The familiar ache pulsed behind my eyes, a constant companion in the sterile white room where sheets matched my pale, bruised skin.
They had given me electric shock therapy again, leaving my mind a fog of agony.
A key turned, and in walked Ethan Miller, the man I was supposed to marry, his face handsome but cold, etched with pity and disgust.
"Still acting like this, Chloe?" he snapped, accusing me of hurting a nurse-a lie I was too broken to fight.
Then Liam Thorne, my half-brother, joined him, an insincere mask of concern plastered on his face.
"See, Ethan? She' s completely gone," Liam purred, blaming my supposed violent tendencies on the stress of his "illness."
Ethan, my savior turned accomplice, instantly sided with Liam, his trust absolute.
But then Mark Evans, a childhood friend turned doctor, assessed my condition, his voice serious as he unveiled the severe trauma and abuse they' d inflicted on me.
Liam quickly deflected, accusing me of self-harm, a narrative Ethan chillingly affirmed.
Liam then proposed transferring me to a private institution, the 'Thorne Wellness Center' -a name that sent a jolt of terror through me, a prison designed just for me.