Belong to me!My 'Psycho' Wife

Ash Island, at the border of M country, was a deserted island and a slum. Helpless and abandoned elderly, severely disabled individuals, and the mentally ill were all thrown onto this island to fend for themselves. There was no internet, no electricity, and no supplies for daily life. There were no laws, no control. It was a living hell.

The gloomy sky cast a dark blanket over the island.

Under a dying old tree, a young girl huddled on the ground, wrapped in a tattered white dress that barely covered her frail body. Her long hair framed a pale and terrifying face, stained with traces of blood.

Sylvia Clark chewed on her nails, her deep blue eyes staring ahead with calm indifference.

People ran naked, and others jumped into the sea, attempting to escape. Some couldn't bear it and silently used sharpened stones to cut their wrists. Such scenes were not uncommon since Sylvia was abandoned here three years ago by the Clark family.

She was the adopted daughter of the Clark family.

Three years ago, she learned that the Clark family adopted her based on a fortune-teller's prediction. Their biological daughter, Bella Clark, was born with a difficult fate. She was plagued with illness and misfortune throughout her childhood. The fortune teller predicted that she would suffer a great calamity at the age of eighteen and then die in a foreign land.

The only way for Bella to escape this unjust fate was to find someone born on the same day, month, and year as her and take the burden of her destiny. Sylvia was the one chosen to bear it.

In her childhood, the Clark family would make her take various medications that caused continuous pain. When she turned eighteen, the Clark family forced her to get engaged to an elderly man. She resisted with all her might and stabbed the nearly sixty-year-old man with a fruit knife but couldn't escape. Shortly after, the Clark family sent her to Ash Island.

In the blink of an eye, three years had passed.

Sylvia had no idea when she would die in a foreign land as desired by the Clark family.

Whirr, whirr, whirr!

Suddenly, the sound of helicopters filled the sky.

Sylvia looked up and saw dozens of aircraft hovering over the island, their propellers piercing through the eardrums with immense force.

What's happening?

The planes landed by the seaside, and a group of mentally disturbed individuals rushed towards them, trying to climb aboard like a pack of zombies attacking a city.

Bang.

Bang.

Bang.

After a series of deafening gunshots, the birds and animals scattered, and people fell one by one, their foreheads pierced with bloody holes.

Someone screamed.

From a distance, a group of well-dressed men with guns in their hands could be seen.

Sylvia slowly tightened her body, her cherry lips pressed together. Had the government finally decided to destroy them all? Was she going to die?

If so, what was the point of her existence in this world? Was it really just to save Bella from calamity?

She refused, truly refused.

She wanted to survive. She wanted revenge!

"Mr. Hiram, the shacks on this side are further from the center of the slums and mostly inhabited by mentally ill people. They have been driven to the seaside by the more normal ones. The death rate here reaches fifty percent annually."

Two columns of armed men walked into a patch of yellowed trees.

Sylvia sat stiffly under a tree, a rifle barrel pointed in her direction. It felt as if she were the next doomed soul.

Her gaze lowered, and she saw a pair of shiny pointed shoes stepping on the fallen leaves, making a crisp sound as they passed in front of her. Suddenly, the sound of the leaves being crushed stopped abruptly, and the shoes changed direction towards her.

The owner of the shoes faced her directly. His gaze fell upon her. Sylvia instantly felt an overwhelming sense of oppression that suffocated her.

"Is she one of the mentally ill?"

The man's deep, cool voice carried an inherent nobility, a sense of superiority that penetrated deeply, resonating from her skull to her entire body.

As soon as the words fell, Sylvia's hand was grabbed, revealing the electronic locking device on her delicate wrist. Inside was the identity information of everyone sent to the island.

To meet the criteria for inclusion in the slums, Sylvia was assigned by the Clark family as a mentally disabled wanderer.

Someone scanned it with a phone and reported, "Mr. Hiram, she is mentally ill."

"Give me the specific information."

"She was sent here three years ago. She's 21 years old this year, with no specific identification information. She appears to be a homeless woman, diagnosed with schizophrenia."

