No More Waiting, She Chooses Love

Chapter 870
Fanny wanted nothing more than to hit the sack early, but the harder she tried to fall asleep, the more elusive sleep became. She
tossed and turned until the first light of dawn finally lulled her into slumber, resulting in her waking up much later than planned.
In a flurry of panic, she rushed downstairs only to find Sinclair casually seated at the dining table, enjoying his breakfast.
"Morning, Uncle Sinclair!" she greeted hastily, already making a beeline for the door.
"Your car's got a flat," Sinclair remarked, not even bothering to look up from his meticulous task of slicing into his steak.
Fanny froze at his words. Sinclair, still focused on his breakfast, added, "I called the mechanic, but it's too early for them to swing
by."
Well, that was just great. No car meant no driving to work, and she had an important appointment with Yates to review a case of
a fetus with a heart defect. They were supposed to outline the surgical procedure and select the team. Being late was not an
option.
"I'll just call a cab," Fanny decided, ever the resourceful problem solver.
"Rush hour isn't the best time to catch a cab," Sinclair replied, pushing a plate of expertly sliced steak across the table. "Why
don't you sit down, have breakfast, and I'll drive you."

Fanny glanced at the clock. She was already running behind schedule, and stopping for breakfast would only make her later.
But she couldn't skip breakfast and let Sinclair's effort go to waste, could she?
"Uncle Sinclair, I'm in a hurry. How about I borrow your car, and you can get a ride later?" she tentatively suggested.
"I'm actually heading to the hospital myself," Sinclair said, leaving Fanny with no choice but to sit down and join him.
Resigned to her fate, she decided to make the best of it. If she was going to be late anyway, she might as well enjoy a proper
meal. Before picking up her fork, she quickly texted Yates: Running 30 minutes late.
The breakfast spread was impressive: sliced steak, a couple of boiled eggs, a glass of warm milk, and a small bowl of fruit-a
nutritious, low-fat, low-sugar meal designed to keep you fit.

Since moving in with Sinclair, Fanny had noticed her meals seemed like they were crafted by a nutritionist. All credit to Sinclair,
who handled the kitchen with the precision of a seasoned chef.
She couldn't help but glance at him, noting his flawless skin-no blemishes, no
excess oil-a testament to his balanced lifestyle.
She felt a twinge
of envy. Her own
late-night shifts left her
sleep-deprived, and her meals were often takeout or whatever she could grab on the go. Compared to

lifestyle seemed downright reckless, which was precisely why her parents were always urging her to move back home.
Sinclair's meticulous habits ve log
"Aren't you supposed to be in a hurry? Eat up," Sinclair said, not lifting his gaze
but somehow aware of her momentary lapse in attention.
Fanny blushed and quickly focused on her breakfast.
Before leaving with Sinclair, she checked her car. Sure enough, the tire was flat, though it had seemed fine the day before.
Funny how things just decided to go wrong at the most inconvenient times.
The rest of Fanny's day was a whirlwind of activity, and it wasn't until after work
that she found time to discuss the surgery with Yates.
Their team for this operation included not just Fanny and Yates but also nurses and an assistant. Surprisingly, Yates hadn't
included Milly.
Though Fanny wasn't Milly's biggest fan, she respected her skills. Curious, she asked, "Why isn't Milly on the team?"

Yates fell silent, not sharing the fact that he'd recently fallen out with Milly after prioritizing Fanny over a professional obligation. It
had caused quite the rift between them.
Sensing something was off but respecting his privacy, Fanny didn't press the issue further. "I just hope you've chosen the best
assistant for the job," she said.
"I promise, they're top-notch," Yates assured her.
"Since we've got everything sorted out, I think we should run through at least three mock surgeries," Fanny suggested, setting
the bar for their preparation.
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