I caught my bipolar boyfriend hooking up with his lover in the psychiatric hospital.

Two weeks before our wedding, he hit me for the last time.

Then he checked himself into a psychiatric hospital—claiming it was for treatment.

But I knew better.

That hospital wasn't his refuge; it was a secret love nest.

And the woman moaning beneath him in nothing but an apron?

"When I finish treatment," my boyfriend said breathlessly, "I'll be the perfect husband to Melanie. Just think of this as my way of making it up to you."

As I listened to their panting, I touched the barely healed wound on my forehead.

The pain in my heart was worse than anything that cut ever caused.

So I made one final call—to the man who raised him.

"Finn," I said, my voice shaking, "Liam's cured. I'm leaving."

Irene Jamison's flushed face suddenly went pale through the crack in the door, her eyes filling with tears.

"You bastard," she choked, "I gave up my plans to study abroad for you. I came here to work in this hospital and be with you. I even gave you my virginity! If you never planned to marry me, why did you sleep with me?"

Liam Whitaker gently wiped her tears, and though his eyes flashed with a trace of guilt, his voice instantly softened as he comforted her. "Don't cry. I promised I'd be your husband for these two weeks, right? If you want the stars and moon, I'll bring them down for you."

Irene broke into a tearful smile after his kiss. "I don't want the stars or the moon," she said, "I just want you!"

Liam looked down at her delicate, tear-streaked face, and something in his gaze darkened as he leaned closer.

"Isn't this me giving you what you want?"

Irene gasped, her arms clinging to his back—but just a second later, he pried them off.

"Don't leave scratch marks on me," Liam frowned, annoyed. "If Melanie sees them, she'll make a scene."

Irene stubbornly wrapped her arms around him again. Her voice trembled as she insisted, "I want to! You said you'd give me what I want!"

Outside the door, I stood frozen, heart pounding. I heard Liam finally sigh and say, "Fine."

At that moment, my heart skipped a beat and shattered. Tears spilled down uncontrollably, like a string of pearls snapping loose.

On the phone, Finn let out a long, heavy sigh.

"Melanie," he said gently, "You dropped out of school for Liam, even cut ties with your parents to help him recover. He's finally better, and your wedding is around the corner. Why are you—"

I wiped at my tears, my voice hoarse as I cut him off. "Finn, Liam doesn't need me anymore. Please let me go."

Marrying Liam used to be my biggest dream.

Back when he was 18, his parents were murdered in front of him in a kidnapping. That trauma broke him—he was diagnosed with bipolar disorder and lashed out violently at anyone who came near.

But I was the only one who could approach him. The only one who made him feel safe.

Finn came to me, begging me to help Liam heal. And since I'd always loved Liam, I didn't even hesitate. I quit school and stayed by his side, nursing him through his breakdowns.

To everyone else, he was a wild, vicious beast. But with me, he was different. He'd hurt himself before he'd ever lay a hand on me.

When I discovered the cuts on his wrist, he broke down, sobbing like a child. "Melanie, please don't leave me," he'd cried. "I'll get better. Don't give up on me, okay?"

He was terrified I'd abandon him. Scared I'd find him too broken.

But now, he was using the very illness he once hated as a cover—to throw punches at me just so he could sneak off to a psychiatric hospital and be with Irene for two weeks.

The cut on my forehead still throbbed faintly. But it didn't hurt nearly as much as my heart.

Once Finn gave his permission, I booked a ticket home.

From now on, I refused to be his medicine.

The noise pierced through the room like a gunshot when my phone dinged with the booking confirmation.

The two tangled bodies inside froze.

Liam opened the door a moment later and wrapped me in his arms.

"Melanie," he said with a warm smile, "what are you doing here?"

I saw the fresh scratches on the back of his neck—she must've really gone at him. Pretending not to notice, I lifted the wedding dress bag that I was holding.

"The custom dress you had made for me just arrived. I thought I'd bring it for you to see."

Liam took the bag from me, eyes full of tenderness.

"I've been dying to see you wear the dress I designed with my own hands," he said.

"This dress is one of a kind—just like my love for you."

Oh, really?

Bitterness filled my mouth. I let out a dry little laugh.

"The problem is it's a bit too small. I can't fit into it."

Liam's face changed immediately. He turned and stormed off to scold his assistant.

Inside the room, it was just me and Irene now.

She smiled sweetly and greeted me, then walked over with a glass of water. But just as she handed it to me, her body 'accidentally' tilted—and the steaming liquid poured straight over the healing wound on my forehead.

