Billionaire's Broken Plaything - Chapter 8: Chapter 8

"Damn right you didn't!" Darren barked. "Did you know she begged your parents to adopt you? Of course not—you never asked. Too busy playing the victim to see she never abandoned you. One visit, Clive. One goddamn visit to the orphanage and my dad would've told you everything."
My chest ached. All those years I'd wanted to explain, but the hatred in his eyes always stole my words.
Darren stepped between us. "Where Courtney goes, I go. You lost any right to her."
Clive's lips trembled. He looked like a man watching his entire life shatter, desperately grabbing at fragments already turned to dust.
The seconds stretched into eternity before I finally heard Clive's voice—raw and trembling, heavy with emotion.
"I was wrong..." His words came out choked, barely audible. "Darren, please...let me stay with her."
Darren's gaze was unreadable, his expression icy. Then, with a sharp, mocking laugh, he spat, "You? Playing the devoted lover now? Pathetic."
Without another word, he shoved Clive aside, snatched the bag he'd packed for me, and pushed my wheelchair forward.
Once we were in the car, Darren reached over, his hand unsteady as he brushed a strand of hair from my face.
"Courtney..." His voice was rough, broken. "Tell me the truth—do you really not want to fight anymore?"
I looked at him—this strong man, eyes red-rimmed, tears spilling over—and my chest ached.
I tried to lift my hand, to wipe his tears away, but my body refused to obey. After everything, I was just...empty.
"Darren," I whispered, my voice barely there. "I'm so tired. I just want to go home."
He swiped at his face angrily and rolled down the window. The second he spotted Clive rushing toward us, he barked, "Clive, you spineless coward! Move—I'm taking her home!"
But Clive didn't back down. He slammed his palms against the glass, his desperate eyes locking onto mine.
"Courtney...home? Come back to our home, please?" His voice shattered mid-plea.
I turned away.
That penthouse—the place where we'd spent years drowning in bitterness—was never my home.
Home was somewhere else. It was the orphanage, where a younger Clive used to stand in front of me, shielding me from everything.
When I woke again, we were there.
Darren had wheeled me under the old tree in the orphanage yard, where a small, fresh mound of earth lay beneath its branches.
Clive lingered in the distance, too afraid to come closer—like he expected us to chase him off at any second.
"Dash is here," Darren murmured. "Now he's finally with his mom."
I stared at the tiny grave, and just like that, the dam broke. I cried until there was nothing left, until my eyelids grew too heavy to keep open.
Sometime later, a gentle breeze brushed my skin, and for a fleeting second, I could've sworn I saw them—two cats darting through the branches, just like they used to.
Then a blanket settled over me. The scent was unmistakable.
Clive.
"You know..." Darren's voice was rough, cutting through the quiet. "She wanted to buy a burial plot."
I didn't move, but I listened.
"Talked to the agent. She asked for one with a view of the orphanage...and a straight shot to NeoXtreme." His voice wavered. "Even in death, she wanted to keep an eye on you."
A bitter laugh escaped him.
"Clive, you have no idea how much I envy you."
The only reply was the sound of choked sobs—Clive, finally breaking down.
I slept for what felt like years, and when I woke, I was back in the hospital.
The sharp sting of antiseptic burned my nose, but I couldn't even flinch. My body had given up.
I knew. It was getting worse.
Nearby, Clive's voice cut through the silence, thick with tears.
"Courtney, wake up, okay? Darren told me everything... Was it true? Just say something, please."
A pause. Then, his voice cracked beyond repair.
"Courtney, how can you be this cruel? You left me once—now you're doing it again?" His breath hitched. "I'm not that kid anymore, the one who walked away just because you told me to."
I didn't answer. But in that moment, I missed him. Not the man he'd become—the one I'd fought, the one I'd bled for. I missed the boy he used to be. The one who studied until dawn, who scrounged up bottles for months just to buy me a box of little cakes.
He'd grinned so proudly that day, saying, "Courtney, I didn't know which one you'd like...so I got them all."
The truth? I'd never tasted cake before then. Any one would've been perfect.
But he'd said, "I hope you never settle. I want you to choose the one you love most."
That same boy used to wait for me in the rain, holding an umbrella that always leaked on his side. Every time, I stayed dry. And every time, he got an earful from the director.
"Kids like us can't afford to get sick," he'd say.