I Hate You, Mr Billionaire.

Life has a way of throwing curveballs when you least expect it. One minute, I’m wrapping Mrs. Collins’ sprained ankle begging her to stay still while she rants about how she's fine and how she had some bake orders to attend too. Forgetting the fact that her ankle is the darkest shade of purple I have ever seen.

She had to be forced here, to my clinic by the mailman, because apparently calling for help when things are overwhelming is beneath her. I couldn't blame her but this was a serious matter.

I was used to the everyday nonsense, a routine I suppose—cranky patients, broken chairs, complaints about bills, and the occasional old man convinced I was robbing him blind.

And then next, the universe throws a tantrum right in my face. Because what happened next wasn’t something you could patch up with a band-aid and a tired smile.

“Okay, Mrs. Collins, just try not to put any weight on it for a while. It should heal up fine,”

I said to her, forcing professionalism into my voice.

But I was barely looking at her. My eyes kept drifting to the pile of unpaid bills collecting dust on my desk and calculating how I was going to fix the damn leak coming from the ceiling in one of my sick rooms.

The room wasn’t much to look at—cracked walls, leaking faucets, the kind of place you’d expect to find a track record on the number of dead people found here. But somehow, I was still here, just barely keeping it together. The clinic had been circling the drain for months, and I had to borrow from people who didn’t exactly have halos over their heads just to keep the lights on.

Just then the door slammed against the wall so hard I winced. A cold gust rushed in, making the hairs on the back of my neck stand up. But it wasn’t the wind.

It was them.

“Tony,”

I muttered.

No matter how badly I wanted to forget his name, I couldn’t. Loan sharks don’t let you forget. That was kind of their thing.

Tony strutted in like he’d just stepped out of a bad gangster flick. Leather jacket, cigarette barely hanging from his lips, slicked-back hair trying to hide a receding hairline that had given up the fight years ago. Behind him came Joey, arms crossed, eyes scanning the room like he was casing it. Then a few more of Tony’s goons followed, fanning out and blocking the exit.

I stood still, heart pounding, but I kept my voice steady.

“Well, well. Couldn’t stay away, huh?”

I tugged my lab coat tighter, stepped forward, and faced them—all of them.

“So, who’s bleeding? Anyone need stitches or just a good old-fashioned ass-whooping?”

Tony smirked like he was enjoying every second of this.

“Look at you, Scarlett. Still got that smart mouth. Must be real cozy cracking jokes when your back’s against the wall.”

I shrugged.

“If I had a dollar for every time you showed up like a bad rash, I could’ve paid you off months ago.”

Mrs. Collins blinked at the group, completely frozen in her chair.

“Who... who are these men?”

she asked, clutching the armrest like it was the last lifeboat on the Titanic.

“Loan reapers,”

I said, explaining.

“They’re here for my money and my soul.”

I added with a dry smile,

“But don’t worry, Mrs. Collins. They only destroy everything you care about—not who you are.”

Tony chuckled, the sound low and dangerous.

“Cute. But I’m not here for jokes. You’re behind on payments Scarlett, and we’re fresh out of it.”

He glanced around at the peeling walls, scuffed tiles, and the barely-functioning equipment like he was surveying a garbage dump.

“With a setup like this, you couldn’t pay us back with pocket lint.”

I put my hands on my hips.

“I’m sure your mama’s proud, Tony. Really. Terrorizing broke women just trying to make ends meet. Hallmark stuff.”

“Cut the crap,”

he snapped.

“You owe us and it's time’s up.”

One of his goons—a guy who looked like he hadn’t seen daylight in a decade—grabbed a box of medical supplies and hurled it across the room.

“This is how it’s going down,”

he said, voice flat.

“You pay up, or we start tearing this place apart.”

I took a deep breath, trying to keep my cool.

“Sure, take the supplies. Break whatever you want. I mean, what else do I have left? My pride? I think that went out the window a few months ago.”

Tony stepped closer, suddenly in my face, and for a second, I thought he was going to punch me.

“You don’t get to talk to me like that, Scarlett. Don't forget, I can fuck you up as much as I want you till you pay up.’

I met his gaze, stubbornly holding my ground, even though I felt like I was seconds away from falling apart into a pile of dust.

“You want me to beg?”

I asked, dripping with sarcasm, hoping it covered up the shake in my voice.

He just smirked, expecting a yes.

“Yeah, I don’t do that. You think you're the only one with problems? My life’s a long list of terrible choices. But you? You’re just another damn mistake I’m adding to it.”

Tony grinned, a dark, evil thing that spread across his face like a rash.

“Fine, if you want to keep talking shit, we’ll just go ahead and wreck everything.”

He announced to the boys and they yelled in chorus like they were in for a riot.

"Yeah, sure,"

I said, rolling my eyes.

"Why not? At least it’ll be over quicker."

They spent the next few minutes tossing things around, destroying what little I had left, and all I could do was stand there, watching. I clenched my fists, my heart racing. The frustration burned so hot I could feel it in the back of my throat.

I had worked so damn hard to make this place work. The long hours, the days when I had no idea how I’d pay rent, but I still showed up. I pushed through the exhaustion, the panic that lurked in my chest, making the small victories feel like mountains. And now, all of it, everything, was about to be destroyed.

Destroyed.

Everything I had left was getting ripped apart in front of me, and I could do nothing but watch. It wasn’t just the clinic; it was every hope, every shred of my dignity, and every inch of control I had left in my damn life

The goon tossed boxes after boxes. Knocking over the old blood pressure machine that had been with me since my first day as a nurse. The clatter made my stomach twist and my chest trip to the floor

Each piece of equipment they destroyed felt like a personal attack to me. My hopes and dreams at the hands of this devil's.

Why couldn’t they leave me something? Anything?

Every time they wrecked something—every snap of plastic, every shattered glass—it was like I was losing a part of myself. A part I didn’t even know I needed until it was gone.

They were breaking things they didn't care about. But I cared. I cared more than they could ever understand. This clinic was the only place where I wasn’t a total failure. I wasn’t asking for charity. I wasn’t even asking for sympathy. I just wanted a chance to breathe, to fix things, to make this place work. But that was never an option for me, was it?

It wasn’t fair. None of it was.

Part of me wanted to scream. Another part of me wanted to hit someone, maybe Tony’s stupid smug face. But I didn’t. I just stood there, because I couldn’t do anything else.

I stared at the wreckage—what was left of my life, scattered across the floor. My heart was beating so loud I could hear it in my ears. It was like the clinic, the thing I had worked so hard to build, was dying in front of me. And I had no control over it.

“No... no more,”

I whispered, barely able to breathe as the weight of it all crashed down on me and I crumbled to my knees. I couldn’t take it anymore.

Mrs. Collins reached out to squeeze my clenched hands gently. I don’t know if she was trying to comfort me or herself, but it didn’t matter. All I could do was stare at the mess. At everything I had lost, again.

“Well, Mrs. Collins,”

I murmured, trying to hide how miserable I was feeling.

“Doesn’t look so good, does it?”

She didn’t answer right away. Just looked around at the wreckage like she was trying to wake up from a bad dream.

Then she gently rested a hand on my back and rubbed it tenderly.

“No, honey. It doesn’t.”