She didn't even try to hide the deep kiss marks all over her neck and shoulders. There wasn't the slightest trace of apology on her face.

"Sorry, Ms. Sinclair," she said with a smile. My bad. Blame my man—he wore me out so bad my legs still won't hold me up."

The way she called him 'my man' and flaunted those love bites felt like a dagger stabbing my heart. A second later, Liam rushed in and pulled me into his arms.

He ripped off the soaked bandage on my forehead, cold sweat gathering on his brow.

Then he caught sight of the tears in my eyes—and his jaw clenched in rage. He grabbed the cup and hurled it at Irene.

"You can't even hold a cup straight? If your hands are that useless, maybe you shouldn't have them at all!

"I came here to get treatment, not to watch you pour boiling water on my fiancée!"

Irene shrank back, staring at the fury in his eyes like a frightened rabbit. She sniffled and said timidly, "I'm sorry, Ms. Sinclair. If it makes you feel better, you can pour one on me too."

She actually went and got another cup of hot water, then stood there holding it out—staring up at Liam with wet, defiant eyes.

My forehead was still burning, the pain making my vision blur. I instinctively reached for the cup, but Liam knocked it out of her hand before I could touch it.

He snorted coldly. "You've got delicate skin. If Melanie actually poured it on you, you'd probably cry victim and bite back."

He made it sound so righteous—but I could hear the worry in his voice.

I lowered my hand. My whole body felt like it had been dunked in ice water.

So that's the extent of your love, Liam.

He ordered Irene to go get a new bandage. While she was gone, he carefully wrapped my wound, his eyes never leaving me. He gripped my hand and spoke quickly, trying to explain.

"Melanie, the wedding dress thing—it was Logan's mistake. I already fired him. A new dress is on the way. As for this one—"

His gaze landed on the gown. He hesitated.

I swallowed the ache in my chest and helped him say what he couldn't. "It'd be a shame to toss it. Ms. Jamison should be able to fit it. Give it to her."

A smile lit up his whole face. He pulled me into a tight hug and planted a kiss on me.

"Melanie, you're so thoughtful. I'll give it to her if you're okay with it."

While he was distracted, I discreetly wiped the kiss off my cheek.

A moment later, I got a message from Logan Grant.

"Sorry, Ms. Sinclair. I delivered the wrong wedding dress."

So, it wasn't a design mistake. They just gave it to the wrong person.

He hadn't made just one unique dress. There were two—one for me and one for Irene. Just like his so-called love, split right down the middle.

Irene soon came back in with the first-aid kit.

Liam sat me on his lap and carefully applied the medicine, treating me like I might break. When I winced from the sting and sucked in a sharp breath, his eyes turned red at the corners. He whispered guiltily, "I'm sorry, Melanie. This is all my fault. If my bipolar disorder hadn't flared up again, I never would've hurt you.

"But don't worry. I've learned how to control my emotions here. I won't hurt you again. We'll still have lots of babies together, won't we?"

I lifted my eyes and looked straight into Liam's trembling pale pupils. Suddenly, I remembered how he'd hurled that vase at me without hesitation.

If he really cared about me, how could he have smashed my head open like that?

Irene finished applying my medicine and pulled out a syringe.

"Liam, it's time for your mood stabilizer injection."

Liam frowned, clearly reluctant, but still rolled up his sleeve.

Even though I'd already decided to stop loving him, when I saw the patchwork of needle marks on his arm, I couldn't help but speak up. "Be gentle—he's afraid of getting hurt."

As soon as the words left my mouth, the needle pierced his skin. Blood immediately trickled out from the injection site.

Irene gasped. "I missed the vein—sorry!"

I thought Liam would lose his temper. But he only gave her a mild frown, glanced at her apologetic expression, and said tiredly, "It's fine. Doesn't hurt. Go ahead, try again."

And just like that, I was the odd one out—the concerned whisper I'd let slip felt like a boomerang that came back to slice through my heart.

Irene shot me a smug look before calmly adjusting her grip and continuing the injection.

I stared at her, and a memory suddenly surfaced.

A year ago, I'd caught a nasty cold, and Liam had carried me to the hospital for an IV drip. Irene was the intern nurse on duty—and she'd messed up, pricking me wrong and drawing blood.

Liam had exploded back then, yelling at her like she was a total failure.

But the moment she looked up with teary eyes to apologize, something in him seemed to shift. He didn't yell again—just told her to fetch another doctor.

