Courtney's POV

I walked away from Clive King when he loved me the most.

Now that he was successful, he was doing everything in his power to bring me back.

People say I was his first love—the one he loved the most.

But he has had countless lovers, flaunting them in front of me just to humiliate me. He swore he’d make me suffer for the rest of my life.

What he didn't know was that I’m dying.

I had already picked out my burial plot when I got his call.

"Clive, I’m dying."

There was silence at first, then his voice soon came through, sharp and seething.

"Courtney, you belong to me. Even in death, you need my permission. You have ten minutes—come here and shoot the scene."

I was exhausted, but at least the doctor said I had three months left. Then I’d finally be free.

——

When I arrived at the TV station, Clive looked at me with open disdain before shoving me into the dressing room and leaving without another word.

"Mrs. King, I’m Vania Heath, your makeup artist. The only part left to film is the promotional shoot with Mr. King."

"Hold on, Vania, my foundation looks patchy. Can you fix it?"

The voice was sweet and innocent—a newcomer named Tamara Macgee.

When our eyes met, she arched a delicate brow with a smug expression, giving me a once-over. Her makeup was flawless.

Quickly, realization dawned on me. She was Clive’s latest fling.

Vania hesitated for a moment but eventually gave in and walked over to her.

"Vania, people say I look like Mrs. King. That’s why NeoXtreme hired me as their game ambassador. What do you think? Do I look like her? Look at her—sallow skin, bony frame. She looks half-dead. How could she compare, right? Clearly, I’m way prettier than her," Tamara scoffed, smirking.

I glanced at my reflection in the mirror. Dark circles, a pale, sickly complexion, and an oversized sweater hanging off my thin frame.

She wasn’t wrong. I did look like I was dying.

"Tamara, she’s still the boss’s wife. Watch your words—she might complain us to him," her assistant warned, but the mockery in her tone was obvious.

"What’s there to be afraid of? She’d need Clive to actually care before she could complain. Besides, he hasn’t been home in two months," Tamara confidently replied and tilted her chin, exuding the confidence of a winner.

It made me realize that Clive really did treat her differently.

Before, no matter how many women he paraded around, they were just tools to provoke me, ways to test my reaction. He never kept them around for long—one week at most.

But Tamara? She was different.

In just two months, she had gone from an unknown rookie to an up-and-coming star. Magazine covers, brand endorsements, packed schedules—all of those were brought by Clive’s influence.

"Miss Courtney, the boss got you some drinks! He said you looked pale and thought you’d want something warm," Trina Shorts, Clive's secretary, called out cheerfully as she entered the room.

Seeing that, Tamara’s face stiffened, turning a shade of irritated red. The others lowered their heads, suppressing their laughter.

I gave Trina a grateful smile. "Thank you."

It was my favorite—white hot chocolate.

Lately, chemotherapy had left a bitter taste in my mouth, and I had been craving something sweet.

But just as I was about to take a sip, a strong hand snatched it away.

"When did I say this was for you?" Clive coldly roared, then turned to Tamara. "Tamara, I didn’t know which variation you liked, so I bought all of them for you."

He then looked back at me, waiting—no, savoring—my reaction.

"Really? Thank you, Clive!" Tamara beamed, kissing him on the cheek, the exaggerated smack echoing through the room.

She then smiled, showing her barely visible dimples and making her eyes curve just like mine used to when I was younger.

Courtney's POV

"Sorry, Courtney, turns out this chocolate drink is actually mine."

Tamara walked over, holding the drink I had just lost. Her smug smile stretched across her face.

"But if you really want it, I can ask Clive to let you have a sip. You don’t mind, do you, Clive?"

The heavy scent of her perfume was suffocating, making my chest tighten.

I pressed a hand against my chest and tried to get out, but she stepped in my way.

I moved to walk around her, but she suddenly grabbed my wrist and yanked me toward her. The next second, her face twisted in shock, and she let out a dramatic gasp before falling backward.

"Courtney! How could you push her?" Clive roared, but I ignored the chaos behind me and hurried out, covering my mouth.

By the time I finished throwing up and slumped weakly against the toilet, my phone buzzed with an angry message from Trina.

[Trina: Tamara's really unbelievable. Her hand is just a little red, but she’s clinging to the boss and urging him take her to the hospital.]

Then, as if realizing I might be upset, she unsent the message.

But it didn’t matter anymore.

I had already promised myself—I wouldn’t get angry over him again.

I just needed to live out the rest of my days in peace.

Two months ago, when Clive disappeared from my life, I started getting frequent nosebleeds. Then a hospital visit confirmed the worst. The doctor told me I might not make it through the winter.

For a moment, I froze. Then I accepted it later.

I only felt one regret though—if only I could hold on until spring, I’d get to see the flowers bloom.

"Miss Russell, have you informed your family?" the doctor asked me, pulling me back to reality.

"I only have a cat, Doc. No family. Can I… just not go through the treatment?"

The doctor paused and looked at me with quiet sympathy. Then, he soon offered, "There’s a new imported drug. It’s better at managing the pain, but the side effects might cause weight gain and skin changes. It won’t be very… flattering. Do you want it?"

I shook my head lightly. "No, thanks."

