Billionaire's Broken Plaything - Chapter 6: Chapter 6

Clive lost it. The hospital room practically shook with his rage—furious at the doctors for keeping him in the dark, furious at me for not saying a word.
But I hadn't hidden anything. My medical records had been right there on the desk the whole time. If he'd ever bothered to come home, he would've seen them.
Rumor had it he'd pulled every string imaginable—assembling elite medical teams, flying in specialists, throwing money at experimental treatments. By day, he huddled with doctors, and by night, he buried himself in research, desperate to buy me more time.
But money couldn't fix everything. Some battles were already lost.
Not that Clive accepted that. He clung to hope like a lifeline.
I was half-asleep in a patch of sunlight when the commotion startled me awake.
"Excuse me—Mrs. King? Courtney Russell from NeoXtreme?"
Clive had left at dawn, muttering something about a specialist in the next city over. Blinking against the glare, I realized the room was swarming with reporters, cameras flashing like strobe lights. The chaos even knocked over a nurse trying to reach me.
"Courtney, did you marry Clive for his money? Any regrets now?"
Then, a familiar voice cut through the noise—one of Tamara's sycophants. "Miss Russell, insider reports say Clive is divorcing you for Tamara. Since the one who's unloved is the real mistress, care to admit you were the third wheel in your own marriage?"
I locked eyes with her and smirked. "Which outlet do you work for? Are you implying Tamara's the homewrecker here?"
The reporter faltered, panic flickering across her face. Before she could recover, a smooth, saccharine voice rang out.
"Everyone, please." Tamara glided forward in a fire-engine-red dress, oozing fake concern. "Mrs. King deserves respect. These rumors are completely unfounded."
A journalist pounced. "Miss Mcgee, is it true Clive's always been in love with you?"
"I'm only here to visit Courtney," she said, laying it on thick. "She's sick. Let's not stress her with baseless gossip."
Then, from the sidelines, Darren White—cool as ever—pulled out his phone, flicked on a livestream, and aimed it straight at Tamara.
"Absolutely," he drawled, sarcasm dripping. "Wouldn't want to interrupt NeoXtreme's shining star, Tamara Mcgee, as she comforts the wife of the man she's trying to steal."
Tamara's mask slipped. "What are you implying? I'm the face of NeoXtreme!"
Ah. So this was a brand ambush, not a sympathy visit.
Darren grinned and tilted the camera closer. "Get a good look, folks. The one and only Tamara Mcgee—homewrecker extraordinaire!"
The scene was delicious.
Then, as the lens swung to me, I let out a shaky breath. Tears welled on cue.
"Clive and I… we grew up together. We loved each other…" My voice cracked as I clutched my chest. "I never thought—"
A dramatic cough cut me off.
The livestream erupted.
[Disgusting. She's bullying a sick woman because she's younger?]
[Always plays victims onscreen, but irl she's a snake.]
[Unfollowed. Can't believe I ever stan'd this homewrecker.]
[Not even a real actress. Just a reality-TV reject.]
Tamara's face twisted—pure, unfiltered rage. "Courtney! You planned this! You asked to see me!"
Same old script, Tamara. No creativity.
But this time? I had backup.
Darren shot me a barely-there nod before turning back to her, eyes blazing.