kennedydaphne900

1000 Ways to Kill My Cheating Husband: The Schizophrenia Romance

Till death do us part.

She takes that as gospel, etched into her soul. Not a promise but a command. A law. A binding truth she whispers like a prayer in the dead of night.

Elizabeth doesn’t understand love, not the fragile, conditional kind that mortals speak of. But adoration? That, she knows intimately. She adores her husband with a devotion so fierce it borders on worship. She drinks in the sight of him like he’s the last drop of water in a dying world.

He is hers, only hers. His laughter, his touch, his thoughts, even the breaths he takes while he sleeps beside her. She burns for him, her desire as endless as the oceans and as consuming as fire.

And if another woman dares to look at him, if their gaze lingers a second too long, if they think they can taste even a crumb of what is hers, she will end it. She will end them. She will end him.

Because what is hers stays hers. Forever.

But here’s the twist: Phil would never betray her. Never. He loves her.

But you don’t know that. You, the voices in her head, have seen the way he smiles at strangers. You’ve seen the late nights, the private phone calls, the scent of something unfamiliar that clings to him when he walks through the door. You feed her obsession. You feed her madness.

And she feeds you right back.

Because Elizabeth isn’t just a woman. She’s an empire. An heiress to unimaginable wealth, a daughter of power, the queen of a kingdom she can burn down with a snap of her fingers. This world bends to her will, even in her insanity. And her husband? He is bound to her by law, by blood, by destiny.

Phil doesn’t know it yet, but he belongs to her. His kind eyes, his gentle hands, his foolish heart every inch of him is hers to adore, to love, to destroy.

Phil’s job is simple: keep her sane or die trying.

But here’s the cruel joke, he’s not just her psychiatrist. He’s in love with her. Stupidly, desperately, recklessly in love.

And if he’s not careful, he might just die in love with her.

1000 WAYS TO KILL MY CHEATING HUSBAND: THE SCHIZOPHRENIA ROMANCE

Still in his wedding attire, he looked utterly famished.

His thick black hair was a mess, a far cry from his usual polished appearance. The murder investigation must have been wearing him down.

But what truly caught her attention was the shock in his bright blue eyes when he saw her.

She was seated elegantly, folded into the loveseat, wearing a cute white heart-patterned night robe.

Shards of broken glass surrounded her, like the aftermath of a chaotic battle, yet she looked serene.

In one hand, she held a novel; in the other, a steaming cup of tea.

He blinked, his leather shoes crunching over the glass shards as he stepped closer. "What happened here?"

Lord, she'd almost forgotten how much she adored his voice.

"The room was too hot," she sighed, as if that explained everything.

He blinked again, as though he hadn't heard her correctly. "And so...you broke the table?"

She chuckled, her laughter light and lilting. "Honestly, it was the loveseat's idea. It said it would be a great anger management technique."

"The loveseat," he repeated, his tone flat.

"Yes. Also," she continued nonchalantly, "I thought about punishing the workers by making them pick the glass with their bare fingers. But the glass decided it liked me too much and didn't want to leave. So I suppose they're safer this way." She sighed, her voice dripping with an odd sort of sympathy.

He shut his eyes and exhaled slowly. "God have mercy. I need a shower," he muttered tightly, stepping past her toward the stairs.

She watched him go, listening to the sound of his shoes crunching over the shards, her eyes following his movements.

Her gaze darkened, sharp and deadly, before falling back to her book.

"Oh, husband?" she called, flipping a page as if it were an afterthought.

He stopped mid-stride, turning slightly. "What does thou require, wife?"

She sighed, still absorbed in her romance novel. "It's our wedding night, husband."

He raised an eyebrow, curiosity flickering in his gaze. "Yes, contracted wife?"

She giggled at his emphasis on contracted wife, then slowly uncrossed her legs, revealing a glimpse of her lace pink panties.

"Don't you want to make love to me, husband?"

His home