Billionaire's Broken Plaything - Chapter 3: Chapter 3

"She actually bought it! Even when he's wasted, the only name on his lips is Tamara. Talk about delusional."
"Face it—she dumped you first, and you only married her to twist the knife. And now she actually believes you love her? God, how pathetic can one person be?"
A deafening ring flooded my ears. My vision swam with rage and shame.
I swung my hand to strike Clive, but he caught my wrist mid-air and shoved me onto the couch with a rough jerk.
"How's it feel?" he taunted, lips curling into a smirk. "Being strung along like some desperate fool?"
I turned my face away, jaw clenched.
"I called you here for one reason," he continued. "Apologize to Tamara."
As if on cue, Tamara emerged from the shadows. Clive yanked her against him without hesitation and kissed her—deep, possessive, like the rest of us were nothing but ghosts.
The room exploded. Cheers, whistles, crude congratulations—the noise was suffocating.
My stomach lurched. The edges of my vision blurred, and the ringing in my ears drowned out everything else.
Get out. Now.
I snatched my bag and bolted for the door—only to slam into a wall of bodies. I thrashed, lost my footing, and hit the floor hard. Pain shot through my ankle as my wig tumbled off, exposing the jagged, uneven buzz cut beneath.
Silence.
Then, slow, mocking applause. Clive strolled toward me, his grin dripping with disdain.
"Bravo, Courtney. What's the act this time? Cancer?"
Tamara's laugh cut like glass. She hooked my wig with a pen—like it was roadkill—and flicked it into the trash.
"If you're gonna lie, at least go all in. Too scared to shave it all off?"
"Seriously, your face is redder than mine!" someone jeered. "You missed your calling—should've been an actress!"
Clive held up a hand, still grinning. "Enough. Courtney, apologize to Tamara, and we'll pretend this never happened."
I barked out a laugh. "Why the hell would I?"
His arm tightened around Tamara, pulling her flush against him as he glared down at me.
"Because you hurt her, you idiot!"
"Good," I spat. "She earned it, playing homewrecker."
Tamara's breath hitched. Then—like flipping a switch—tears spilled over. "You're right! I do deserve it!" she wailed, voice trembling with dramatic fervor. "I fell for someone I shouldn't have! Hate me, curse me—but the real outsider is the one clinging to a love that's dead! I'm fighting for what's mine!"
She sobbed like some tragic heroine, and Clive—God help me—looked moved.
"Shh, kitten," he murmured, thumbing away her tears. "Don't cry."
Kitten.
I dropped my gaze, too drained to react. I just wanted to vanish. But Clive wasn't done.
"Courtney," he said lightly, "didn't you say you needed money? Half a mil, right? Transfer's ready—just say you're sorry."
A knife to the gut would've hurt less. Once, he'd handed me blank checks without a second thought. Now? He made me beg.
"Do you even know what it's for?" I whispered.
He paused. Shrugged. "Does it matter?"
I wiped my face, forced myself upright despite the agony screaming through me, and walked out.
I didn't want his damn money. But I did wonder—when he finally learned the truth, when he realized those funds could've eased my suffering while I was still breathing…
Would it haunt him?
"Hello, I'd like to cancel my burial plot."
"Miss Russell? You're—you're cured? That's incredible!"
My eyes burned.
I dropped the phone and collapsed onto the couch.
Then, blessedly, everything went black.