"21 years old."

The man repeated the number, his tone dark and disdainful. "A woman like her, who should have been in the slums since birth. Why was she only discovered and sent here at the age of 18."

"..."

What does it mean to have been in the slums since birth? What bullshit reasoning is that?

Sylvia lowered her head, continuing to pretend to have a mental disorder.

The pair of shoes walked step by step towards her, and the straight line of the man's trousers began to twist and deform. He squatted down in front of her, the corners of his black coat brushing against the yellow leaves on the ground.

In the next second, her chin was firmly gripped and lifted. Sylvia winced in pain, her gaze colliding with a pair of cold, stern eyes. Her breathing halted.

The man before her appeared to be around twenty-five or twenty-six years old, with sharp short hair framing a very handsome face. His skin was snow-white, his features sculpted and sharp. He had very thin lips, giving off a chilling sensation when viewed alone.

He stared at her with an examining gaze, his arrogance insufferable.

Sylvia saw her impassive self reflected in his eyes. Spending too long on the island had turned her into an expressionless person. All her emotions roared within her body, never showing on her face.

The intense eye contact lasted for three minutes.

Indeed, in the entire country of M, there were not many who dared to hold his gaze for so long without flinching.

The girl in front of him had an extremely innocent face, with scratches on her face, possibly from branches or the like. The deep wounds added a touch of innocent bloodthirsty beauty, making anyone who saw it skip a beat.

Even being firmly held by him, she didn't make a fuss, didn't throw a fit, and didn't go crazy. A glint of interest flashed in Hiram King's deep brown eyes.

Interesting.

The people around with guns stood quietly on the side, ready to shoot any patient who approached without mercy.

Suddenly, Hiram tapped her face and stood up. "It's her."

Someone stood nearby and respectfully handed Hiram a clean towel. "Mr. Hiram, don't you want to look around and choose? There are many mentally ill people in the slums."

"No need." Hiram took the towel and leisurely wiped his elegant and slender hands, as if he were delicately cleaning a piece of artwork.

Afterward, he casually threw the towel on the ground and walked away. The others immediately followed.

Sylvia was pulled up from the ground by people, with one person on each side, guiding her forward. She didn't protest; under so many gun barrels, any struggle would be futile.

She heard the person on her right curiously ask, "Assistant Martin, why did we have to come to the slums to pick a mentally ill patient?"

The young man known as Assistant Martin walked ahead, chuckled at the question, and said, "You dare to inquire about Mr. Hiram's affairs? Are you trying to get yourself killed?"

It was just a casual remark. But the questioner immediately fell silent, not daring to utter another word, as if the two words "Mr. Hiram" were a deadly curse.

Mr. Hiram?

Who exactly was this significant figure? To pick her up and take her back?

In other words, they wouldn't kill her; she would be able to leave this island alive?

As the group walked forward in silence, no one noticed the glimmer of rebirth in the eyes of the girl being taken away.

******

On the peculiar rooftops of the shanty houses in the distance, several heads gathered together, watching the scene unfold.

"It's strange. With Sylvia's skills, she could easily disarm and kill a few people to protect herself. Why did Sylvia willingly let them take her away?" A boy in his teens leaned over the edge of the rooftop, wearing a faded patient gown, his face filled with confusion as he stared in the direction of the helicopter.

"First, Sylvia wants to leave here too badly." Someone answered.

"And what's the second reason?" the young boy continued to ask.

"The second reason is that Sylvia is smart; she knows not to mess with the man who took her, that's Hiram King."

One person stood on the rooftop, gazing out at the ocean. Sylvia had already been taken onto the helicopter. "If one day you can also leave Ash Island, it's best to steer clear of the man named Hiram King; he's even harder to deal with than the King of Hell."

"Oh," the young boy exclaimed, as if suddenly understanding, but then furrowed his brow. "But Sylvia will have nothing when she goes out, how will she survive?"

At those words, the person let out a low laugh. Sylvia had spent three years on Ash Island, on the verge of becoming the queen of the slums. How could such a person not survive? The ones who should be worried... are probably the people who abandoned Sylvia here all those years ago.

