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

Her lips met his like fire, wild, consuming, and unrelenting.

He scooped her out of the chaos of shattered glass, carrying her up the stairs. Yet every step felt like an eternity, their desire unraveling in waves.

His lips trailed her neck, her throat, her collarbone, each kiss igniting sparks beneath her skin.

She tasted sweet, sweeter than he'd ever imagined in the depths of his longing.

It was their wedding night, and he wanted to feel all of her.

His hands roamed her curves, a two-year hunger spilling from every pore.

She moaned, soft and low, as his lips found her through the thin silk of her nightgown.

He nipped, sucked, teased until he freed her from her delicate prison.

His hands caressed her breasts as his gaze met hers, lovely, wide, doe-like eyes that glimmered with mischief and madness.

She was perfect. Even in chaos, even in fury, she was divine.

He set her down on the stairs, trailing kisses between her breasts, over her ribcage, and lower still.

His tongue danced over the lace of her panties, a wicked grin curving his lips.

"You're so fucking sexy," he murmured against her, just before he tore the lace away.

She gasped, a sharp inhale that melted into a moan. "Those cost a fortune, you know."

But before she could protest further, his mouth was on her, tongue swirling, lips sucking her clit until her moans turned to cries.

Her back arched, her hands grasping for purchase, finally settling on the tangle of his hair.

"Oh… God, Phil… oh…" she whimpered, his name spilling from her lips like a prayer.

He rose, his belt buckle undone, his hard length springing free. She bit her lip, her gaze dark with desire, and placed her foot against his throbbing erection.

"Dear husband," she purred, "you really are big."

He groaned, leaning forward to claim her again, but she pushed him back, her fingers slipping into his mouth. Her hand wrapped firmly around him, stroking with maddening precision.

"This…" she whispered, her breath warm against his ear. "This is mine."

Her thumb circled the tip, coaxing a hiss from him as she brushed kisses from his shoulders to his chest, her teeth grazing his skin.

"No other woman touches what's mine," she murmured, catching his lower lip between her teeth, biting just hard enough to leave a mark.

Her strokes grew faster, her grip firmer, his body trembling beneath her touch. He couldn't hold back, his resolve shattered as her nails raked through his hair.

He angled himself at her entrance, trailing his length over her wet folds, trembling as she whispered, "You'll have your pussy, husband… but only when you learn not to make me want to commit murder on our wedding day."

He shuddered as she dipped him inside, just enough for the heat of her to engulf him, before she pulled back.

His release came in sharp, shuddering waves, spilling over her fingers.

She caught it on her fingertips, brushing it against her lips with a wicked smile before leaning in to kiss him.

"Next time you upset me on our wedding day," she whispered, her voice honey-sweet and razor-sharp, "I'll cut your dick off. Understood?"

What's Mine? ( Husband.)