An orphan from a wealthy family, a perverse orthopedist.

It was a single moment of drunkenness when Brittany Beverleigh whispered the forbidden words to her adoptive brother, "I like you."

In an instant, the pampered young lady was thrown into a living nightmare, locked away in a psychiatric hospital, and branded a madwoman.

She clung to the hope of returning home, but instead of freedom, she received devastating news. Weston Beverleigh had married her psychiatrist.

The same Weston who had stolen the love songs she poured her soul into and gifted them to another.

The same Weston who had tried to marry her off to a depraved playboy, desperate to rid himself of her.

‘But tell me, dear brother… if you loathed me so much… Why was it you who lost control first when another man’s name appeared in my diary?’

——

St. Darius Psychiatric Hospital was feared as the most isolated and authoritative institution in the nation.

They said no matter how hysterical one was upon arrival, they would always emerge obedient.

Brittany had spent a month there.

Today, she was finally going home.

"As long as she learns to behave and suppress those filthy, inappropriate thoughts, she won’t have to go back."

The voice came from the driver’s earpiece, calm, distant, merciless. A bitter numbness settled in Brittany’s chest, curling in on itself like a wound that refused to heal.

She knew that voice too well.

Weston Beverleigh.

Her so-called brother. The nation’s most sought-after music producer, a man idolized by millions.

After their parents’ tragic accident, it had been just the two of them, bound by grief, leaning on each other to survive. For years, he had been her anchor, protector, the one person who had sworn to stand by her.

And yet, at the mere whisper of a sentence from Theresa Walker, he had turned his back on her.

He had been the one to send her to St. Darius Psychiatric Hospital.

No matter how her tears clung to his shirt, soaking through the fabric, he never once turned back.

Not even for a second.

And all because, on the night of her eighteenth birthday, in a drunken daze, she had told him the one truth that ruined everything.

She had loved him.

Looking back now, falling for her brother had been the ultimate sin.

Assuming she couldn’t hear, the driver continued his murmured conversation with Weston.

But they didn’t realize that after a month in St. Darius Psychiatric Hospital, Brittany’s senses had sharpened, every sound amplified against her skin like static before a storm.

“…Take her to the mall, buy her sweets, let her pick out some clothes. Just keep her out of the way. Theresa is staying in her room for now, and it’s inconvenient for her to move. The butler is still setting up the attic for her.”

Brittany’s face betrayed nothing, but beneath the table, her fingers curled into a slow, unnatural arc.

So this was how it was.

While she had been locked away, the psychiatrist Weston had hired, Theresa, had slithered her way up.

Once merely a guest in the house, she claimed it as her own.

“There’s no need,” Brittany said, her voice eerily calm, as if speaking directly to Weston. “I can pack my things myself.”

A long, heavy silence followed. Then, click. The call disconnected without another word.

The driver stiffened, stealing a glance at her. But he found nothing, no fury, no resentment, on the once spoiled heiress’s face.

Lowering her gaze, Brittany silently typed out a message.

[Brittany, the DNA test results are out. You are our parents’ daughter. You’re my biological sister.]

[Brittany, Mom and Dad have been searching for you overseas all these years. We miss you so much. Would you be willing to come home and live with us?]

Ironic.

The director of St. Darius Psychiatric Hospital, the very place Weston had sent her, turned out to be her real brother. Dominic Lennox.

Her hands trembled as she typed out a response.

[I’m willing.]

At some point, the car had rolled to a stop. The door swung open.

Weston stood there, arms crossed, expression unreadable as he studied her.

“Theresa was too afraid to sleep alone at night, so she stayed in your room,” he said flatly. “Stop making a fuss over nothing.”

Brittany let out a quiet, breathless laugh.

Once, when Theresa demanded she abandon the stray cat she had taken in, Brittany fought with everything she had.

Weston had called her unreasonable then, too.

Now, she had surrendered everything to Theresa without protest. And still, he called her unreasonable.

Maybe, when she uttered those fateful words, Weston had stopped seeing her as his sister.

In his eyes, she had become just another woman trying to worm her way into his life, no different from the others who shamelessly pursued him.

Yet no matter how much she tried to move forward, her heart clung to the past, especially that room.

Back then, after their parents’ accident, nightmares had gripped her night after night.

When they moved, Weston had their rooms placed side by side, separated by nothing but a thin wall. At night, he could hear her breathing as if they were lying inches apart.

He had been building his empire back then, drowning in endless work.

Yet no matter how late he returned, he always found time to sit by her bed, watching over her until sleep claimed her.

Maybe they had been too close. Even the designer had chuckled, "Since you’re a couple, why not just live together?"

Brittany had flushed red, ready to deny it. But Weston had only taken her hand, his voice calm, and said there was no need.

That stolen moment of warmth, of unspoken promise, had been enough to make her heart race for years.

And now, that room had found its true owner.

She smiled, elegant and unshaken. "I was never unreasonable. That room was always meant for my sister-in-law."

Weston paused for a beat before taking her luggage. "As long as you understand."

The sunlight caught the diamond ring on his hand, its brilliance slicing through her like an unforgiving blade.

Was it because he loved Theresa so much that he couldn’t wait another second to marry her?

Or was it because he found Brittany so unbearable that he wanted to sever all ties without hesitation?

Whatever the reason, her dignity had long crumbled to dust.

A bitter taste spread across her tongue, sinking deep into her heart.

‘Then when I leave, I hope you’ll finally be happy.’

"Brittany."

Just as they reached the entrance, his voice cut through the silence, calling her name in full.

"Theresa is now the mistress of this house. From now on, everything here will revolve around her. I hope after this past month, you've learned your lesson. Don’t act like a spoiled child who disrespects her elders."

