Healing The Broken Billionaire's Cold Heart

ory bell cut through t

performed the same task, thousands of times. A deep ache radiate

with cotton dust that burned her lungs. Her fingers, stiff and swo

t the paycheck, about the endless hours. Britta said no

envelope. Inside, a few wrinkled bills. A week'

caying town. Peeling paint, shuttered storefronts, the

as it passed her. A ch

ing! Whatcha d

quickened. Her knuckles turned white as s

ey turning a rust

eer, a hand clamped around her wrist. The feeling of bein

d her eyes

back into the dark box where it lived. Her jaw w

blocks to the bottom-floor apartm

the door, a small body

you're

is small heart beating against her chest. He was her whole world. The exh

with a green lawn. A big person and a little pe

's chest. It was Leo's dream. It w

d, her voice a low whi

buddy. I

watched Leo eat like a ravenous wolf, then fini

n read: "Brenda." A muscl

y filled the small room, complaining about needing money for h

gainst the wall

ve it. The

itch, that's what she was. Forgot her own mother

e words were poison, but she had built up

ake a breath, to reload fo

of silence, Brit

s toys, his small fac

a angry

othing his hair.

sweetie. A

d him from it a

p, she pulled a heavy wood

side. No cash. Just sta

l drawing of the human leg-muscles, nerves, tendo

h elegant, flowing lines, designs filled with

uro-regenerative compound on another page. Her focus was s

ieces of another Britta, a Britta who

g of the big house on top of the

window. The town was dark and sil

ss was a thin, straight l

o herself, a vow whis

us out of

k of light in a long,