Billionaire's Broken Plaything - Chapter 1: Chapter 1

I walked away from Clive King when he loved me most.
Now that he was on top of the world, he was pulling out all the stops to drag me back into his life.
People say I was his first love—the one who got under his skin like no one else.
But he's paraded countless women in front of me, flaunting them like trophies just to twist the knife deeper. He swore he'd make me regret leaving him for the rest of my life.
What he didn't know? I wouldn't have a "rest of my life."
I'd already picked out my burial plot when his call came through.
"Clive, I'm dying."
Silence. Then his voice, razor-sharp and simmering with fury.
"Courtney, you don't get to die without my permission. You belong to me—alive or dead. You've got ten minutes. Get here and shoot the damn scene."
Exhaustion weighed me down, but at least the doctor had given me three months. Three months, and then—freedom.
By the time I reached the TV station, Clive's disdain was written all over his face. He shoved me into the dressing room without a word and walked away.
"Mrs. King, I'm Vania Heath, your makeup artist. The only thing left is the promotional shoot with Mr. King."
"Hold on, Vania—my foundation's all streaky. Can you fix it?"
The voice was saccharine-sweet, dripping with faux innocence. Tamara Macgee, the latest rising star.
Our eyes met, and she arched a perfectly sculpted brow, smirking as she looked me up and down. Her makeup was flawless—dewy skin, rosy cheeks, lips glossed to perfection.
Then it hit me. She wasn't just another fling. She was the fling.
Vania hesitated but caved, shuffling over to Tamara instead.
"Vania, people keep saying I look like Mrs. King. That's why NeoXtreme picked me as their game ambassador. What do you think?" She flicked her hair, eyes glinting with malice. "Look at her—sallow skin, all bones, like a walking corpse. How could she possibly compare? Obviously, I'm the upgrade."
I caught my reflection in the mirror. Dark circles, pallid skin, drowning in an oversized sweater.
She wasn't wrong. I did look like death warmed over.
"Tamara, she's still the boss's wife. Watch your mouth—she might tattle," her assistant chimed in, though the smirk on her face said she wasn't the least bit concerned.
"Please. Clive would have to care for her to complain. And let's be real—when was the last time he even came home?" Tamara tossed her head back, radiating the smug confidence of a woman who knew she'd won.
That's when it clicked. Clive was treating her differently.
Before, the women were just props—tools to mess with me, to see if I'd crack. None of them lasted more than a week.
But Tamara? In two months, she'd gone from nobody to somebody. Magazine covers, brand deals, a schedule packed with Clive's influence.
"Miss Courtney! The boss sent drinks! Said you looked pale and thought you might want something warm," Trina, Clive's secretary, chirped as she walked in.
Tamara's face went rigid, her cheeks flushing with irritation. The room went quiet, stifled laughter hanging in the air.
I gave Trina a small, grateful smile. "Thank you."
White hot chocolate—my favorite.
Chemotherapy had left a metallic bitterness in my mouth, and I'd been craving something sweet.
But just as I lifted the cup, a hand snatched it away.
"Who said this was for you?" Clive's voice was ice-cold. He turned to Tamara, his expression softening. "Didn't know which one you'd like, so I got them all for you."
Then he looked back at me, waiting—no, relishing—my reaction.
"Oh my God, thank you, Clive!" Tamara squealed, pressing a loud, exaggerated kiss to his cheek.
She beamed, flashing dimples that barely existed, her eyes crinkling in a way that used to be mine—back when I was young, back when he still looked at me like I was the only one in the room.