The Seizure Spectacle: I Stopped Loving Him, But He Lost His Mind

On Tristan’s birthday, his friends started teasing me. "Hey, what does your sister look like when she has an epileptic seizure? Let us see." Tristan raised his ice-cold eyes. "You want to see?" The crowd nodded eagerly. Tristan grabbed a bottle of liquor and poured it directly over my head. The intense stimulation instantly triggered a violent reaction. I collapsed to the floor, convulsing and foaming at the mouth. It wasn't until I was on the verge of suffocating that Tristan finally knelt down to give me first aid. He looked at me with a twisted, playful smirk. "Still dare to say you love me?" I gasped for air, shaking my head frantically. "I don't. Never again." After that day, I truly stopped loving him. But he ended up completely losing his mind. 01 When I was thirteen, my mother and I moved into a massive mansion, and that was when I met the owner's son, Tristan Vanderbilt. Tristan, just like his father, never showed any disgust toward my illness. The first time I had a seizure in front of him, even though he was visibly terrified, he obediently stood by Mr. Vanderbilt's side and helped administer first aid. That day, the foam I coughed up ruined his favorite Persian rug. Tristan wasn't angry at all. After I recovered, he even made me a bunch of delicious snacks. Mr. Vanderbilt said that since Tristan was five years older than me, he was my big brother and would take good care of me. He told me not to feel anxious and to treat this place like my own home. Eventually, I really did start treating this place as my home. And, without asking, I started treating Tristan as my entire world. Because of him, I was no longer terrified when kids at school bullied me. I even started to look forward to it, anticipating the moment Tristan would appear like a hero, stand up for me, and tell me not to be afraid because he would always be there. But sometimes, I felt a strange disconnect. In the hazy depths of my memory, it felt like someone else had been my hero first, though I could never remember his face. So, I just projected that blurry silhouette onto Tristan. As time went on, I realized my feelings for him were no longer pure. So, on the day I turned eighteen, I confessed my love. For the first time ever, Tristan's perfectly sculpted brows knit together in deep disgust. With a look of pure repulsion, he snatched the cake I had spent hours baking for him and threw it straight into the swimming pool. I was paralyzed with panic. He grabbed me roughly by the chin. "Hazel, don't ever say something like that again. It makes me sick. I have absolutely zero desire to kiss a mouth that foams." I was terrified. Tristan had always been so gentle. His sudden, vicious hostility suffocated me. Right there by the pool, I went into a full-blown seizure. After that, I never mentioned my feelings again. I buried them deep in my heart all the way through my college graduation. Until the day my diary somehow ended up in his car, and I had to go to his birthday party to get it back... "Happy birthday," I said as I walked in. I immediately spotted Tristan sitting in the center of the VIP lounge. He was wearing a festive birthday hat, but his expression was so freezing cold that no one dared to get too close. I didn't dare approach him either. I quietly placed my gift in an inconspicuous corner and sat in the seat closest to the door, ready to slip out at a moment's notice. The group sang a few songs and started playing drinking games. Taking advantage of the noisy crowd, I prepared to sneak away. But the moment I stood up, a guy dressed in a flashy, obnoxious shirt blocked my path. "Tristan, what does your sister look like when she has an epileptic seizure? Let us see." As soon as the words left his mouth, the entire room turned their eyes toward me. My body tensed violently. I shot a panicked glance at Tristan. Tristan raised his ice-cold eyes, glaring at the guy with a hint of irritation. The guy instantly shut his mouth. But then, a delicate, feminine voice spoke up from beside Tristan. Because the lighting was so dim, I couldn't see the woman's face clearly. "I kinda want to see it too. You're not going to be stingy and hide it from us, are you?" Tristan looked at me, then turned to the woman leaning against his shoulder. "You really want to see?" The woman hummed in agreement, and the rest of the sycophants in the room nodded eagerly. Getting his answer, Tristan picked up a bottle of high-proof liquor from the table and, without a second of hesitation, poured it directly over me. The overpowering scent of alcohol was a severe trigger for me. Instantly, my body went into shock. I collapsed to the floor, convulsing violently and foaming at the mouth. The crowd laughed. They pulled out their phones to record. Someone even nudged my calf with their foot. I seized uncontrollably, my body contorting into rigid, terrifying positions. It wasn't until I was on the verge of suffocating that Tristan finally pushed the woman off his shoulder and walked over to give me first aid. His technique was practiced, but his eyes were full of a twisted, sadistic amusement. He leaned in and whispered in my ear: "Still dare to say you love me?" Gasping desperately for air, I shook my head frantically. "I don't." Satisfied, he stood