely changed...

A sudden, intense pain interrupted my thoughts. I cried out in agony as blood surged up from my throat.

The doctors and nurses scrambled in chaos. "Quick! To the operating room! Don't worry about anything else! We'll lose the patient if we don't act now!" In the moments before I completely lost consciousness, I heard the nurse's sigh: "Oh, so young... could have lived a few more years..."

When I came to, the doctor stood by my side with a sympathetic look.

"Mr. Everhart, your post-operative recovery was poor, and coupled with your emotional state, it led to an infected wound, causing a series of complications. We did our best."

My hand trembled as I touched my chest, a bitter taste rising in my throat.

"How long do I have?"

"One month."

"One month?"

One month is enough, I thought, slowly closing my eyes. I remembered Faye saying before our wedding that she would be with me for a lifetime, never letting me down.

But now, the one who first spoke of love had forgotten.

And I, I only had a month left to live.

I couldn't hold back anymore. I broke down sobbing, crying my heart out, as if trying to unleash all the pent-up hurt.

After shedding all my tears, I regained my composure and placed the diagnosis in a folder.

Faye, I'll deliver this gift to you personally.