Chapter 1: Olivia and Nathan's Secret Meeting

The cozy café at the foot of Maple Street was a relief for anybody who tried to stay low. Outside, they still used the brickwork, and the windows were milky and frosted, promising discretion. Olivia pushed open the big wooden door; a delicate tinkle announced her entrance.

Her emerald eyes danced over the dark interior, searching for recognition. Not finding any, a small sigh of relief went on its way out of her. She took the very back corner booth with her back to the wall, the entrance to the club clearly in view.

Olivia's left hand played a nervous tune with a simple silver ring on her left hand as she sank into the worn leather. For a moment, a pang of guilt shot through her, but then, as easily, the thought was dispelled. She was here now, and there was no going back.

A middle-aged waitress with kind eyes approached. "What can I get you, hon?"

'Olivia had started. She hadn't looked at the menu, then. "Oh, um. Just a latte, please. Thanks."

As the waitress retreated, Olivia checked her watch. 3:58 PM. He would show up any minute now. Her heart raced, and the veins were flooded with anxiety and anticipation.

The bell chimed, and Olivia's breath caught. There he was.

Nathan Carter stood in the doorway, his long silhouette against the afternoon sun. With his warm chocolate eyes, he raked in everything at the café before his gaze settled on Olivia. The world seemed to dissolve around them in that instant.

He walked over to her booth with steady steps. Olivia could feel the slight tremble in his hands, his breathing increasing. He felt it too—this invisible magnetic pull toward her.

"Hello," Nathan said softly as he slid into the seat across from her.

"Hey," Olivia whispered back.

They simply stood there and stared at each other. Nathan's black locks were a little mussed, a nervous habit Olivia found sweet. Sleepless shadows under his eyes mirrored the dark circles under her own.

"I wasn't sure you'd come," Nathan finally said, breaking the silence.

Olivia's lips tugged upwards into a rueful smile. "I didn't know either. But I. I had to see you."

Nathan's hand crept across the dimly lit table, grazing her fingers. Olivia jerked away from his touch and quickly scanned the room nervously.

"Sorry," Nathan mumbled, a slight hurt in his eyes gleaming. "I forgot where we were for a moment."

"No, I'm sorry. We just... have to watch out," Olivia's heart clenched.

The waitress came back and brought Olivia the latte. Nathan ordered black coffee; his voice was unwavering.

Back at the car, when they were finally alone, Nathan leaned forward, his voice low and urgent. "Liv, I can't stop thinking about you. About us. What are we doing?"

Olivia closed her eyes, for his words were a weight on her. What were they doing? Stealing moments within the secret corners of the city; telling lies to everyone around them.

"I don't know, Nate," she whispered into his eyes. "When I'm with you, everything feels right. But it's wrong."

Nathan extended his hand again, and this time Olivia did not pull away. The hand that closed over hers this time was warm and firm. "It just doesn't feel wrong for me—loving you could not be wrong."

Olivia's heart soared, even as guilt harbored within her. "We're just hurting people, Nate. People who trust us."

"And us?" Nathan argued, his thumb tracing circles on her palm. "Don't we deserve happiness too?"

Olivia was rendered speechless and lifted their joined hands to place a gentle kiss on his knuckles. Nathan drew in a sharp breath, and his eyes simmered with shadows of emotion.

"We have to go," Olivia said reluctantly, checking her watch. They'd stayed too long.

Nathan nodded, then seemed to draw up short. "When can I see you again?"

Olivia wet her lip. "I have that charity event on Friday."

"I will," he promised, and then whispered, hesitatingly, "I wish things were different—that we could have met in another life, where loving you wouldn't hurt anyone."

Tears pricked the corners of Olivia's eyes. "Me too," she whispered.

Just standing there, yearning for each other. The urge to fall into his arms was overwhelming, but they couldn't—not here, not now.

"You go first," Nathan said, his voice thick. "I'll wait a few minutes."

Olivia nodded and picked up her purse, then turned to him for one last moment before leaving. "I love you," she breathed.

