Too Late To Chase The One He Betrayed

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.