Healer Mate Sent Me to Mental Institution

I first met Marcus during my volunteer year at the pack orphanage.

Before the pack had acknowledged him, before he'd earned his place among the healers, Marcus had grown up within these very walls.

When he found me there, I was surrounded by children—gently cleaning dirt from their small hands, fingers intertwined as we sang together in the afternoon light.

Golden sunlight filtered through the oak leaves, and my voice carried clear and sweet across the playground.

Marcus later told me that was the moment I was burned into his memory, becoming his eternal moonlight.

Years later, when Alice fell gravely ill and was admitted to the pack's healing center, Marcus and I crossed paths again.

He had become a composed and brilliant head healer, his wolf's natural instincts making him extraordinarily gifted at sensing illness and injury. Meanwhile, I was frantically grasping at every possible lifeline to keep my sister breathing.

Without my knowledge, Marcus had been covering all of Alice's medical expenses and personally overseeing her treatment, his healing energy flowing into her night after night to pull her back from death's threshold.

His courtship was intense and all-consuming. Simply because I mentioned loving comfort food from my hometown, he taught himself to cook with those same hands that channeled healing power, spending hours in the kitchen just to see me smile.

When I wrinkled my nose at the lingering scent of cigarettes that clung to his clothes after long nights at the center, he quit immediately—and banned smoking anywhere near his workspace, terrified that even the faintest trace would displease me.

His colleagues started calling me his "intended mate" behind my back, good-naturedly complaining: "Emma, you have no idea how obsessed our head healer has become. After pulling a thirty-hour shift saving lives, I just wanted a damn smoke to decompress, but Marcus confiscated my pack, claiming he couldn't risk you smelling it on him. I've never seen him care this much about anyone..."

Later, Marcus lit up the entire city with fireworks and dropped to one knee beneath their shower of gold: "Emma, you're my one and only. In this lifetime and every other, I'll love no one but you."

But this same Marcus—my supposed destined mate—had now issued me a psychiatric diagnosis for another woman's sake, condemned me to a human mental institution, and made me the pack's greatest shame.

At the grim suburban facility, orderlies roughly shoved me into the general ward.

A wild-eyed woman immediately launched herself at me, slamming me to the floor and driving her knee into my stomach while her nails raked through my hair like claws.

When I tried to fight back, she struck my face repeatedly, her voice a manic chant: "How dare you steal other women's men! Whore, I'll beat the life out of you!"

In desperation, I screamed Marcus's name.

Before this nightmare, whenever I called for him, he would appear at my side instantly—my protector, my anchor, my safe harbor in any storm.

Now, hearing his name, the deranged woman cackled with cruel delight: "You still think you're his precious mate? You think he's coming to save you?"

"He dumped you here because he wants you broken and obedient! I'm just here to speed up the process!"

This became my daily existence—a living hell where his name was used to torment me.

A month into my imprisonment, a doctor informed me I had a visitor. My heart leaped—surely Marcus had come to his senses, had come to take me home.

In the sterile visiting room, I found Marcus waiting—but Victoria and her brother Vincent flanked him like a triumphant court.

Victoria's satisfaction was palpable as she took in my deteriorated state. "Emma, Marcus feels terrible about your suffering here, so he's sent us to negotiate your release."

Her voice dripped false sympathy. "All you need to do is admit that you deliberately seduced my brother and offer him a sincere apology. Then this unfortunate misunderstanding can be put behind us."

I pressed my hand to the still-tender bruises on my ribs, my voice cutting like ice: "Over my dead body. I will never apologize to that rapist."

Instantly, crocodile tears welled in Victoria's eyes. She looked utterly devastated, clutching Marcus's arm as she sobbed: "If Emma refuses to take responsibility for her actions... then perhaps there's nothing more we can do. I had hoped she might show some remorse after reflecting on her behavior..."

Without hesitation, Marcus moved to shield her from my supposedly threatening presence.

He stared down at me through the reinforced glass, his words freezing the blood in my veins: "It's just words, Emma. Victoria deserves to hear your apology, so apologize."

His amber eyes—once warm with love—were now cold and merciless. "You've always been stubborn to a fault. You know I have countless ways to ensure your compliance."

My fingers found the small braided bracelet around my wrist—Alice's handiwork, woven with trembling fingers during one of her better days.

As long as I defied him, Marcus held all the power. Alice's life hung in the balance of his goodwill.

Thinking of my sister lying helpless in the healing center, I squeezed my eyes shut. After an internal war that felt like it lasted hours, I dug my nails deep enough into my palm to draw blood.

I surrendered.

I raised my head to meet those three pairs of expectant eyes: "I deliberately seduced Vincent. I apologize to Mr. Vincent for my inappropriate behavior. I'm sorry."

But Victoria wasn't satisfied with my grudging compliance.

"Emma, a real apology requires sincerity. You barely even bowed your head—how can we be sure you mean it? And you spoke so quietly, almost like you don't want to be heard."

Victoria's mockery was evident as Marcus stood silent beside her, apparently approving of this humiliation.

I trembled with rage and shame. Never in my life had I been so thoroughly degraded.

If I had never fallen in love with Marcus, would I have been spared this torture?

Hating myself for my weakness, I dropped to my knees on the cold concrete floor, raised my head, and brought it down hard against the ground.

"I deliberately seduced Vincent. I apologize to Mr. Vincent for my inappropriate behavior. I'm sorry!"

"I deliberately seduced Vincent. I apologize to Mr. Vincent for my inappropriate behavior. I'm sorry!"

"I deliberately seduced Vincent. I apologize to Mr. Vincent for my inappropriate behavior. I'm sorry!"

I repeated this degrading mantra until blood ran down my forehead, my face a mask of crimson humiliation.

Marcus's jaw tightened almost imperceptibly, but when he moved to intervene, Victoria's grip on his arm tightened possessively.

"See? She does know how to show proper respect!"

I lifted my bloodied face, meeting their gazes with what dignity I had left: "Is that sufficient?"

Victoria raised her chin with aristocratic disdain: "It'll do. Barely."

I struggled to my feet, swaying from blood loss and the crushing weight of my shattered pride. When Marcus reflexively reached out to steady me, I violently shoved his hands away.

I stared at those fingers that had once traced my face with worship, that had now held Victoria close while watching me bleed: "Don't. Touch. Me. You make me sick."

Marcus's control snapped like a broken leash. He grabbed my wrist in a grip that would have left bruises, his eyes flashing with dangerous gold: "What did you just say to me? Repeat that."

I wrenched free from his hold, my own wolf snarling just beneath the surface: "I said you make me sick!"

My defiance hit him like a physical blow. He released me abruptly, stepping back as if burned.

"Since you clearly haven't learned your lesson, you won't be needing early release. Stay here until you remember your place!"

But his threats no longer held any power over me. This time, I didn't grovel or beg for mercy. I walked away with my head held high.