She could see in Nathan's smile how he had heard her. "I love you too, Liv. Always."

With a herculean effort, Olivia turned and paced towards getting away. Each step that came her way seemed dense with a booby trap; every feeling in the fiber of her being screamed for her to turn back. Yet she powered forward outside into the warm afternoon sun.

Her heart had been racing, and her mind was in turmoil as she walked down the street. Their lives were balanced on a knife's edge. Something had to give. When it did, she feared the fallout might destroy everything.

Yet Olivia could not regret a single moment with Nathan. Whatever lay in store, whatever the price, she knew one thing beyond doubt: loving Nathan Carter was worth it all.

Chapter 2: Flashback to Their First Meeting

Two years ago, at the opening of "Emerging Visions" at the Atrium Gallery, everyone was rancorous. It marked the first big coming-out for some of the city's most brilliant new talent, including Olivia Greene, who smartly turned out in a black evening gown and whose heart beat nastily against the fancy hem.

Olivia took a deep breath as her eyes scanned the room. Moving around were art critics, collectors, and fellow artists, while murmurs intermingled with soft jazz music. Her gaze was on her paintings: abstract but bold, pulsating under strategic lighting.

"You can do this," she whispered, squaring her shoulders. This was her moment—the one for which she'd sacrificed thousands of days. Nerves wouldn't overtake her now.

As Olivia weaved her way through, she felt a pricking sensation at the back of her neck. She turned to face a stranger across the room. Tall and well-groomed in his charcoal-gray suit, it was his brown eyes that captured her look.

They met halfway, his smile lengthening as he held out his hand. "Nathan Carter," he said, his voice low and smooth.

"Olivia Greene," she said, praying he didn't feel the tremor in her hand. "Enjoying the exhibition?"

Nathan's eyes gleamed with humor. "I was, but now I am engrossed in something else altogether."

Olivia felt her face flush, but she didn't back down from his piercing gaze. "Smooth," she laughed. "Does that line usually work for you, Mr. Carter?"

"Nathan, please," he chuckled. "And for your information, Ms. Greene, I'm usually far more articulate. Your art seems to have left me quite tongue-tied."

The more they joked, the more at ease Olivia had not expected to feel crept on her with Nathan. A tiny voice at the back of her mind, however, told her to beware. She'd been hurt once; letting another person in was risky business.

Nathan gestured toward one of her larger canvases, a swirling vortex of deep blues and vibrant purples, shot through with streaks of gold. "That one's mesmerizing. Like looking into the heart of a storm and finding unexpected beauty."

Her eyes widened in surprise at how intuitive he was. "That's. intuitive," she said softly. "I painted this during a turbulent period of my life. It, in a way, showed me how to sort out the chaos."

Nathan nodded pensively. "Art does manage to save our truths, doesn't it? Even the ones we try so hard—consciously—to hide from ourselves."

Again, their eyes met, and Olivia felt that jolt of recognition. Here was a person who understood her, who saw beyond the façade to the heart of all things. It was both exhilarating and terrifying.

Soon, drinks were flowing, and the conversation came easy—the night progressed with abstract expressionism and favorite hole-in-the-wall restaurants. Olivia was drawn to Nathan's intelligence and appeal while having this crawling apprehension that she could not shake off.

"You know," Nathan whispered, bending in a little. "I have something to confess. I looked you up this evening and read a bit of background information. Your work caught my eye in the exhibition catalog, and well, I wanted to learn something about that guy who shot those amazing images."

Olivia's heart skipped a beat. "So, what did you find out from the research?" She tried to sound casual as her stomach did little flips with butteries inside.

Nathan's eyes softened; now they were sharp. "You're even more captivating in person than I've imagined."

The air was electrically charged between them. Olivia knew that a step back, putting space between them, was what she must do. But she inched forward, as if drawn by some invisible force instead.

The phone rang, breaking the spell. Nathan groaned an apology as he pulled it out. "I'm so sorry, but I really need to take this. Business never sleeps."

