Broken: The Billionaire's Only Love

The glow of the laptop screen lit Alice Hart's face as she leaned closer, her thumb hovering over the upload button.

Just hit post. Do it. Do it now. The voice in her head was insistent, almost frantic

"You're insane, you know that?" Mia's voice crackled through the phone held between Alice's shoulder and ear. "This isn't some shady diet tea scam. These people will destroy you."

Alice's finger twitched. "They're dumping toxic waste into the river, Mia. Kids in that neighborhood are getting sick. Someone has to-"

"Someone with a lawyer. Or a death wish."

A notification pinged on the laptop. Alice glanced at the time-3:07 a.m. Her eyes flicked to the stack of documents beside her: leaked emails, lab reports, a photo of a toddler with a rash that looked like burnt lace.

"I have proof," she said, more to herself than Mia.

"Proof won't stop them from suing you into a cardboard box."

Alice scrolled through her Instagram feed. Her last post-a sponsored ad for eco-friendly shampoo-had six likes. Six. Her follower count had flatlined at 12K, a far cry from the "influencer" title she'd once chased. But this... this wasn't about likes.

"You're not an activist" Mia said softly. "Just... wait 'til morning. Please." There was a gentleness in Mia's plea that made Alice hesitate.

Alice's thumb found the button.

Click.

The video uploaded with a tiny swoosh.

---

Five hours later

The buzz of her phone yanked Alice out of a shallow sleep. She fumbled for it, squinting at the screen.

47 missed calls.

283 DMs.

She shot upright, blankets tangling around her legs. Her Instagram notifications were a wildfire-comments, shares, tags. The video had 500K views. 500,000.

"Oh my God," she whispered, her voice hoarse. Her heart hammered against her ribs as though trying to escape. The number seemed impossible-almost half a million people had seen her face, heard her voice, witnessed her accusation. She blinked hard, wondering if she was still dreaming.

Her hands shook as she clicked play.

There she was, backlit by the dim lamp, her voice trembling but clear: "GreenTech Solutions claims they're 'saving the planet. But these documents prove they've been dumping carcinogens into the Willowbrook River for months..."

The clip ended with her holding up the photo of the child. "This is Aiden. He's three. His mom can't afford a lawyer. But we can share this. We can make them listen."

Alice's chest tightened. The comments exploded:

"HOLY. SHIT."

"How is this not on the news?!"

"You're a hero!!"

Her phone rang. MIA.

"Alice, turn on Channel 7. Now."

She scrambled for the remote. The screen flashed to a blonde reporter standing outside a sleek high-rise.

"...viral video alleges GreenTech Solutions, a subsidiary of Donovan Industries, knowingly violated EPA regulations. CEO Martin Donovan has yet to comment, but legal experts say..."

Alice's breath caught. Donovan Industries! The name alone was a hammer. They owned half the city.

Her laptop chimed. An email notification:

SUBJECT: Cease and Desist

FROM: Donovan Industries Legal Team

"...defamatory statements... immediate retraction... damages exceeding..."

"Alice? Alice!" Mia's voice sharpened through the phone. "Did you hear me? Delete it. Now."

"No." The word surprised her. "They're scared. That means it's working."

"They'll bury you!"

"Let them try."

---

Noon

Alice's front door flew open, smacking the wall. Mia stormed in, her neon-pink scrubs clashing with her rage. "You're trending on Twitter. Twitter! Do you know what happens when Twitter notices you? Trolls. Death threats. Lawsuits."

Alice didn't look up from her phone. The video had hit 2 million views. A local mom's group had organized a protest outside GreenTech's offices.

"Say something!" Mia snatched the phone.

"I'm doing something. For once." Alice reached for it, but Mia yanked it away.

"You're not a martyr, you're a punching bag! What happens when they trace this back to you? Huh? You think your landlord cares about your 'moral compass' when you can't pay rent?"

Alice's throat burned. Mia wasn't wrong. Her last paycheck from the boutique she'd promoted had barely covered groceries. But the DMs flooding in-the mothers thanking her, the activists offering help-felt like oxygen.

"I have to finish this," she said quietly.

Mia groaned. "Finish what? A nervous breakdown?"

"The follow-up video. Donovan's team sent a threat, but if I-"

"No. No more videos" Mia tossed the phone onto the couch. "You want to help? Call a reporter. Donate to a charity. Live."

The word hung between them. Alice's gaze drifted to the pill bottle half-hidden under a magazine. Migraines, the label said. The ER doctor had shrugged. Stress.

She reached for her laptop. "I'm posting again at six."

Mia stared at her. "Why?"

"Because I'm tired of being scared."

---

5:58 p.m.

Alice adjusted her ring light, wiping sweaty palms on her jeans. The second video was shorter, sharper: a clip of the cease-and-desist email, a screenshot of Aiden's mom's GoFundMe, and three words in bold text:

"SHARE. DON'T LOOK AWAY."

She hit post.

Views climbed instantly-10K, 50K, 100K. Her hands trembled as comments poured in:

"Just donated!"

"Contact the EPA!!"

"Thank for this"

She refreshed the page, heart racing. 200K.

Then-

Error: Page Not Found.

She refreshed again.

This account has been suspended for violating community guidelines.

Alice froze. The screen blurred.

No. No no no-

She mashed the keyboard, logged out, logged back in.

Same message.

Her breath came in shallow gasps. The DMs, the followers, the video-gone. All of it.

The apartment door burst open. Mia, breathless, phone in hand. "Alice-your account! It's-"

"I know." The words sounded distant, underwater.

Mia knelt beside her. "We'll fight this. I'll call my cousin-he's a lawyer. We'll-"

Alice stood abruptly, the chair screeching. "I need air."

"Wait-!"

She grabbed her jacket and fled.

---

6:22 p.m.

Rain misted Alice's face as she trudged toward the bus stop, her phone buzzing nonstop. News vans clustered outside GreenTech's offices, protesters chanting behind police barricades. She paused, watching a woman hold up a sign: ALICE HART TELLS THE TRUTH!

A black SUV slid to the curb beside her. The window lowered.

"Alice Hart?" A man in a tailored suit smiled, cold as a scalpel. "Martin Donovan would like a word."