I wasn’t afraid of dying. I was afraid of becoming ugly. Afraid that one day, if Clive ever thought of me, the image in his mind would be a bloated, unattractive woman.

Not that it mattered. He didn’t even need to see my face anymore. There were plenty of women who looked just like me—ones with my nose, my eyes, even my silhouette. He would always have a younger version of "me" by his side.

I forced a small laugh, trying to comfort myself. But my cheeks felt warm.

Ugh. Even my tear glands were failing me now.

Suddenly, a message popped up on my phone.

[Miss Russell, we have received your deposit for the burial plot. Please complete the remaining balance within seven days.]

[Got it.]

After replying, I checked my account, only to see it was not enough. I’d have to ask Clive for money again.

He hated me for being a gold-digger. Hated me for deceiving him.

But he had never once hesitated to give me money whenever I asked. Except this time—because of Tamara.

That night, I took the sleeping pills the doctor prescribed, finally drifting into much-needed rest. Then my phone rang.

"Courtney, get to Royal Court, Room 1088. Now."

I glanced at the time and it was just 1:00 AM.

"Are you insane? Do you even know what time it is?"

"Courtney, please come! Clive is drunk—he’s crying and calling your name!"

"...Clive, you're bleeding!"

The call ended in a burst of chaos. When I tried calling back, it wouldn’t go through.

Panic clawed at my chest. I threw on my coat, rushed downstairs, and begged the driver to run several red lights.

By the time I arrived, I was breathless, my heart pounding. I shoved open the private lounge door and there he was—completely unharmed.

Clive smirked and raised his glass in a silent toast before downing it in one go.

Cheers then erupted behind him, drowning out the sound of my heart hammering against my ribs.

"Clive, she really came! Hahaha!"

Courtney's POV

“She actually fell for it! Even when he’s drunk, he only ever calls for Tamara. She really loves giving herself too much credit.”

“She dumped you first, and you only married her to humiliate her for revenge. And now she actually thinks you love her? How dumb can she be?”

A loud ringing filled my ears. My head spun with anger and humiliation.

I lifted my hand to slap Clive. But before I could, he caught my wrist and flung me onto the couch.

"How does it feel?" He sneered. "Being played like a fool?"

I turned my face away, refusing to answer.

"I called you here tonight to apologize to Tamara."

After Clive said that, Tamara stepped forward from the shadows. He pulled her into his arms without hesitation and kissed her in front of everyone like no one else existed.

The room then erupted with cheers, whistles, and congratulations. Their voices were deafening.

A wave of nausea hit me and my vision blurred. My ears also rang so loudly that it drowned out everything else.

Grabbing my bag, I turned and rushed toward the door—only to be blocked by their towering figures. I struggled for a moment, then I lost my balance and crashed to the floor, sending pain through my ankle.

As such, my wig fell off, revealing the short, uneven stubble underneath.

The room immediately fell silent afterward. For a long moment, no one spoke.

Then, slowly, Clive started clapping as he walked toward me, his face twisted in mockery.

"Wow, Courtney. Another performance? What is it this time? Cancer?"

Tamara let out a sharp laugh, then using a pen, she picked up my fallen wig like it was something disgusting and tossed it into the trash.

"Courtney, if you’re going to fake it, at least commit. What, too scared to shave your whole head?"

"Right? Your face is even redder than mine! What a waste of talent—you should’ve been an actress!"

Laughter rippled through the crowd.

"Alright, enough," Clive cut in, his voice laced with amusement. "Courtney, just apologize to Tamara, and we’ll drop this whole thing."

I scoffed. "And why the hell should I apologize?"

His arm tightened around Tamara, pulling her closer as he looked down at me.

"Because you hurt her, you idiot!"

I let out a cold laugh. "So what if I did? She deserves it for being a third party."

Tamara flinched, her eyes widening. Tears then spilled down her face as she suddenly shouted, "Yes! Yes, I deserve it! I fell in love with someone I shouldn’t have! I deserve to be hated, to be insulted! But the real third party is the one who's not being loved! I’m just fighting for what’s mine!"

She wept like a tragic heroine, her voice strong and unwavering despite the absurdity of her words.

And Clive—he actually looked moved.

Gently, he wiped away her tears with his fingers and consoled her, saying, "Alright, alright. Don’t cry. You look like a lost kitten."

He was different now.

I lowered my gaze, too exhausted to care. I just wanted to leave. But before I could do so, Clive spoke.

"Courtney, didn’t you say earlier that you needed money? How much is it? Five hundred thousand? I’ll transfer it right now if you apologize to Tamara."

In the past, I never had to ask twice. He never questioned me, never hesitated—just gave it to me.

But now, for Tamara, he made me beg.

"Clive," I said quietly. "Do you even know what I need the money for?"

He hesitated. Then, with an indifferent smirk, he shrugged. "Does it matter?"

I wiped my face, forcing myself to stand despite the pain in my body. Without another word, I walked out.

I didn’t want his money anymore. But I did wonder if one day he found out that the money he refused to give me could have helped me suffer a little less while I was still alive but didn't do so, how would he feel then?

"Hello, I’d like to cancel my burial plot."

"Miss Russell? Have you recovered? Congratulations!"

My eyes burned.

I set my phone down and collapsed onto the couch.

And just like that, I fell asleep.