Her Patient Confessed His Love in their Secret Therapy Sessions

“Dr. Burnell, your live-in treatment contract with Sir Stuart only has half a month left. Will you be renewing as usual?”

Stuart Huggett’s assistant called, the question phrased routinely, yet his tone carried a certainty—as if he already knew she would agree.

On the other end of the line, Michelle Burnell sat in silence, her eyes fixed on the resignation letter glowing faintly on her computer screen.

Five years’ worth of memories as Stuart’s private psychologist rose unbidden, crowding her mind.

At last, she closed her eyes. In a steady voice, she said quietly, “No. I won’t be renewing.”

There was a pause until the assistant asked cautiously, “Is this because of Miss Janet, Doctor? Please don’t worry. Even though Sir Stuart is about to marry her, your official identity is still only that of his ‘personal assistant.’ Miss Janet shouldn’t give you any trouble.”

A small, self-deprecating laugh escaped Michelle. She repeated her decision with calm finality, and then she hung up.

What a coincidence. In just half a month, their contract would end, and Stuart would marry Janet Brewsters.

That five-year illusion of a rescue she had carried alone was at last coming to its end.

Perhaps, she ought to feel happy for him. After all, Janet was his first love.

But no matter how Michelle tried, she couldn’t forget what he had been five years ago—shattered and self-destructive after Janet betrayed him with his own brother.

At the time, Michelle was at the peak of her career, her name rising prominently in the field of psychology.

When Berenice, his mother, approached her, she had every intention of refusing.

But then, she caught sight of Stuart’s photograph in the case file.

That reminded her of when she was seventeen. One night, she had been thrown out of her home, drenched by rain, and abandoned on the roadside. A stranger had walked by, lifted an umbrella, and shielded her from the storm. That blurred face in the rain gradually overlapped with the one in Stuart's photo.

Seeing how the boy from her past had fallen into such despair and hearing his mother’s desperate pleas, Michelle eventually gave in.

Only, it turned out Stuart had long since forgotten her.

He pushed her away, resisted every attempt she made to help him, and decided she was nothing more than a hypocrite—a so-called saint paid to spy on him.

Michelle never argued back. Instead, she reached for the blade when he cut his skin, persisted when he starved himself of food and water, and stayed by his side when his nights were restless, coaxing him until he slept. Day after day, year after year, she helped him without complaint.

By the fourth year, his condition finally stabilized. She proposed leaving. For the first time, his indifference cracked—his eyes reddened.

And then, to her shock, he began to blur the boundaries.

Though she reminded him over and over that a psychologist must never have intimate relations with a patient, Stuart ignored every word. He pushed, coaxed, and invaded the line she drew.

It disturbed her so much that she even considered transferring his case to a colleague, but he interfered until her attempts went nowhere.

The chaos dragged on for nearly a year. She held her ground, but her heart wavered.

And then, Janet returned to the country.

Only then did Michelle realize just how foolish she had been.

Five years of devotion, all the sleepless nights, all the effort—none of it could withstand one simple sentence from Janet.

“I’m back.”

Michelle had thought she was the one pulling him out of the shadows. But in truth, he had only accepted treatment as a way to force himself to forgive Janet.

All that had stirred the psychologist’s feelings before was nothing more than Stuart seeing her as useful and doing whatever it took to keep her around.

These past few weeks had been proof enough.

With Janet by his side, Stuart let Michelle see firsthand what true intimacy looked like, no matter the hour, no matter the setting, sometimes even right in front of her face.

Now that the wedding day of the two drew near, Michelle understood her role clearly. She was nothing more than a stepping stone. It was time she moved out of their way.

All she wished was that, after their wedding in two weeks, Stuart would be too busy to spare a thought for her—his ‘live-in assistant.’

Her thoughts were interrupted by a new message notification. The sender was Janet.

[Come pack my luggage. I’m leaving with Stuart this afternoon for a business trip.]

For weeks now, Janet had used Michelle like a servant… with Stuart’s silent approval.

Michelle knew exactly why—Janet couldn’t stand to see another woman near him. The former didn’t argue. She just did the work and collected her salary.

By the time she arrived, Janet was sprawled playfully across Stuart’s lap.

Spotting her, Janet didn’t bother hiding her smugness. She looked at Stuart with an exaggeratedly sweet smile.

“Babe, your assistant really is like a housemaid, isn’t she? Always at your beck and call, never once showing an attitude. No wonder you’ve kept her around so long.”

The barb was obvious. Michelle caught every word, along with Stuart’s low chuckle of agreement.

Her chest tightened faintly—not quite pain but enough to leave her silent.

When she finished packing their things, she turned to leave.

But Stuart stopped her. “Come with us.”

The command was familiar—after years, she should have been numb to it. Yet this time it grated, sharp and unwelcome.

Catching the jealous glint in Janet’s eyes, Michelle’s irritation grew. ‘As always, this guy only ever thinks of himself,’ she thought.

Still, to keep from stirring suspicion and to make it through the remaining weeks, she once again relented.

At the airport, she trailed behind them, struggling with three heavy suitcases while the couple walked hand-in-hand, unburdened.

In the VIP lounge, Janet leaned lazily against Stuart’s shoulder and ordered Michelle, “Go get me a hot Americano.”

Stuart glanced at Michelle. “She likes it hotter than usual. Don’t forget the sleeve.”

Lowering her eyes, Michelle swallowed the sour taste in her throat and turned away.

She returned with the coffee, the cardboard sleeve barely shielding her hand from the heat. Holding it out carefully, she warned, “It’s very hot. Don’t take it. I’ll set it down for you.”

But Janet insisted on grabbing it. The moment her fingers brushed the cup, she let go with a startled cry.

Scalding liquid splashed across Michelle’s hand and forearm, burning her skin red. Pain seared so sharply her breath faltered, her eyes instantly filling with tears.

Janet, of course, wasn’t touched. Stuart had shielded her in time.

He turned, his gaze cutting coldly at Michelle.

“Were you satisfied only after burning her? If you keep being so careless, then stop working altogether. Get lost.”

Stunned by the accusation, Michelle stood frozen. He had seen everything. He knew Janet had done it deliberately. Yet still… he laid the blame on her!

The bitterness welled up so hard it almost choked her. She lowered her head. Silent tears fell, landing on the carpet where no one else would notice.

Perhaps it was a blessing. The deeper Stuart loved Janet, the easier it would be for Michelle to escape.

She thought of his words again. Her lips parted to speak, and this time, her voice was steady.

“Okay.”

Stuart frowned, as though unsure he’d heard correctly. “What did you say?”

Still staring at the floor, Michelle raised her voice a little.

“I said—I quit. Sir Stuart, I resign. I’ll leave on my own.”