up, walked back to his seat, and softly asked the woman who was now pretending to tremble in fear: "Did that scare you?" His voice was sickeningly doting. He tenderly wiped a fake tear from the woman's cheek. She nodded, playing the victim perfectly. "It was so scary. I'm going to have nightmares tonight." Tristan gently tapped her nose. "Little ghost. If you want me to stay with you tonight, just say so." I froze on the floor. He used to tell me that "little ghost" was a nickname reserved exclusively for me. I looked at him with bloodshot, tear-filled eyes. Tristan met my gaze, and then deliberately leaned down and kissed the smug smile right off the woman's lips. The room erupted in cheers, chanting, "Kiss her again!" The woman smiled shyly and nestled deep into Tristan's chest. "Stop looking at me. You guys should keep watching Hazel. Her pathetic, humiliating state is way more entertaining." Tristan pinched her cheek affectionately, calling her a clever girl. Then, he shot a look of pure apathy at me, still trembling by the door. "Let it go," he said casually. "If we play with her anymore, she might actually die." He picked up the bottle of liquor and poured the woman half a glass. She was visibly annoyed that he stopped the "game." Taking advantage of Tristan coaxing her, I fled from that suffocating room. The moment I stepped outside, my tears finally broke through the dam. Tristan knew better than anyone how terrifying and helpless it felt when I had a seizure, yet he still used me as a cheap party trick to amuse his friends. He had made his point. I wouldn't dare. I truly didn't dare to love him anymore. Let this pathetic, one-sided devotion end completely today. 02 At eleven o'clock that night, he knocked on my bedroom door. "Come out." I leaned against the doorframe and asked, "What do you want?" I heard the distinct rattle of pills in a plastic bottle from the other side of the door. "Take your medicine." He was certainly doing his duty. Ever since I graduated college, Mr. Vanderbilt handed his company over to Tristan and, by extension, handed me over to him as well. Then, he took my mother and moved to Europe for their retirement. Tristan obediently took care of my every need. He was no longer the gentle older brother he used to be, but at least he had never made me suffer any real grievances. Until today's incident. I opened the door just a crack and reached my hand out to take the pill organizer. But with a sudden burst of force, he shoved the door wide open. Tristan jammed his foot in the doorway, casually opened the pill organizer, and handed me the medication and a glass of water. He looked completely indifferent, as if the horrific humiliation I suffered just hours ago had never happened. I didn't say a word. I swallowed the pills, drank the water, and prepared to shut the door. He didn't move out of the way. Instead, he asked flatly: "Don't you want a piece of candy to wash down the bitter taste?" Normally, that was exactly what I needed. But not anymore. Compared to the pills, my heart was infinitely more bitter. "No need." I forcefully yanked the door shut. Walking back into my room, the voice call I had minimized earlier was still active. The sound of someone typing on a keyboard drifted from my phone speaker. I walked over to the desk, feeling incredibly apologetic. "I'm sorry, Dr. Hayes. You had to hear all that." A soft "Mhm" came from the other end. He said one last thing before hanging up: "Let's stop here for today. Go get some sleep. When you wake up, it will be a new day." He was always like this. His words always had a way of bringing me a profound sense of comfort, making me feel like my condition was just a minor cold that wouldn't ruin my life. His name was Dr. Asher Hayes. He was the neurologist my mother had hired to treat my epilepsy. Every time I had a seizure, I would talk to him afterward about my physical state and emotional triggers. Asher meticulously adjusted my treatment plan based on those conversations. Under his guidance, my condition had improved dramatically. I locked my phone and crawled into bed. But the moment I closed my eyes, I heard the click of the door lock turning. Followed by the squeak of the hinges. The door opened. Tristan was standing next to my bed, holding the purse I had left behind at the club. His face was dark with fury. "Who was the man you were just talking to?" I was startled by his aggressive expression. He pressed further. "Why is he calling you this late at night?" He reached out and flicked on the bedroom light. Still wearing his suit from the party, he stalked over to my bedside. I deliberately looked away from him, letting my gaze fall on the painting hanging on the wall. "His name is Asher Hayes. He's my neurologist. Every time I have a seizure, I talk to him about the specific details." Tristan grabbed my chin, forcing me to look at him. "So, after you left the club, you've been on the phone with him for three hours straight?" I gave a short "Mhm." Tristan let out a dark, mocking chuckle. "Do you have a crush on him?" I couldn't comprehend his twisted logic. I pulled the blanket up to cover my face, my voice muffled and cold. "You're overthinking it, brother." I don't know what it was about that sentence that set him off, but he violently ripped the blanket off my head. His eyes were bloodshot as he slammed his fist into the mattress right next to my ear. "I forbid it." I let out a cold scoff, treating his jealousy-laced demand like absolute garbage. "Based on what? You don't love me, yet you want to hoard me like property. What kind of sick control freak behavior is that? Do I need to spell it out for you?" My tone must have been too fiercely indignant. He froze for a second, then seamlessly reverted to his usual, detached demeanor. "Go to sleep." 