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Who a- are you? How have you been here?" grace's lips stuttered with fright as she immediately pulled the blanket to cover her breast. "Are you scared!? Eh?" The man sniffled, taking small steps towards her, making her drag her back. In a moment of passion, grace's life is shattered when a drunken stranger mistakes her for his lover. The price she pays is steep, as she loses everything she holds dear and must forge a new path in life. Enter a mysterious doctor, whose charming presence is a balm to her wounded soul. But he too carries a heavy burden - an incurable disease that threatens to consume him. As they navigate their own emotional turmoil, they find themselves drawn to each other, despite their reservations. Can they unlock the key to each other's hearts and find love amidst their pain? Or will their kiss remain forever locked? This poignant and captivating story will keep you turning the pages until the very end.
Chapter 1 Born With Silver Spoon
My mom used to say, "All the realities were once fantasies." At the time, I didn't really grasp the depth of that statement. However, as I drove through the winding roads flanked by tall cypress trees, the winter evening breeze mixed with the scent of cornfields brought a moment of realization.
We often find comfort in fantasies, immersing ourselves in worlds we can't experience. We spend our days daydreaming about things beyond our reach, sometimes overlooking what we already have. Yet, it's important to remember that our present realities were once someone's imagined fantasies.
As I headed to Toronto, Canada, where my elder brother lived, I had no other option. Home wasn't a viable choice either. So, the day before my journey, I pulled out my cellphone, called Carl, and informed him about my move to Toronto for a new job.
"Hold on, what did you just say?" His voice, busy with work at the family firm, conveyed surprise. Our family was deeply rooted in business, and the idea of me taking up a job in an elementary school was unconventional.
Without giving him a chance to argue, I quickly mentioned staying at his apartment temporarily until I found my own place.
He was fine with me staying with him. No issues; after all, I'm his sister, and he loves me the most. The song "I don't need Nobody to love" played in my car, taking me back to the days when all I craved was love.
In my teenage years, during those hot summer days when kids played in the streets, my thoughts revolved around fantasies of love. I spent hours imagining the person I would fall in love with, my first kiss, and other romantic notions fueled by the books I read.
Romance used to be my favorite genre, or maybe it still was, or maybe not. Over time, I went through various phases of love and relationships, both immature and mature, shaping my likes, dislikes, and overall personality.
My mom, concerned about my relationships, advised against experiencing heartbreaks resulting from immature decisions made during our teenage years. I, however, brushed off her advice, finding it dull. I craved adventure and wanted to enjoy life without constraints, like birds flying freely in any direction.
It seemed fine back then, not wanting to be controlled by anyone, not even my parents. Looking back now, I regret that mindset. We all go through such phases, making decisions that later seem senseless, landing ourselves in unforeseen troubles.
"You'll understand it one day," my mom said the day I decided to leave home for a live-in relationship with my newly formed boyfriend.
"He won't be able to give you the luxuries you're accustomed to. He's skint. You'll regret it," my Dad said, his stare filled with anguish.
"Whatever, I'll manage, but I'm in no mood to change my mind or decision," I replied, gripping the handle of my trolley bag. I twisted around, ready to leave my once-beloved house that was no longer mine. The walls, adorned with tapestries, held tales of my childhood and the moments I had spent there. I cared little, slamming the door behind me as I headed towards the waiting taxi, where Dillon sat, waving with a sympathetic smile, silently saying, 'If you want adventure, come to me. I'll make it disastrous for you.'
Blindfolded, I opened the door and sat beside him. Indeed, Dad was right. Dillon didn't possess the wealth my dad had. His generations couldn't match my dad, the biggest businessman in town, who owned the most wealth.
Our palace had every luxury imaginable. Growing up, I never had to cry for anything I wanted. The mere thought crossed my mind, and Dad ensured it became a reality. I recall mentioning to Myria, our maid, that I wanted a small kitchen for my doll. Dad didn't just get a play-house kitchen; he imported a luxurious one for me and my doll.
Crazy. Yes, he was like that-possessive, caring, and the best dad one could ever wish for. I was undeniably born with a silver spoon in my mouth, having grown accustomed to a life filled with luxuries and comfort. But one day, in a whirlwind decision fueled by emotions, I chose to relinquish those privileges, all for the sake of a boy.
It wasn't lost on me that he was just an ordinary waiter at the town's most expensive ice cream parlor. He lived a life far removed from the opulence I was used to, unable even to afford three square meals a day. The stark contrast between our worlds didn't deter me; rather, it fueled a sense of rebellion or perhaps a touch of madness.
It's strange how love can make us challenge the very foundations of our existence. My father, the epitome of wealth and success, couldn't understand my decision. The grandeur of our lifestyle, the luxuries seamlessly woven into our daily routine, all took a backseat as I embarked on this uncharted journey.
People might have thought I was mad, making such a drastic shift for love, but sometimes the heart has its own logic. As I navigated through this new chapter, leaving behind the cocoon of privilege, I wondered if the sacrifices would be worth it, and if love truly had the power to transcend the boundaries of wealth and status.
The first few weeks were a whirlwind of emotions. Adjusting to a life that lacked the plush comfort of my childhood home was more challenging than I had anticipated. The quaint apartment Dillon and I shared was a stark departure from the sprawling palace that echoed with the footsteps of servants.
I found myself grappling with the simplicity of our new reality. Gone were the days of being surrounded by opulence; instead, the ordinary and mundane became my new companions. The silver spoon that once symbolized privilege now felt like a distant memory.
Dillon, with his ordinary job and limited means, did his best to provide for us. His gestures, though small, were filled with sincerity. Whether it was a homemade dinner, a handpicked wildflower, or a shared laugh over a borrowed movie, these moments held a charm of their own. It was a different kind of richness-one that couldn't be measured in material wealth.
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