Later, she wanted to send me healthy meals and added Liam to messaging apps.

So they'd started their entanglement from that very moment.

A light tug on my hand snapped me out of my thoughts. I looked up into Liam's concerned eyes.

"What's wrong?"

"Nothing. Just hurts to watch you get poked."

He gently cupped my fingers, brushing a soft kiss across my knuckles.

"For you, I can endure any pain," he whispered.

Just then, my phone lit up again—another message from the airline.

Liam straightened his back, nerves instantly on high alert.

"Melanie, why did you book a flight overseas?"

I snatched the phone and casually made something up before he could read it. "It's for my parents.

"I know we cut ties years ago, but I still want them at the wedding."

His tensed muscles relaxed. Like a loyal dog, he nuzzled my nose and whispered with guilt.

"I'm sorry, Melanie. It's my fault you had to go through all that.

"If you hadn't dropped out of school for me, maybe your parents wouldn't have been so disappointed in you."

I lowered my gaze to hide the pain that flashed in my eyes.

All the love I'd given—every sacrifice—had been repaid with lies and betrayal.

I couldn't feel anything now but regret.

Soon after, Irene stepped out of the dressing room.

She was wearing the wedding dress. Tiny crystals sparkled like stars in the night sky against her fair skin. It fit her perfectly—so perfectly that it was obvious the dress had been made for her all along.

Liam's eyes lit up, and he looked stunned. Irene blushed under his gaze.

"This dress is beautiful," she murmured shyly. "But I wonder, what would it look like if it were torn apart?"

The suggestive words lit a dark fire in Liam's eyes.

His breathing grew heavy. Without another glance at me, he walked me to the door.

"Melanie, it's getting late. You should head home.

"A psychiatric hospital isn't safe at night—full of men who need reform."

I was pale as a ghost, but he didn't notice. With a final thud, he slammed the door shut.

Moments later, I heard a man's low growls and a woman's breathy moans.

Through the narrow gap in the door, I caught a glimpse of the wedding dress—shredded and lying in pieces on the floor.

Then Irene turned her head and looked straight at me. My heart skipped a beat. She said, "Liam, do I look better in the wedding dress, or does she?"

Sweat clung to Liam's jaw. With a deep breath, he quickened his rhythm, drawing soft, fragmented gasps from her lips.

"I can't stop," he muttered. "What do you think?"

It felt like my heart had been slammed onto concrete. Still, I stood there, tormenting myself by watching them tangle together.

Only when their noises finally faded did I force my numb legs to move and flee like a ghost?

Back home, the new assistant arrived with the wedding dress.

The exact same wedding dress Irene had worn. Under the sunlight, it stabbed at my eyes like a blade.

I pulled out a pair of scissors. I just stared at the dress I'd once dreamed of wearing for a moment. Then, one cut at a time, I destroyed it.

When it was done, I gathered the shredded fabric—and everything else in the villa that carried even a trace of our memories—and burned it all to ash.

I never reached out to Liam again. Not until he finally sensed my indifference and, in a panic, called me over and over that night, begging me to visit him at the psychiatric hospital.

But when I got there, I found him kneeling on one knee, kissing the inside of Irene's thigh with worship in his eyes.

I froze, then backed up in shock, bumping loudly into the doorframe.

Liam looked over, his face instantly draining of color. He rushed over and wrapped me in his arms, his eyes darting to the stairs behind me in panic.

"Melanie! Behind you—it's the stairs! What if you'd fallen? You almost gave me a heart attack!"

The worry in his voice sounded real.

But it only made me laugh inside. A bitter, ice-cold laugh.

So it's true. Some people can love and betray all at once.

"What were you two just doing?"

At my question, he immediately looked away.

A delicate, boneless hand slid over his shoulder. Irene leaned into him, all wide-eyed innocence. "Ms. Sinclair, don't get the wrong idea. I was just teaching Liam how to regulate his emotions and comfort his partner. It's part of a hospital therapy module.

"He's doing so well. I'm sure you two will be very happy together."

She blinked at him with teary eyes, then gave a gracious smile and patted his shoulder.

"Ms. Sinclair's high heels aren't really suitable for walking around a psychiatric hospital. It'd be bad if she almost fell again, like just now.

"Go get my shoes and bring them over for Ms. Sinclair to wear."

Liam had always been proud. Back then, no one but me or his grandfather could order him around. But now? Irene only had to ask, and he wagged his tail like a trained dog.

