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

She sat in the suffocating darkness of the private psychiatric ward, her knees hugged tightly to her chest.

The room that had once been pink and beautiful, brimming with warmth and whimsy, was now a scene of destruction.

Tables lay overturned, chairs broken, and shattered porcelain lay scattered across the plush carpet like forgotten remnants of a dream.

In the far corner, she whimpered, her body trembling with despair.

A group of spectators stood near the doorway, their whispered conversations piercing the heavy silence.

"She's in her depressive phase," she heard him explain to them, his voice steady but strained.

"I can't believe she's in this miserable state again," her mother hissed, venom dripping from every word.

Her father chimed in, his tone filled with impatience. "When will she be better for the honeymoon? We don't have time to waste on her episodes. The honeymoon is essential to the family's image!"

A bitter laugh bubbled up in her throat, escaping as a dry, pained chuckle. Why had she ever thought they would care?

To them, she was nothing more than a failed project, a moneymaker who needed fixing.

"I'll do everything I can, but we can't push her too hard," he replied, his frustration barely masked.

"She needs to be well to run the company in a week!" her mother spat, each syllable a lash against his patience.

"She is sick!" he shot back, his voice teetering on the edge of anger before he reined it in. "I'll do my best."

Why did he care? This cheater.

The thought twisted in her mind, a dagger of doubt. Had he kissed that woman? Let her touch him? Wasn't she enough?

She bit her nail until the sharp pain of breaking skin jolted her, blood pooling at the edge of her thumb. Her cry of pain was a raw, guttural sound.

Her parents winced, their faces twisted with irritation, and without another word, they exited the dark room, leaving her behind like discarded baggage.

He moved swiftly to her side, his blue eyes filled with a concern that made her heart ache.

Even in the darkness, she could trace the lines of his face, the sharp angle of his jaw, the shadow of stubble on his cheeks, the exhaustion etched into his features.

Her heart cracked open. She was making him worry.

Her prince charming wasn't sleeping well.

He retrieved a kidney dish and forceps with practiced efficiency, cleaning her wound with a spirit swab.

She hissed at the sting, her body recoiling. He pressed a gentle kiss to her now-clean thumb. "I'm sorry. You're hurt," he murmured, his voice soft and filled with remorse.

Her thoughts faltered. Did cheaters show this much care?

Could the voices in her head have been wrong about him?

She reached up, cupping his face, her thumb brushing over the curve of his lip. "Can I kiss you?" she asked, her voice trembling. "I don't want my husband to know..."

His breath caught, and she stared at him, wide-eyed, her mind struggling to reconcile the man before her with the one who had hurt her.

Leaning in, she kissed him, a painfully sweet kiss, as if she could pour all her confusion, love, and longing into that single moment.

Because in her eyes, he wasn't just a man.

He was the prince she wanted her husband to be.

The man she wished she could love.

The only one who cares