******

In N City of country M.

Lush lilacs climb up tall fences, surrounding a vintage European-style mansion.

It was Lilac Land.

The sun shone on the courtyard, showcasing the beautiful flowers swaying in the breeze.

Sylvia sat huddled on the second-floor balcony on a woven vine swing, biting her nails. When the swing reached its highest point, she could see the entire lilac garden. Ever since being taken from Ash Island, she had been confined here, with two middle-aged maids taking care of her.

She had no idea how Mr. Hiram planned to deal with her. With no money or identity, she had no choice but to wait and see.

Behind her, the two maids chatted as they trimmed the lilac branches crawling up to the balcony.

"I heard that when the driver, Tony, made a slight mistake with the brakes, Young Master kicked him on the spot. Poor guy ended up in the hospital half-disabled."

"That's nothing. Last time, I saw the Master himself come begging for funds, only to be humiliated by the Young Master. He couldn't even face anyone afterward."

"Oh, ever since Young Master took over the company, he's become more ruthless."

Sylvia swung on the swing, trying to piece together some information about Mr. Hiram from the maids' conversations over the past few days.

Hiram, 26 years old, is the eldest son of the prominent King family in the city. Last year, he stormed into his father's study with a gun, forcing him to hand over the company business. Since then, Hiram had taken over completely, exhibiting a ruthless and decisive manner. He got rid of many older staff members, restructured his core team, and rapidly became the most powerful conglomerate in the country.

There were a lot of people who got rich by relying on him, and there were also many people who hated him so much that they repeatedly attempted to assassinate him.

Those who made mistakes by his side would meet a gruesome death, and those who opposed him would meet an even more terrible fate.

Even if it was his little brother who was kidnapped, he could calmly watch as his brother's fingers were ruthlessly chopped off, and still find amusement, unaffected by any threats.

There was no doubt that he was a ruthless man with immense power. The thought of how terrifying he truly was was too unsettling to dwell on.

"Now I find that it's not bad that we were assigned to Lilac Land. We only have to take care of a young girl. Yes, she might have some mental issues, but she's quiet and doesn't cause any trouble. It's quite a worry-free job," one of the maids said, patting her chest.

"Exactly," the other maid agreed, turning to look at Sylvia, who was already flying through the air on the swing like a kite without strings fluttering in the wind.

The maids were suddenly startled, wide-eyed, and speechless with fear.

The front gate of the courtyard was pushed open from the outside. Several bodyguards entered first, standing at the entrance and bowing respectfully. A tall figure cast a shadow on the ground as Hiram stepped into Lilac Land expressionlessly. After walking a few steps, a dark figure descended from the sky.

The bodyguards immediately drew their guns and rushed over.

Instinctively, Hiram raised his hand and the fragile girl fell into his arms. The impact made him take a step back, his clothes fluttering, tracing an arc in mid-air.

Flower petals fell from the walls.

He lowered his head and looked down at the person in his arms with a dark gaze. The girl was dressed in thin pajamas, curled up against his chest, her fair face showing no signs of fear from the fall. Her big eyes stared blankly at him. She bit her nails, her thumb full of bite marks.

"Hey there, Miss! You sure are a crazy one, swings aren't meant to be played like that, you know!" Two maids rushed out of the mansion, and upon seeing Hiram, their faces turned pale as they stood there trembling. "Young... Young Master..."

"..." Sylvia quietly and obediently bit her nails.

She didn't have a mental illness. However, until she figured out the purpose of being brought out of Ash Island, she had to show some symptoms to survive. Otherwise, if that merciless Mr. Hiram caught her pretending, who knows what tragic fate awaits her?

After spending three years in the slums, she knew better than anyone how to survive.

But it was really strange, Hiram actually held her, and not only held her, but didn't immediately throw her to the ground. She was ready to be thrown onto the ground and be left with a broken bone.

"Is this how you take care of Miss?" A cold and displeased voice resounded above Sylvia's head.

In the next second, Hiram lifted his leg and kicked one of the maids, sending her sprawling to the ground, his eyes filled with viciousness and malevolence to the extreme.