He actually said… she had no manners.

So, he did love Theresa that much.

Once, he had cradled her like something fragile, as if the slightest touch might shatter her.

Now, all the pain she had endured was nothing more than a lesson in his eyes.

But did he really not know why she had lost her temper back then?

Ever since she was a child, music has been her dream. She had spent years watching him compose, studying every note and rhythm. And in secret, she had written a love song just for him.

A month ago, the day after Theresa stepped down as her psychiatrist, Weston’s twenty-sixth birthday was just around the corner.

She had spent the entire day preparing, carefully setting up every decoration. Every penny she had saved over the years, she spent on a tie for him, a small token of affection chosen with care.

But after that ill-fated confession, Weston did nothing except hire a psychiatrist for her. No reaction, no response, just cold, clinical distance.

So, she decided to treat it as a fleeting mistake. Something best left behind.

She had written that song for him, not as a confession, but as a way to share a piece of her heart. A melody woven with her purest emotions. Then, she would remain by his side as his sister.

At least that way, she could tell herself she had no regrets.

But that night, she waited. And waited. The dishes on the table turned cold, untouched, and he never walked through the door.

Just as she reached for her phone, ready to call the police in a panic, a notification lit up her screen.

[A Rising Star in Music. The Genius Composer’s Perfect Match.]

Her fingers trembled as she tapped on it.

The photo said more than words ever could.

Weston. Theresa. Side by side. Smiling like they had the entire world in their hands.

Theresa clung to his arm, leaning into him as if they had belonged together all along.

A loud bang echoed through the room as her phone slipped from her fingers, crashing to the floor. The screen lit up upon impact, accidentally playing a video.

A sweet, familiar voice poured out.

Theresa’s voice.

But the song, that was hers.

A love song she had poured her heart into, every lyric laced with the dreams and stolen moments she had shared with Weston. She had tucked it away beneath her pillow, never telling a soul.

Except that night. The night she got drunk and, in a haze of foolish courage, sang it for him.

Back then, she hadn’t understood why Weston had pushed her away. But now, she did.

He had wanted her to surrender. To understand that song had never belonged to her in the first place.

A bitter smile curled her lips.

"Brother, I will listen to you."

She had never called him that before. Never. She had always used his name.

But this… this was fine. Maybe it had always been meant to be this way.

Without so much as a glance, Weston pushed open the door.

And just like that, a bright, cheerful figure threw herself into his arms.

"Weston, look! What do you think of this dress for the wedding gown?"

Theresa’s face was flawless, framed by wisps of smoky makeup that accentuated her bright, adoring gaze. The wedding dress she wore was breathtaking, pure white silk cascading to the floor, its surface glimmering with diamonds that caught the light in a way that felt almost cruel.

She acted as though Brittany wasn’t even there, completely wrapped up in the euphoria of love.

It wasn’t until Weston cleared his throat that Theresa finally turned, feigning surprise.

"Oh! Brittany, sorry—I didn’t know you were coming back today."

She offered an awkward smile before playfully nudging Weston’s back. He responded with nothing but a soft, doting smile.

Brittany’s fingers curled at her sides.

That dress. She knew it well.

Because she had designed it.

The first time Theresa had stepped foot into this house, she had told Brittany that her feelings were unnatural, a disgrace, something that should never see the light of day.

Theresa had her sketch out her dream wedding dress, urging her to pretend she was wearing it and imagine, just once, marrying Weston.

And Brittany, naïve and desperate, had done exactly that.

Now, standing before her, Theresa was wearing that dream as if it had belonged to her all along.

And all Brittany knew was that it was truly a sight to behold, like a dream stitched in silk and lace.

There was no anger, no resentment, only a soft, almost imperceptible smile as if this was merely the natural course of things.

"Brittany, why aren’t you saying anything? Do you not like me wearing this dress? If so, I’ll take it off right away."

Theresa’s voice was sweet and hesitant, her fingers already reaching up as if ready to strip away the gown at the slightest disapproval.

Weston’s expression darkened. "Brittany, your sister-in-law is talking to you."

Brittany lifted her eyes, her gaze steady and unreadable.

For a moment, Weston felt something unfamiliar stir inside him.

By the time he registered it, she had already moved.

Silently, she stepped behind Theresa, her fingers gliding effortlessly over the tangled dress ties. There was no hesitation, no wasted movement, only quiet precision as she secured the loosened straps, pulling the gown into its intended shape.

"This is how the dress should be worn."

Weston watched her, his unease growing.

Something about her had shifted.

Gone was the fragile girl who once let her emotions flicker across her face. Now, she stood before him like a stranger, poised and distant, as if she had walked away from her past and never looked back.

Had the hospital truly changed her so completely?

He had only wanted to discipline her, to make her understand.

"Brittany, you—"

"Ah!"

Theresa’s scream shattered the moment, sharp and sudden.

The strap in Brittany’s hands was suddenly yanked, snapping apart with a sharp crack.

A breath later, the fabric at the back of the wedding dress tore open.

Theresa, caught entirely off guard, let out a startled gasp as she lost her balance, toppling straight to the ground.

She landed hard, a pained whimper escaping her lips. Faint bruises bloomed almost instantly on her delicate wrist and calf.

Tears welled up in her eyes, her shoulders trembling as she choked out soft, pitiful sobs.

"Weston… my wedding dress…"

"It’s okay, it’s okay. If the dress is ruined, we’ll just make a new one. I never really liked that design anyway. It barely did justice to even a fraction of your beauty."

Yet even as he spoke softly to Theresa, his eyes lifted, dark with anger, fixing Brittany with a glare that left no room for doubt.

Disappointment. Blame. A silent accusation that cut deeper than words.