Sent to a mental hospital

I chased after Ethan for seven years, groveling at his feet like a speck of dust. Finally, my persistence "paid off," and I became his fiancée. That is, until I supposedly pushed his precious Luna, causing her to break her leg. He flew into a rage, broke my finger, and had me committed to a hellish psychiatric hospital. He called it my penance. Later, broken and numb, I emerged. And he lost it. "Ashley," he sobbed, "Just stay with me. I'll do anything!"

1.

Ethan picked me up the day I was discharged. He leaned against his Bugatti Veyron, smoking, his profile sharp and handsome. Between puffs, he glanced at me, indifferent. "Get in."

Before, his every word was a command I obeyed instantly, like a dog. I didn't even need him to ask; I practically vibrated with the need to be near him. Everyone knew how Ashley Carter, the rich girl, was obsessed with Ethan, chasing him relentlessly. But now, his voice sent shivers down my spine, and I stood frozen, like a zombie.

Ethan frowned, his expression hardening. "What's your deal now? Get in the car."

"R-Right away! Please don't hit me!" The phantom pain was real. I scrambled towards him as fast as my legs would carry me. The head nurse had made it clear: disobedient girls were punished. The electroshock therapy was excruciating, leaving me convulsing and eventually numb.

I'd forgotten that one of my legs was now permanently damaged, a souvenir of my "treatment," and I stumbled, falling hard. But I kept crawling forward, oblivious to the pain. I had to hurry. It felt like the electric prod was already against my lower back, ready to send jolts of agony through me.

Ethan, his face a mask of disbelief, strode over, scooped me up, and deposited me in the car. I curled up, sweating, and when he leaned in to fasten my seatbelt, I screamed, "Don't touch me!"

The pain, the memories, flooded back. Ethan’s touch triggered them. I was filthy. I was worthless. The head nurse would punish me. Six months of torture had conditioned me to expect pain at every turn.

I saw her, in her crisp white uniform, attaching the electrodes to my head, my body. The jolt of electricity, the feeling of my muscles seizing. The burning of antiseptic carelessly poured on open wounds. The reopening of barely healed cuts with a scalpel, the needles jabbed under my fingernails, slowly peeling them back...

She would force me to watch videos of Ethan and Luna, their laughter echoing in the sterile room. She’d yank my hair, hissing, "Ethan belongs to my niece, Luna. He's not for the likes of you. They're in love. You're nothing but a homewrecker, a slut. You should be ashamed."

She’d strip me naked, make me beg on my knees. She said it was the only way to purge my "promiscuous nature," to cure me of my "desperate need for male attention."

But I never understood what I had done wrong. I was Ethan's fiancée. I was the one who had been committed, all because I'd offended his precious Luna.

The pain, the stinging slaps, had forced me to ...