He Lost His Mind When He Broke My Rules Chapter 01
After I married Dylan Sterling, I made a new rule for him every three days without fail.
No driving alone late at night. No going to the abandoned warehouse on the edge of town. No crossing the old riverfront bridge…
The rules were absurd and overbearing, and everyone in our circle mocked him for being completely whipped.
At first, Dylan obeyed. But resentment built up, until he finally cheated openly—and I caught him in the act.
“When I loved you, you were Mrs. Sterling. Now you’re nothing. You don’t get to control me anymore.”
He held the other woman tighter, defying me even on a day I’d explicitly forbidden him from leaving the house.
“I’ve booked a cruise. I’m giving Chloe a proper confession in three days. You’d better be there to watch.”
Dylan looked relaxed, convinced he’d finally broken free of my rules.
He had no idea every single ban was meant to stop him from dying.
And in three days, he would drown at sea.
********
“Clara, look at Dylan’s social media.”
My best friend Mia sent me a screenshot in a panic.
I’d only just realized he’d blocked me long ago.
In the picture, Dylan had his arm around Chloe Moore, speeding across the old riverfront bridge I’d strictly forbidden him from using.
He grinned triumphantly at the camera with the caption:
All those 99 stupid rules someone made? Today I’m breaking every single one, for everyone to see.
His friends teased in the comments:
Nice, Dylan! You’re bold—afraid your control-freak wife will lose it?
Last time you had one extra drink at the b@r, she trashed the place. Let’s see how you get out of this.
He’s free now! No need to listen to Clara. Now that’s a real man.
Dylan replied sarcastically:
Control-freak? She wishes. She’s just a nosy servant.
Her little tantrums and property damage are just disgusting and pathetic.
My nails dug deep into my palms. The dull ache couldn’t numb the cold dread squeezing my chest.
They were talking about what happened six months ago.
That was the second time I foresaw Dylan’s death—he would have died from alcohol poisoning.
His so-called friends had kept plying him with drinks, and I had no choice but to wreck the bar and drag him out by force.
After that, the nickname “the control-freak wife” spread all over our circle.
Everyone laughed at how domineering I was. Dylan thought I was overreacting.
The first time I saw Dylan’s death was three years ago.
Back then, we were just childhood sweethearts, not yet together.
Then a sudden car crash hit. Dylan instinctively shielded me and was badly injured, falling into a coma.
At his bedside, I clearly saw it: he would suffer sudden cardiac arrest and never wake up.
I scrambled to pull every string, hiring the nation’s top doctors, and stayed by his side for three straight days without sleep.
Everyone thought I was irrational and unreasonable.
Then he really did go into cardiac arrest—and the prepared doctors pulled him back from the brink. Only then did people call me a miracle-worker.
When Dylan woke up and heard what I’d done, he thought I was his lucky charm. With tears in his eyes, he confessed the feelings he’d hidden for over a decade.
We started dating naturally, and got married soon after.
At first, my visions of Dylan’s death came randomly.
But six months ago, they began happening every three days. So I made one ridiculous rule after another.
No driving alone at night—I feared he’d lose control and crash into the guardrail in the rain.
No riding elevators alone—I feared the elevator would plummet.
None of this was about control. I just wanted him to stay alive.
My chest ached bitterly. As I stared into space, Dylan’s impatient voice cut through from outside the door.
“Someone, rip out all these flowers in the yard.”