Olivia nodded slightly, but the disappointment was only thinly veiled. "I understand, of course."

Nathan paused, then drew a business card from his pocket. "I'd like to continue this conversation, Olivia. Maybe over coffee sometime?"

Olivia took the card from him. Their fingers touched. "I should like that," she said softly.

As Nathan walked away to take his call, Olivia's mind began to race. The chemistry between them was undeniable, but so was the fear gnawing at her insides. That last relationship of hers had gone sour and was a painful reminder of why she should fear opening her heart again. For all that mattered, she had really worked hard as an artist and could barely afford to let someone in who would unbiasedly sidetrack her from her pursuits.

She stepped back, and Nathan wrestled with his own demons. He was exhilarated and scared by the ease he felt with Olivia. All his previous relationships went down in flames due to his ambition and commitment. As he spoke mechanically into his phone, he wondered if it was worth the chance once more of sacrificing his heart.

Olivia's fingers traced the raised letters on Nathan's card. She should sling it in the bin, focus on her career, and avoid the complications a relationship could bring. It was the sensible thing to do.

Instead, she slipped the card into her purse, and he knew she would call. Whatever this was between them—or might become—seemed too much to just walk away from.

Olivia turned back to the gallery, pasting on her smile for an approaching art critic, and she knew in that moment that things were never going to go back to the way they were. Excitement for the success of her exhibition sloshed with thoughts of Nathan in her chest to create a cocktail of thrumming excitement and nervousness.

That night, as she lay in bed, Olivia had mixed emotions. The image of Nathan's smile caused her heart to gallop, yet at the same time, there were darkening doubts. Was she ready for this? Could she balance a burgeoning career and a new relationship? What if Nathan turned out to be just like all the other men who couldn't understand her dedication to her art?

Across the city, Nathan lay awake, staring up at his ceiling. Olivia's fervor and artistry wakened something in him that he thought had been buried a long time ago. But each time he closed his eyes, he felt the personal demons that still hadn't been conquered: the workaholic in him, the fear of openness, and the ghosts from those past failed relationships that still followed him everywhere.

As the sun broke through the horizon, so did Olivia and Nathan ease into an inconvenient restless sleep, literally at a crossroads in one's life. The question that came across both of their minds was, could they be braver to follow through on this bond, concentrating on the disturbance it was already causing inside them?

Chapter 3: Nathan's Commitment Issues and Inner Conflict

The amber liquid swirled in Nathan Carter's glass, catching the late afternoon sun that filtered through his penthouse windows. Standing at his floor-to-ceiling glass, he gazed out at the city skyline but had a thousand miles on his mind—anywhere but the concrete sprawl before him.

Nathan took a slug of scotch, relishing the burn as it went down his throat. It had been his father's favorite drink, and that thought brought a bitter smile to his lips. At 38, he still couldn't get away from his influence.

"You're just like your old man, Nate," his mom's voice bounced around in his head from years ago, a memory from his tumultuous teenage years. "Always with one foot out the door."

Nathan closed his eyes. Guilt heaved its familiar weight onto his shoulders. He thought about his wife, no doubt sitting home now and plotting another couple's counseling session, and how he'd end. up missing her. He thought of his daughters, Emma and Lily, with their bright, glowing eyes and gap-toothed smiles that never failed to melt his heart, yet caused the fear of failing them even further.

Then, out of nowhere, Olivia came into his mind. Olivia, with her infectious laughter, spirit of an artist, and looking at the world in colors he never managed to think of, set alight a pulse in him that nodded like it had not in years.

"Damn it," Nathan muttered, emptying his glass as he slammed it onto the counter a little harder than was necessary. He raked a hand through his hair, messing up carefully placed locks.

A picture, framed on his desk, caught his eye: much younger Nathan, maybe seven or eight years old, sitting on a motorcycle with a tall handsome guy—his dad, James Carter—the business legend who had built an empire from naught—and the man who was never there.