The maid lay on the ground, too afraid to get up or make excuses, only able to apologize profusely, "I'm sorry, Young Master, I'm sorry, it's our negligence."

"Don't let me see these two useless wastes again!" Every word Hiram spoke was filled with disgust.

"Yes, I'll fire them immediately." A voice came from beside her.

Sylvia remembered that voice, it was Assistant Martin.

Hiram withdrew his gaze with a stern face, holding Sylvia and walking back inside.

Martin looked at Hiram's indifferent back and then turned his gaze to the group of bodyguards, "In the future, when Mr. Hiram comes, you guys stay here and don't need to serve him inside the building."

"Yes." The bodyguards all responded in unison, their voices deafening.

Sylvia's ears perked up as she heard those words.

In the future, when Mr. Hiram comes... So, she will continue to be placed here? Why? What does the CEO of a big corporation want with a mental patient like her?

Sylvia bit her nails, unable to figure it out.

Hiram carried her into the mansion and placed her on the couch in the foyer. He took off his coat and sat on the coffee table in front of her. That's when Sylvia noticed the vividly portrayed wolf head tattooed on the back of his right hand. It looked fierce and untamed.

He reached out his slender hand and gripped her chin, forcing her to lift her head for him to examine. His brown eyes stared directly into hers, filled with malice and devoid of any kindness.

Sylvia remained expressionless, afraid to show any emotions.

It wasn't until her chin felt like it was about to break that Hiram finally let go of her, his voice deep and severe, "You sure do resemble her."

Resemble who?

An enemy?

Or an old lover?

Martin walked in from outside and, upon hearing the words, looked deeply at Sylvia for a long time before sighing and saying, "Yeah, she's just like Miss Claire. Even when she was ill, Miss Claire would be calm and quiet, even when she walked, she was graceful."

"She died at the age of 21." As he said this, Hiram's voice became particularly dark, as if suppressing some emotions.

"The young lady has already undergone a regular medical examination, and there is no infectious disease or aggressiveness. It's safe for you to be with her, but still be cautious," Martin reported. "Also, her identity couldn't be found."

"It doesn't matter. What kind of identity does a substitute need?" Hiram snorted disdainfully.

"..." It seems that the probability of being an old lover is higher.

What's going on here? When a lover with schizophrenia dies, does he find a 21-year-old mentally ill person as a replacement for emotional companionship?

Damn it!

So, she can only be a substitute for her entire life? Before for Bella and now for this man in front of her.

Sylvia cursed a series of dirty words in her mind.

Hiram sat in front of her and casually took off his coat, throwing it aside, and coldly commanded, "You can leave first. I want to take a nap here."

"Yes." Martin lowered his head, took two steps back, and then turned and walked out.

Huh? What does he mean by taking a nap? What's going on?

As she was wondering, Hiram suddenly raised his hand and patted her face as if petting a pet. He stared at her, the corners of his eyes lifting, lazy and provocative, "Remember, from today onwards, you belong to me."

"..." Sylvia suddenly felt a boundless chill.

What does it mean to belong to him? What does he mean by that statement?

She immediately became nervous.

Hiram sat in front of her, and his slender fingers began to unbutton the buttons with dexterity, revealing a distinctive muscle definition, and perfectly sculpted abs, without an ounce of fat, nor overly muscular.

"..." Oh no. Undressing in front of a mentally disturbed "patient," isn't he some kind of pervert? Please don't undress.

Suddenly, Hiram stood up, his hand resting on his waist where his belt was, and with a flick of his fingertips, the belt was removed.

Sylvia's breath hitched. Please don't undress anymore!

As if hearing her internal roar, Hiram really didn't undress any further. He merely held the shirt in his hand, turned around, and walked toward the bathroom.

Once the bathroom door was closed, Sylvia immediately stood up from the sofa. She needed to escape from this place.

She walked to the window and took a glance outside. In the courtyard, several bodyguards were still standing there, with gleaming pistols on their waists.

So bad!

