Our Pretty Darling Psycho

Everyone thinks I’m insane. To be fair… they’re not entirely wrong. I’ve been locked inside Blackthorn Institute for Violent Omegas for three years, seven months, and thirteen very boring days after allegedly setting my ex-pack’s penthouse on fire. In my defense? The curtains were ugly. Now I spend my days charming nurses, stealing pudding cups, and pretending not to notice the cameras hidden inside the walls. Because Blackthorn isn’t a normal asylum. It’s a cage for dangerous Omegas. The kind society would rather sedate than save. And me? I’m their favorite little psycho. Then they arrive… Dr. Lucien Graves—the disturbingly calm psychologist who studies me like I’m his favorite experiment. Riot Vale—the tattooed Alpha criminal dragged into the institute after turning a prison riot into a bloodbath with his bare hands. And Silas Crowe—the smirking mortician-turned-underground funeral artist who volunteers at Blackthorn and speaks about death like it’s poetry. Three terrifying Alphas. Three men with secrets rotting beneath their skin. Three men who look at me like they want to crack my ribs open and crawl inside. Suddenly, Blackthorn starts feeling less like a prison… and more like a honeymoon from Hell. There’s just one tiny problem. Someone inside the asylum is murdering patients. And apparently, all the evidence keeps pointing to me. Oops… Now the staff wants me locked away forever, the bodies keep piling up, and my three obsessive Alphas are becoming dangerously protective. Dr. Graves wants to cure me. Riot wants to burn the world down for me. Silas? Silas keeps asking what color flowers I’d like at our future funeral. Honestly, that one’s kind of romantic. But if Blackthorn has taught me anything, it’s this: Love and madness are basically the same thing. And if they think I’m the monster lurking inside these halls— They haven’t met my pack yet.

Everyone thinks I’m insane. To be fair… they’re not entirely wrong. I’ve been locked inside Blackthorn Institute for Violent Omegas for three years, seven months, and thirteen very boring days after allegedly setting my ex-pack’s penthouse on fire. In my defense? The curtains were ugly. Now I spend my days charming nurses, stealing pudding cups, and pretending not to notice the cameras hidden inside the walls. Because Blackthorn isn’t a normal asylum. It’s a cage for dangerous Omegas. The kind society would rather sedate than save. And me? I’m their favorite little psycho. Then they arrive… Dr. Lucien Graves—the disturbingly calm psychologist who studies me like I’m his favorite experiment. Riot Vale—the tattooed Alpha criminal dragged into the institute after turning a prison riot into a bloodbath with his bare hands. And Silas Crowe—the smirking mortician-turned-underground funeral artist who volunteers at Blackthorn and speaks about death like it’s poetry. Three terrifying Alphas. Three men with secrets rotting beneath their skin. Three men who look at me like they want to crack my ribs open and crawl inside. Suddenly, Blackthorn starts feeling less like a prison… and more like a honeymoon from Hell. There’s just one tiny problem. Someone inside the asylum is murdering patients. And apparently, all the evidence keeps pointing to me. Oops… Now the staff wants me locked away forever, the bodies keep piling up, and my three obsessive Alphas are becoming dangerously protective. Dr. Graves wants to cure me. Riot wants to burn the world down for me. Silas? Silas keeps asking what color flowers I’d like at our future funeral. Honestly, that one’s kind of romantic. But if Blackthorn has taught me anything, it’s this: Love and madness are basically the same thing. And if they think I’m the monster lurking inside these halls— They haven’t met my pack yet.