Terminal Diagnosis and My Last Stand for LoveChapter 1

I harbored a secret crush on Ethan for ten years, never daring to confess, until I was diagnosed with terminal brain cancer.

I tied him up and slept with him again and again.

His eyes red with rage, he struggled: "Harper! Let me go if you dare."

I thought that once I let him go, he would furiously strangle me to death.

Instead, he fiercely claimed every inch of my body, day and night without rest: "Harper, do I look weak to you? How dare you drug me?"

* * *

I had a crush on Ethan for ten years.

From my teenage years into adulthood.

He lived in the house right next door to mine.

I watched him grow from a green youth into an increasingly mature man.

I was completely mesmerized by the mature, masculine charm he exuded, but I never dared to say anything.

I was afraid that if I spoke up, he would reject me, and then we would be over.

That was until ten days ago when I fainted at work and was rushed to the hospital.

The doctor looked at me with deep regret: "Terminal brain cancer. It's too late. There's no longer any medical value in treatment."

I couldn't just die like this. I hadn't traveled the world yet, and I hadn't slept with Ethan...

My mind was flooded with the dark romance novels I'd been reading recently—all about twisted, forced love.

I was about to die anyway; was it so wrong to do something drastic?

I called Ethan and invited him over for dinner.

Ethan was the CEO of his own company and very busy.

But he still agreed to come over later.

When Ethan arrived, he looked travel-worn, wearing a long black coat.

He brought a gust of cold air with him.

Only then did I realize that he had been abroad when I called.

He flew all day, came back, and walked straight into my trap.

I felt a twinge of guilt.

I tried to find an excuse to make him leave, but he walked straight to the dining table and sat down.

Before I could say anything, he started helping himself to the food.

I watched as he drank the Tom Yum soup—which I had heavily spiked.

He even raised an eyebrow at me while drinking.

"Haven't seen you for a while. Your cooking has improved."

Of course, it had improved.

Because that was takeout from the highest-rated Thai restaurant in the city.

Why takeout?

The reason was simple: I was afraid my cooking would be so bad he wouldn't eat enough for the drug to take effect.

By the time I went to the kitchen to grab a bowl and came back, his eyes were already starting to glaze over as he sat at the table.

I bit my lip: "Are you tired? Do you want to rest?"

He nodded: "A little dizzy."

"Then go rest for a bit."

We had known each other for years, so all defenses had long been dropped between us.

He obediently followed me to the guest bedroom.