The Man Who Faked My Medical Reports

Everyone in Jadeport City was waiting for a farce to end—waiting for Zayne Palmer, heir to the Palmer Group, to break up with the frail Aurora Shaw. For three whole years, they had tried to get a marriage license twenty times. Aurora walked into City Hall full of hope every time, then walked out with her head down after seeing the note that said her medical exam had failed. Even so, Zayne treated her like the most precious person in the world. When she wanted to see the first sunrise of the New Year, he dragged himself up a mountain with a fever of 103 degrees just to wait with her all night. He almost ended up in the hospital with pneumonia. When she won first place in a national painting competition, and the rumors started flying—that she'd slept her way to the top—he put the Palmer Group's hundred-year reputation on the line to defend her. "Aurora's talent speaks for itself. Anyone who says otherwise answers to me." The Palmer family gave him an ultimatum. There was no way they were letting some penniless, sick girl marry into the family. It was simple: ditch Aurora and inherit billions of dollars, or keep Aurora and get cut off without a dime. Zayne didn't even hesitate. "I choose her." His hand didn't shake when he signed the papers. His eyes never wavered. Aurora stared at those twenty failed medical reports, and guilt gnawed at her. Maybe this was a sign. Maybe people like her didn't deserve to marry someone like Zayne. Every time she said that, he'd pull her close and whisper like it was a prayer, "Aurora, I don't care what the papers say. I love you. A license doesn't change that. Nothing comes between us." His voice was low and warm, like honey dripping into her soul. Aurora let herself drown in the world he'd built for her, told herself she'd be fine without the ring, without the title, as long as she had him. Then came the twenty-first time. Aurora walked out of the hospital with her latest results, murmuring, "This is it. This time." She made her way across the parking lot and spotted Zayne's car in the distance. He was standing next to it, looking as sharp as ever in his expensive suit. She was about to call out to him when she noticed the doctor in a white coat standing nearby. The look on Zayne's face was cold and distant. The doctor handed him a medical report; his brow furrowed. "Zayne, I don't get it. Everyone's been jealous of you and Aurora for years. That proposal you pulled off—flowers flown in from God knows where, all that 'she deserves the best' speech. It was legendary." He paused. "So why are you dragging your feet now? I've faked these reports twenty-one times for you." The report slipped from Aurora's fingers and fluttered to the ground. 'Faked? Twenty-one times?' Her heart slammed to a stop. A question clawed its way up from her gut, dark and ugly. 'Why would he do that?' Zayne lit a cigarette. Smoke curled around his face, making him look even more like something out of a dream. "I love Aurora. That's never changed." He took a long drag. "But three years ago, when that car wreck nearly killed me? Anya pulled me out of that driver's seat. Risked her own life to save mine. If it weren't for her, I wouldn't be standing here." Taking another drag, his voice dropped. "Anya's alone in this city. No family. No one. The other night, she got drunk, broke down crying, and said no one had ever been kind to her. Ever. If she sees me married... who knows what she'd do?" He shook his head slowly. "Seeing her like that... it tears me up inside. I can't just watch my savior fall apart. I owe her." The doctor frowned. "You're the heir to the Palmer Group. You've got a million ways to repay someone. Why drag your own marriage into it?" Zayne's eyes snapped up, cold as ice. He crushed the cigarette between his fingers, sparks flying. "Anya's not like that. And I won't let anyone cheapen what she feels for me with money." His jaw tightened. "When she's ready to let go, when she doesn't need me anymore, then I'll marry Aurora." Zayne glanced down at his phone. The lockscreen was a photo of them together—Aurora smiling, eyes bright. He added, "Until then, she can't know the truth. Let her think it's her health. That way, when I finally do marry her, she'll be grateful I stuck around through all this. She won't blame me for the wait." Anya Hart was the intern Zayne had personally recruited three years ago, the one who went everywhere with him—business trips, client dinners, late-night negotiations. Aurora had always assumed it was because Anya was good at her job. It had never once occurred to her that there might be more to it. Suddenly, Aurora remembered the way Anya looked at her—that faint, knowing smile, that flicker of disdain. Aurora had chalked it up to youthful arrogance. Now she understood. It was a challenge. Then there were the titles—everyone at the office called her "ma'am" or "Mrs. Palmer," but Anya always called her "Aurora." Aurora had thought it was sweet and kind. Now she realized it wasn't familiarity. It was denial. Just then, Zayne's phone rang. Through the phone's speaker, Aurora heard Anya's voice—soft, whiny. Zayne frowned slightly, mumbled a reply, and got into his car. The car sped away. He never noticed Aurora standing not far behind him. A second later, Aurora's phone buzzed. Zayne: Babe, something came up at work. Grab a cab home, okay? Be safe. Love you. Aurora stared at the words. A smile tugged at her lips, bitter and broken. She bent down and picked up the report Zayne had left on the ground. It read, "All indicators normal. Eligible for marriage registration." Then she looked at the one she had dropped—the fake one, stamped and sealed, the one Zayne had given her. Aurora let out a bitter laugh. Then tears spilled down her cheeks. 'All those years... All that waiting... All that love I have poured into him... Just one big, stupid joke.' When she got home, she pulled out her phone and dialed a number she hadn't called in a long time. "Mr. Powell? That offer you made—marrying me. Is it still on the table?"