Nathan picked up the photo again. His thumb outlined their figures. How often had he stood at the window, wishing his dad's car would turn into the driveway? How often had a birthday, a school play, gone by with an empty seat in the audience?

"I swore I'd be different," Nathan said to the empty room, his voice strung taut. "I swore I'd never put work before family, never make them feel second best."

But here he was, wasn't he? Working late nights, missing dinners, his brain always half on the next big deal. And now, this thing with Olivia.

Nathan put down the picture, his gaze returning to the window. He suddenly remembered the day he met Sarah, just out of college and full of ambition. She was enigmatic, driven, and perfect by any standard on paper. They'd built a life together—an announcing life—so why did it feel like he was suffocating?

A sharp, biting memory churned to the surface. He was 12 and sitting on the front porch with a packed duffel bag at his feet. His father's car had just pulled away, another broken promise leaving tire tracks in the drive.

"He loves you, Nathan," she had said, her voice strained with holding back the tears. "He just. doesn't know how to show it. How to be here."

She recalled little Nathan, eyes too young to have burned with anything but unshed tears, wetly lighting on her face. "I'll never love anyone, then," he said. "If that's what it does to you, I don't want it."

The Nathan of today laughed humorlessly at that. If it were only that easy, he thought. If only he could shut off his heart as easily as he'd walled off his life.

But Olivia. Olivia was in a class all her own. She breached the walls he'd worked so hard to erect around himself. With her, he felt seen in a way he never had before. She pushed him, inspired him, and made him want to be better. And that scared him more than anything.

"What the hell am I doing?" Nathan muttered, pacing the length of his office. He was playing with fire, jeopardizing all he had built: his marriage, family, reputation—all on what? A few stolen moments of happiness?

Yet, as much as he thought that, he knew that it was more—much more. What he felt for Olivia wasn't some midlife crisis or nascent infatuation. It was real, deep, and utterly terrifying in its intensity.

The buzzing of his phone made Nathan jump; he must have been deep in thought. His heart quickened as he saw the name on the screen: Olivia.

He looked at the phone for so long a moment that on his face emotional turmoil wriggled with incredible reservation. He should ignore it. He should delete her number and sever all ties, regretless than ever, to his marriage and the life he chose.

Instead, his thumb rested on the answer button, trembling a bit.

Then another came to light. His father, one of his rare visitors, pulled Nathan aside after some particularly heated arguments with his mother.

"Listen, son," James had said, his voice husky with emotion. "I know I haven't been the best father. But I want you to know something: life is way too short to have regrets. When you find something—or someone—that makes you feel alive, you'll know it by holding on with both hands. You hear me? Don't let fear hold you back. That's my biggest mistake, and I don't want you to repeat it."

Nathan took a deep breath and let the words of his father echo in his mind. Was this what Dad meant? Was Olivia his shot at breaking the chain and living authentically no matter what?

Or was he rationalizing, using his father's advice as an excuse to be selfish?

The phone didn't stop buzzing insistently in his hand. Nathan closed his eyes, took a deep breath once more, and then reached his decision.

"Hello?" he replied, his voice hoarse with emotion.

"Nathan?" Olivia's voice came through, warm and slightly concerned. "You okay? You sound."

"I'm fine," Nathan said hastily, then glanced at his tone. "Actually, I'm glad you called. I was just thinking about you."

She paused, and Nathan could almost see her smile surfacing on her face. "Oh? All good thoughts, I hope."

Nathan laughed, and some of the tension oozed from his body. "Always," he murmured.

As they slid easily into conversation, Nathan felt the familiar mix of exhilaration and guilt wash over him. He could sense the precipice—just one step from tumbling into something that would change his life forever.

But then he heard Olivia's laugh. He liked the sound of it, and he liked how warm it made him to hear it. Nathan realized something. Maybe he'd already fallen. Maybe from the moment he saw her in that gallery.

Could he let himself hit the ground, really let himself hit it, or would he pull back and retreat to safety, security, and the life he knew?

