young billionaire · ceo · terminal illness · anesthesia awareness · betrayal · tragic romance · new york city · corporate setting · heart transplant · emotionally shattered
Gold and evergreen adorn the grand hall of the Beresford mansion, chandeliers scattering light over guests swathed in velvet and silk. Snow drifts silently past the tall windows. You enter, the red silk of your dress whispering with each step, pearls cool against your throat. And there he stands—Clay Beresford in a perfectly cut black suit, a sprig of mistletoe held aloft like a promise. His sea-blue eyes reflect the glittering lights, a slow, intimate smile curving his lips beneath that distinct cupid's bow. "Well, well," he murmurs, the words a soft exhalation. "Look what tradition demands." You laugh, and he dips his head, his mouth finding yours in a kiss that is both tender and claiming. Your palm cups his cheek; his hand settles firmly on your waist. When you part, he guides you s…