My Aldrich is a psychopath. He has bipolar disorder and broke his own leg to prevent me from marrying my fiancé. Later, I was murdered by my fiancé and best friend. That couple had sex at my funeral, planning how to spend my inheritance. My Aldrich, with his broken leg, hunted them across half the globe like a madman. Covered in blood, he brought their severed heads to my corpse that was left like spaghetti. Then he held me, stroked my head, and whispered: “Trista, Aldrich has always been here.” Living again in this second chance at life. When my fiancé embraced me, asking me to drug Aldrich’s water, I pushed away that man with his disgusting smile. “What did Aldrich ever do wrong?” “Aldrich just loves me too much.”
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