Billionaire's Broken Plaything - Chapter 5: Chapter 5
You are reading Billionaire's Broken Plaything, Chapter 5: Chapter 5. Read more chapters of Billionaire's Broken Plaything.
Before I knew it, I drifted into a dream—like I'd been thrown back in time, right to the moment I first met Clive.
I was just a kid then, left on the orphanage steps, crying my eyes out. Hungry. Freezing. Then he showed up. Took my hand, split his food with me, and led me inside.
I was scared—terrified of being left alone again—so every night, I'd cling to his fingers just to fall asleep. When the other kids picked on me, he was the one who stepped in, taking punch after punch until his face was a mess of bruises.
Then came the stormy afternoon I found her—a tiny, shivering kitten, half-drowned in the rain. I begged the director to let me keep her.
Clive puffed out his chest like some kind of hero and swore, "I'll collect bottles and feed her myself!"
The director studied me for a long moment before finally nodding.
Later, I realized why. It wasn't kindness—it was fear. Fear that once Clive was gone, the loneliness would swallow me whole.
Trapped in a Marriage Fueled by Revenge
He'd warned me, "Courtney, Clive's turned down adoption after adoption—all for you. He can't keep doing this. It's ruining his future."
That's when it hit me. Adoption meant parents. A real home. No more hunger, no more fists. Just warmth. Safety.
I remember the day he left. He was crying, gripping my hand, promising he'd take me with him.
But when I saw his new parents exchange that hesitant look—I made my choice.
I shoved him away and screamed, "I hate you, Clive! Why won't you leave me alone? You're so annoying!"
Then I turned to them, pleading, "Uncle, Auntie—please. Just take him. Now."
His face shattered. Then he bolted.
The second the door closed, I collapsed, sobbing.
I knew then—he was really gone. From that day on, the only one who listened to me was Daisy, my scrawny little cat.
God, how I wished she had a magic pouch like Doraemon's—one that could whip out a door and take me straight to Clive.
But now he was back. And nothing was the same.
I don't know how long I was out, but my body felt like lead.
A voice cut through the fog—raw, desperate, clawing at my ears. "Courtney, wake up! Don't you dare do this to me!"
Clive. His voice was wrecked. His grip on my hand was crushing.
Then another voice—cool, clinical.
"Why the sudden decline? I told her—no stress, no late nights, or her condition would accelerate."
His hand jerked away. "Doc, just give her something! Fix her!"
A sigh. "There's a treatment. It won't cure her, but it'll buy time. She refused. Said she couldn't afford it."
Silence. Then—
"She's not dying." His voice was steel. "You hear me? Keep her alive. If you can't, get out and find someone who can. Call every specialist on the planet."
I was just a kid then, left on the orphanage steps, crying my eyes out. Hungry. Freezing. Then he showed up. Took my hand, split his food with me, and led me inside.
I was scared—terrified of being left alone again—so every night, I'd cling to his fingers just to fall asleep. When the other kids picked on me, he was the one who stepped in, taking punch after punch until his face was a mess of bruises.
Then came the stormy afternoon I found her—a tiny, shivering kitten, half-drowned in the rain. I begged the director to let me keep her.
Clive puffed out his chest like some kind of hero and swore, "I'll collect bottles and feed her myself!"
The director studied me for a long moment before finally nodding.
Later, I realized why. It wasn't kindness—it was fear. Fear that once Clive was gone, the loneliness would swallow me whole.
Trapped in a Marriage Fueled by Revenge
He'd warned me, "Courtney, Clive's turned down adoption after adoption—all for you. He can't keep doing this. It's ruining his future."
That's when it hit me. Adoption meant parents. A real home. No more hunger, no more fists. Just warmth. Safety.
I remember the day he left. He was crying, gripping my hand, promising he'd take me with him.
But when I saw his new parents exchange that hesitant look—I made my choice.
I shoved him away and screamed, "I hate you, Clive! Why won't you leave me alone? You're so annoying!"
Then I turned to them, pleading, "Uncle, Auntie—please. Just take him. Now."
His face shattered. Then he bolted.
The second the door closed, I collapsed, sobbing.
I knew then—he was really gone. From that day on, the only one who listened to me was Daisy, my scrawny little cat.
God, how I wished she had a magic pouch like Doraemon's—one that could whip out a door and take me straight to Clive.
But now he was back. And nothing was the same.
I don't know how long I was out, but my body felt like lead.
A voice cut through the fog—raw, desperate, clawing at my ears. "Courtney, wake up! Don't you dare do this to me!"
Clive. His voice was wrecked. His grip on my hand was crushing.
Then another voice—cool, clinical.
"Why the sudden decline? I told her—no stress, no late nights, or her condition would accelerate."
His hand jerked away. "Doc, just give her something! Fix her!"
A sigh. "There's a treatment. It won't cure her, but it'll buy time. She refused. Said she couldn't afford it."
Silence. Then—
"She's not dying." His voice was steel. "You hear me? Keep her alive. If you can't, get out and find someone who can. Call every specialist on the planet."
End of Billionaire's Broken Plaything Chapter 5. Continue reading Chapter 6 or return to Billionaire's Broken Plaything book page.