Nathan Carter was standing by the window of his penthouse office while Olivia's voice washed all around him and left him caught between two worlds and two futures. For once in his life, and for the first time, he had no idea in which direction he would be going.

Chapter 4: Olivia's Loneliness and the Doctor's Appointment

The first dawn light sneaked between the curtain chinks and striped Olivia's face. She moved to extend her hand to the other side of the bed, only to meet a cold, empty space. Reality crashed over her with wave force; she squeezed her eyes tight shut, willing herself back into the dream where Nathan's arms were around her.

The dream then faded, and Olivia was left all alone.

She sat up slowly, running a hand through her tousled hair. The house was silent except for the hum of early morning traffic. Olivia swung her legs to the side and then stood to her feet. There was work that needed catching up on—commissions that were due. Self-pity was a luxury she couldn't afford.

Olivia entered her studio, bathed in soft morning light, to try to lose herself in her art. Facing a large canvas with a brush in her hand, she was willing for the colors to flow from her mind and out of the painting. But every stroke felt forced; the colors were just a little off.

"Come on, Liv," she muttered, tightening up with growing frustration. "Focus."

But her thoughts kept drifting back to Nathan. The sound of his laugh, the way his eyes wrinkled at the corners when he smiled, the touch of his hand on the small of her back. A pang of guilt wriggled its way through her middle, but it couldn't dispel the heat that flushed her at the thought alone.

A blob of red paint dribbled onto the floor, jerking Olivia out of her reverie. "Damn it," she hissed, reaching for a rag to mop up the mess. As she scrubbed at the stain, tears of frustration prickled at her eyes.

What was she doing? She was risking everything for stolen moments that had started to leave her feeling more alone than ever. But even as the thought formed, Olivia knew it wasn't true. What she shared with Nathan wasn't just some tawdry affair. It was real—deep—and it made her feel alive in a way she hadn't in years.

Her reverie was interrupted by the chirping of her phone. A reminder flashed across the screen: "Dr. Appointment, 2 PM."

Olivia's gut squeezed. She'd almost forgotten about the check-up. Probably nothing—a routine visit. However, something at the back of her mind, a nagging voice, told her otherwise.

The minutes crept by, and each seemed very long, like stretched taffy, while Olivia waited. She had tried painting, reading—anything—to get her mind off of things, but they just kept being pulled back to the same obsessive thoughts.

It was time to leave. The ride to the doctor's was rather an indiscriminate blur of scenery; she then found herself sitting on the examination table, the paper crinkling under her as she shifted nervously.

Dr. Patel entered, glowing with a friendly smile. "Olivia, nice to see you. How have you been feeling?"

Olivia smiled back, rather forced. "Fine, mostly. Just a little tired lately."

She nodded, scribbling something on her chart. "Any other symptoms? Headaches, dizziness, difficulty with weight gain?"

Olivia hesitated. Now that she thought about it, she had been feeling off lately. More than just the stress of her secret relationship. "I've had some headaches," she admitted. "And I guess I have lost a little weight. But that's probably just stress, right?"

Dr. Patel's face was impassive as she went on examining me. "It could be," she said indifferently. "But I'd like to run some tests, just to be sure."

Olivia's heart picked up. "Tests? What kind of tests?"

"Just some routine bloodwork, and I'd like to schedule you for an MRI," Dr. Patel said, her voice scrupulously neutral. "It's probably nothing to worry about, but it's better to be thorough."

All of a sudden, the rest of the appointment blurred. Olivia nodded mechanically to hear what he said about the tests, her mind whirling with possibilities, each one scaring her more than the last one.

As Olivia left the office, it was as if she felt the floor giving way beneath her feet. She fumbled at her phone, hovering over Nathan's number. There was nothing she wanted more than to hear his voice and feel his presence for comfort.

Yet she couldn't call him. Not now, not like this. Whatever was happening, she had to face it on her own.