Sylvia was stressed out. When she was on Ash Island, there were no laws or moral restraints, and many people couldn't resist their physical desires and engaged in random affairs, but they never dared to target her.

She really didn't expect that the president of the top conglomerate would have a hidden fetish for mentally ill people.

It's unbelievable!

She can't leave through the front entrance.

Sylvia looked around the mansion, searching for a room, and reached out to open the window. She looked down and from this angle, jumping onto the perimeter wall and then down was not difficult. The challenging part was not making any noise so that she wouldn't be immediately caught.

Forget it, just give it a try.

Sylvia gritted her teeth and used both hands and feet to climb up to the window. Just as she climbed up, she heard low, approaching footsteps from outside the door.

Why is he showering so quickly? Sylvia looked in shock toward the door. The footsteps grew closer and closer...

She had to slide down from the window and shut it.

Footsteps stopped at the door.

Sylvia didn't have time to think and sat on the nearby bed, pretending to be blankly biting her nails.

"You ran here!" A dark and displeased voice echoed in the room.

Sylvia didn't lift her head, her gaze darting past the crystal figurine beside her. Three years ago, she stabbed the crotch of that old man, so stabbing this man wouldn't make much difference. With that thought, her heart settled.

The devil's footsteps gradually approached her. The scent of men's body wash enveloped him, and a white bathrobe caught her eye.

Sylvia swallowed and slowly lifted her head.

Even with a vacant gaze, it couldn't hide the fact that she had beautiful eyes, vacant yet innocent, like a blank sheet of paper.

Hiram stood in front of her, his eyes fixed on her. Short wet hair dripped down his handsome face, and slowly dropped onto his prominent collarbone, disappearing into the half-open bathrobe, exuding sensuality that was almost overwhelming for an adult man.

"Dare to run without my command, and I'll break your legs, understand?" He suddenly bent down, his handsome face almost touching hers, staring at her, a wicked curve forming on his thin lips. He was smiling, but he exuded a dominant threatening aura that made one's hair stand on end.

She could assert that he definitely wasn't joking. She stiffly recoiled backward, but Hiram closed in, his hands pressing against her sides, trapping her in his embrace.

"..." Sylvia held her breath and shifted her buttocks to the side, inching towards the crystal figurine.

"Heh, I forgot, you're a psycho, even if I tell you, you wouldn't understand." He suddenly sneered, his gaze falling on her rosy lips, his long lashes casting shadows as he slowly lowered his head.

Come! Fight to the death. Sylvia reached for the figurine.

Ten inches.

Five inches.

Two inches.

There it was.

Her wrist was suddenly grabbed by the man, his hot touch with moisture burned her skin, startling Sylvia almost jumping off the bed.

Oh no! Sylvia gritted her teeth, ready to push the man away, but a dry towel was suddenly stuffed into her hand, and the man in front of her said, "Help me dry my hair, sis." His eyebrow raised, a hint of devilish charm, incredibly sexy.

"..." W-What? What's going on? Drying hair? Sis? What does he want her to do?

Sylvia was confused and didn't dare to show it. She could only continue to look dazed.

Seeing her indifferent reaction, Hiram's eyes darkened, probably disappointed by not getting the desired response from her. Then, he grabbed her hand and roughly dried his own hair with it.

Sylvia ended up with water droplets splashing on her face.

His palm was scorching hot, like fire.

After drying, Hiram tossed the towel aside, tightly grabbing her delicate hand and tracing her fingers absentmindedly, casually saying, "Listen, I'll only teach you once. If I ask you to dry my hair next time and you refuse, I'll cut off each of your pretty fingers and feed them to the dogs."

"..." What a pervert! Sylvia cursed silently in her mind while her brain tried to analyze the situation rationally.

So, the person who died was his sister? She was a replacement for his deceased sister, which was somewhat better. Being a replacement for a sister was better than being a replacement for an old lover, after all, one can't sleep with a sibling, but one can with a lover.

After touching her finger, Hiram waved his big hand and ruthlessly pushed her onto the bed.

Sylvia lay stiffly on the bed. What is he going to do now?