His Obsession The Royal second wife

My fiancé, Declan, was my childhood sweetheart. But a traumatic brain injury from a car wreck turned him into a violent monster. I stayed, determined to wait for the man I loved to come back.

Then his new therapist, Dr. Christie Howard, arrived. She was supposed to help him heal, but instead, she began to manipulate him, turning him against me.

At a charity auction, a man lunged at them with a knife. I screamed a warning. But Declan didn't protect me. He pulled me in front of himself and Christie, using my body as a human shield.

The blade sank into my side. In my previous life, that was just the beginning. For Christie, he let his men throw me down a flight of stairs. For Christie, he stood by as she desecrated my mother’s ashes.

And in the end, the two of them murdered me in a staged car crash, leaving me to die in a heap of twisted metal.

But I woke up, not dead, but in my bed.

A full year before they killed me. This time, things would be different. I had a plan.

Chapter 1

I woke up with the phantom pain of a car crash. The memory was sharp, a brutal flash of twisted metal and Declan' s face, cold and unconcerned, as his new lover, Christie, slammed the accelerator. They had left me to die.

But I wasn't dead. I was in my bed, in Declan' s mansion. The morning sun streamed through the window. It was a day I remembered from my past life. A day one year before my murder.

I had been given a second chance.

I threw the covers off and stood up, my body still weak from a memory of abuse that hadn't happened yet in this timeline. The resolve was instant, solid as a rock in my chest. I would not let it happen again.

I walked out of the bedroom and down the grand staircase. My father, Albert Avery, was in the living room, reading the newspaper. He looked up and smiled when he saw me.

"Morning, sweetheart. Declan still sleeping?"

I didn't answer his question. I walked straight to him, my hands clenched at my sides.

"Dad, I want to break the engagement."

His smile vanished. He put down his paper, his brow furrowed with confusion. He looked at me, really looked at me, and his expression softened with concern.

"Emily, what' s wrong? Did you and Declan have another fight?"

He thought it was just another fight. He didn' t know the half of it. He didn' t know about the nights Declan, in a blind rage, would throw things, his voice a roar that echoed in my head for days. He didn' t know about the bruises I covered with makeup.

A tremor ran through me. I squeezed my hands tighter, my nails digging into my palms. The physical pain was a welcome distraction from the storm of memories.

"I can' t do it anymore, Dad. I just can' t."

My voice was a hoarse whisper. It was a vague answer, but it was all I could give him without sounding insane.

He didn't press, just watched me with worried eyes. He knew. He must have known some of it.

The memories flooded in, unwanted and sharp.

I remembered Declan before the accident. We were childhood sweethearts. He was the brilliant, confident CEO, and I was his proud fiancée. Our life was a fairy tale. He was gentle, adoring. He would bring me flowers for no reason and hold me like I was the most precious thing in the world.

Then came the car wreck. A drunk driver T-boned his car. He survived, but a traumatic brain injury changed everything.

He came home from the hospital a different man. The gentle Declan was gone, replaced by a monster plagued with severe PTSD and intermittent explosive disorder.

His rages were terrifying. The smallest thing could set him off. A misplaced book, a meal that wasn't to his liking, a question he didn't want to answer.

One night, he broke my arm. He' d thrown a heavy glass statue, aiming for the wall, but I had moved the wrong way.

When the rage passed, he was a wreck. He saw my arm, the unnatural angle of it, and he crumpled to the floor. He sobbed, banging his own head against the hardwood until it bled, begging me to forgive him. He looked so broken, so full of self-hatred.

And like a fool, I had knelt beside him, my own tears mixing with his blood.

"It' s okay, Declan. I' m not leaving you. I' ll never leave you."

I said it over and over, a mantra of my own doom. I believed his illness was the enemy, not him. I loved the man he used to be, and I was determined to wait for him to come back.

Then his family hired Dr. Christie Howard. She was a brilliant therapist, renowned for her work with TBI patients. She was supposed to be our savior.

At first, she seemed professional, caring. But soon, things started to change. Declan began to rely on her completely. Her word was law.