I looked away, catching her smug little smirk.

"Cut the act."

Irene laughed softly, then suddenly held out her hand to flaunt a diamond ring.

"Your fiancé's quite the catch," she said sweetly. "He gave me a wedding dress and this gorgeous diamond ring."

I clenched my fists as I stared at the ring. My mind went blank.

That diamond ring—I had designed it myself. Liam once said he'd handcraft it for our wedding bands.

Just one sentence from him, and I'd waited all this time.

But now, that ring sat on her finger.

She stepped closer, forcing me back toward the stairs.

"I just pouted a little," she whispered, "and he slipped it on me himself. He told me that even if he can't give me a wedding, everything you have—he'll give me too.

"So what if you two get married? He still has a place for me in his heart. That wedding ring? It's just a hand-me-down from me. And your man? I slept with him first!"

"You really thought he has bipolar disorder? Please. He's been fine for ages. It wasn't you who cured him—it was me. He told me, while lying on top of me that I satisfied his need for control and possession. I'm his cure."

It felt like someone had punched my skull. My head buzzed as I lunged forward and grabbed her wrist, screaming, "Liar! I'm the one who helped him recover!"

Irene smiled coldly—then suddenly tore at her own clothes and switched our positions. Then, with a twist, she hurled herself down the stairs.

In the next moment, Liam shoved me aside and sprinted toward her.

"I'm sorry, Ms. Sinclair!" she wailed, sobbing as she slapped herself over and over. "That ring was just a therapy tool! Please, don't ruin my reputation—don't accuse me of seducing your fiancé!

"I didn't mean to be seductive—it's my fault, I dressed inappropriately. I'll change! Just don't ruin my life!"

After speaking, Irene burst into tears and started slapping herself—over a dozen times—until her cheeks were flushed and swollen.

Liam, distressed, grabbed her hands to stop her. Then, when he looked at me, his bloodshot eyes startled me enough to skip a heartbeat.

The shoes that had just been brought over were hurled at my face with full force. The impact turned my vision black and sent me crashing to the floor.

His hand froze midair, but with Irene trembling in his arms, he steeled himself and shouted at me.

"You pushed someone down the stairs over a diamond ring! Do you even realize that could've killed her?

"She wore the ring because I asked her to—it helps with my condition. And you tried to hurt her over that? When did you become so jealous and vicious?

"Looks like I'm not the only one who needs a psychiatric hospital. Maybe you should go to one of those etiquette schools for women and get your jealousy fixed!"

Irene moved the hand covering her head, revealing a gash on her forehead that had started bleeding.

"Liam, it hurts," she whimpered.

He picked her up and rushed toward the infirmary. He yanked me up by the collar as he passed me and glared coldly into my eyes.

"You better pray that the injury on her head isn't serious—otherwise, the wedding's off!

"It's just a ring. It's not like it can't be replaced!"

With that, he threw me back down to the floor.

Through a blur of tears, I watched their retreating figures. Dazed, I reached up to touch the scar on my own forehead.

Liam, did you ever stop to think if I'd be okay when you smashed that vase at me?

My phone lit up with a reminder from the airline.

I clutched it tightly, forcing myself to my feet, and walked away without looking back.

The truth is, if he really wanted, he could cut and polish a thousand identical diamond rings. But I could never again design the same love.

Right before boarding, I received a message from Liam.

"I'm sorry, Melanie. I didn't mean to hurt you. My manic episode got out of control again.

"Irene taught me a lot while I was at the hospital. You shouldn't have treated her that way. I just panicked.

"Once we're married, I'll make it up to you. I promise."

I closed my eyes and blocked his number.

From that moment until the wedding day, Liam never saw Melanie again.

He thought she was just being petty, throwing a tantrum. But Irene clung to him tightly, pulling every trick she had, and he had no time—or heart—to coax anyone else.

It didn't matter, he told himself. Once they were married, he'd explain everything to Melanie. He'd cut ties with Irene for good and devote himself to the girl who had loved him since childhood.

The wedding came as planned. But Melanie never showed up.

Liam's face darkened. Clutching his unanswered phone, he kicked his assistant hard.

"Where's Melanie? Why aren't you out there looking for her already?"

Just then, a commotion rippled through the crowd at the entrance. Liam looked up in hope, but the smile froze on his face.

It was Finn. Disappointment clouded his eyes as he glared at Liam.

"You little bastard. Melanie's gone overseas, and you're still here holding a damn wedding?"