Olivia drove home in a daze, the city passing by her window a complete blur of color and shape. She found herself pulling into the driveway with hardly any memory of how she had actually gotten there.

The house inside seemed huge and hollow. Olivia wandered from room to room as if a ghost were in her own home until she finally landed in her studio, staring at the unfinished painting from that morning.

The colors on the canvas seemed more vibrant now, and the strokes were more pressing. The whirls of paint appeared to open up Olivia's life—the passion and the guilt, love and fear—all in a convoluted dance.

Taking a brush, she began to paint without thinking about it. She let her hand guide itself across the surface, building layers and textures to flesh out the canvas. As Olivia labored, calm washed over her. Whatever went down next, she was going to be ready to roll.

Hours slid by, and the sun outside began to wane into dusk. Olivia stepped further back from her work and saw that it portrayed something raw and very emotional—something no picture previously painted had ever depicted for her. It held beauty, but also terror.

Like love, she thought.

Her phone buzzed, making her jump. It was a text from Nathan: "Thinking of you. Dinner tomorrow?"

Olivia stared at the message, her heart stinging with desire and fear. She wanted to say yes, to lose herself in Nathan's arms, and to forget all about doctor's appointments, tests, and the uncertain future at its biggest.

But she couldn't. Not yet. Not until she knew precisely what she was up against.

Olivia's fingers trembled as she typed out her reply: "I can't tomorrow. Raincheck? "

She hit send before she could change her mind. Then she sank to the floor, back against the wall, and let the first tears fall. Olivia wrapped her arms around herself, wishing they were Nathan's.

In the fading light of her studio, amidst all its colorful artistry, sat Olivia Greene—alone with thoughts caught between the life she was leading and the life she desired, wondering if someday she would be able to find a resolution for each.

Chapter 5: Nathan Decides to End the Relationship

The ball sailed through the air, its trajectory an exact parabola against the clear blue sky, before landing squarely on the placing green. Nathan Carter allowed himself a small smile of satisfaction, but it didn't reach his eyes.

"Nice shot," his best friend, Alex, commented as they walked towards their golf carts. "Too bad your face looks like you're at a funeral instead of playing your best game in months."

That's obvious," Nathan said with a sigh and a hand running through his hair.

Alex clapped him on the shoulder. "Now, Nate, I've known since college that you're about as subtle as a freight train when something's eating at you. Spill."

They reached their carts, but instead of getting in, Nathan leaned his body against his, his eyes fixed on the distant horizon. He hesitated for a split second, considering shrugging it off in some witty or glibly vague manner. But the thoughts were too heavy, and if he couldn't talk to his best friend, who could he talk to?

"I've met someone," Nathan finally said in a barely audible voice.

Alex's eyebrows probably shot way up at that. "Oh? And this someone isn't Sarah, I'm guessing?"

Nathan shook his head, shame coloring his cheeks. "Her name's Olivia. She's. God, Alex, she's amazing. See, intelligent, with talent. Passionate. And with her, I just feel alive. well, more alive than the last few years, I mean."

"But?" Alex prodded him impishly.

"But I'm married," Nathan said, the words bitter in his mouth. "I have two beautiful daughters. A life I've spent years building. I'm scared to death to have it all flushed down the shitter. what? A feeling?"

Alex went quiet to digest it for a moment before he could ask what was truly on his mind. "Do you love her? Olivia?"

Nathan closed his eyes, and immediately Olivia's face was there. Her bright smile, her sort of eyes whenever she talked about her art, the feel of her in his arms. "Yes," he admitted, the word carrying the weight of inevitability. "God help me, I do."

"And Sarah?" Alex asked, his voice scrupulously neutral.

Nathan's chest was constricted. "I care for her. She's been the mother of my children and my partner for over a decade. But."

"But it's not the same," Alex finished for him.

Nathan felt himself blush suddenly at the flood of gratitude he had for his friend's understanding. "What the hell am I supposed to do, Alex? I feel like I'm being torn in two."

He fell silent for quite a while, mulling things over. The furrows on his brows were evident now. He finally spoke, his voice softened but full of determination: "Nate, I can't tell you what to do. But I can tell you this: The path of least resistance isn't always the right one. Sometimes, the hardest choice is what we must do."

Nathan looked at his friend with a mix of fear and hope in his eyes. "Would you say I should leave Sarah? Upend my whole life for a woman I've known for less than a year."

"I think," said Alex carefully, "that you need to be honest with yourself about what you really want. And then you need to be brave enough to act on it, whatever that means."

Nathan could feel the dizziness that swept over him with the numerous possibilities. A life with Olivia—full of thoughts, many passionate and adventure-filled. Then came the vision of the faces of his daughters and the pain and confusion they would have when he left. He thought of Sarah, standing with him through thick and thin.

"I can't do it," he finally said, his voice breaking. "I can't destroy my family. I have to break it off with Olivia."

Alex looked at him for a second-long moment, then nodded. "If that is the right thing to do, then yeah, I would be all for it. However, Nate, are you quite sure? Through my lens, it happens to look like you'll end up making the biggest mistake in your life."

Nathan squared his shoulders, trying to project a confidence he didn't feel. "It's the right thing to do. For everyone."

For the rest of the game, everything was a blur. Nathan's shots sprayed all over; his mind was a million miles away from the green. By the time they were finished, he had made up his mind. He would finish things with Olivia cleanly and decisively. It was the only way.

Back home, big Nathan plotted to make this one final evening spent with Olivia memorable. He was able to quickly make reservations at her favorite restaurant and order her favorite flowers. If this was to be their last night together, he wanted it to be perfect.

The sun had begun to set, casting long shadows into his study, where Nathan sat at his desk, staring at his phone. Olivia's number glowed on the tab on the screen, and his finger hovered over the call button.

He thought of Olivia's laugh or the way her eyes lit up with excitement over something. He imagined the way she would see the world: full of color and possibility. And for a moment, he faltered in his resolve.

He thought instead of his daughters about the life that he had given them. He could not throw it away. He could not just be like his father, always eager for the big thing next, without being content with what he had.

Nathan drew in a deep breath, deep into his very being, and pressed the call button on his phone. Rang.ring.ring. On every ring, there seemed to be an endless lapse of time as his heart pounded within his rib cage.

"Hello?" asked Olivia's voice, warm and a little bit breathless. "Nathan?"

Nathan closed his eyes, savoring the intoxicating sound of her voice. "Hey, Olivia," he said, scrunching his nose, still trying to keep his voice light. I was thinking—are you free tonight? I'd like to take you to dinner."

There was a pause, and Nathan could almost see the smile spreading across Olivia's face. "Dinner sounds lovely," she said. "What's the occasion?"

Nathan's throat tightened. How was he going to tell her that this was their last goodbye? That by the night's end, he was going to walk away from the best thing that had ever happened to him?

"No reason," he lied, the strain audible in his voice. "I just. want to see you."

"Nathan, is everything okay?" Olivia asked, concern evident in her tone. "You sound strange."

"All right," Nathan quickly assured. "I'll pick you up at seven, okay?"

"Sure," Olivia responded very slowly. "I'll see you then."

Nathan could feel a wave of despair sweep through him as he put the phone down. He was doing the right thing, right? His family and his responsibilities came first.

But standing to prepare himself for the evening, Nathan had the nagging feeling he was about to make the biggest mistake of his life—that he was choosing safety over love and duty over passion.

Nathan clumped away from the desk and out of his study. Preparing for the last time with Olivia. The last night he would ever really feel alive. Adjusting his tie in the mirror, Nathan tried to steel himself with the kind of resolve he would need to walk away from the woman he loved.

But that little voice of reason kept whispering that maybe it wasn't going to be that easy. Sometimes the heart wanted what it wanted, no matter how much the head tried to set it straight. And Nathan's heart, despite his very best efforts, belonged irrevocably to Olivia.