03 I really did want to go to sleep. But the noises coming from him and that woman in the room next door made it impossible. When I finally dragged myself out of bed in the morning, I saw her wearing Tristan's dress shirt. With her top buttons suggestively undone, she was busy in the kitchen, frying eggs and pouring milk. Seeing me come downstairs, she paused. Then, she covered her mouth and giggled, flashing a coquettish smile at Tristan, who was sitting at the dining table drinking coffee. "Pfft, sorry. Seeing your sister just reminded me of her lying on the floor twitching last night. It was pretty hilarious." Tristan glanced up at me, didn't say a word, and went back to looking at his iPad, discussing business through his earpiece. I felt incredibly awkward. The emotional distance I had carefully built up was completely shattered by her mockery. She, on the other hand, was entirely unabashed. She strutted over to me and handed me a glass of milk. "Let's formally introduce ourselves. I'm Sloane. Sloane Sterling. I'm Tristan's girlfriend. From now on, I'll be living here to help Tristan take care of you." Her tone was arrogant, and she gritted her teeth aggressively on the words "take care." It felt like she was moving in specifically to monitor me, to ensure I didn't harbor any lingering delusions about Tristan. I didn't have the patience to be polite. I took the glass of milk and threw it directly into her face. Sloane shrieked, jumping back and frantically wiping the milk off her face. "I don't need your care. I'll move out." With that, I turned around and went back to my room to pack my things. This place was suffocating. I decided to move back into the old, rundown apartment my mom owned before she married Mr. Vanderbilt. Even though it was far from the city center, at least I wouldn't feel like I was suffocating every second of the day. Out of sight, out of mind. I packed a large suitcase to the brim and dragged it downstairs. At the front door, Tristan and Sloane were standing there, blocking my path. It looked like they were waiting for me. Tristan hooked his finger, motioning for me to come closer. "Come here. Apologize to Sloane." Sloane leaned against Tristan, looking like the ultimate victim. I suddenly understood that old saying. A man's idealized 'first love' is an illusion; the reality never measures up. How did the quiet, determined boy who protected me turn into someone so dark and disgusting? I walked up to them and let go of my suitcase handle. "I can apologize." The moment I said that, the smug, triumphant look returned to Sloane's face. "But regarding what happened last night," I continued, "who is going to apologize to me?" Tristan's brow furrowed deeply. Sloane quickly interjected. "Everyone was just drinking and having fun yesterday. Besides, it was your brother's birthday. What's wrong with providing a little entertainment for the guests?" Tristan avoided my gaze. I fired back without hesitation. "In that case, on my birthday, how about you perform a striptease to provide a little entertainment?" SMACK! Before the words even settled, Tristan slapped me hard across the face. "You've crossed the line." A persistent ringing echoed in my ears. Tristan's expression slowly morphed into one of panicked regret. I clutched my stinging cheek and stared at him with unwavering resolve. "This slap repays you for taking care of me all these years. From now on, I owe you absolutely nothing. And I will never harbor any pathetic, inappropriate feelings for you ever again." Tristan grabbed my wrist. "Little ghost, I'm sorry." I let out a cold scoff. "Are you sorry for humiliating me last night, or are you sorry for the slap today?" 04 As soon as I arrived at my old apartment, I got a call from my mom. "Hazel, why did you move out? Did you and Tristan have a fight?" Her tone was incredibly cautious. Half of her was worried about my well-being, but the other half was terrified of ruining her image in front of Mr. Vanderbilt. Ever since we moved into the Vanderbilt mansion, my mom had constantly lectured me. She told me we were guests living under someone else's roof. We had to be extremely careful and absolutely never cause trouble for Mr. Vanderbilt or his son. I knew my mom loved Mr. Vanderbilt deeply. But because of her humble background and my medical condition, she always felt intensely inferior in his presence. Even though Mr. Vanderbilt never cared about any of that, human nature is complicated. The deeper you love, the more insecure you become. I told her, "He brought his girlfriend home to live with him. It's not convenient for me to be there, so I moved back to our old place. Don't worry, I'm perfectly fine." My mom let out a relieved "Mhm." "You're right. We shouldn't interrupt his personal life." "But you living alone... it's not safe." "Here's what we'll do. Go find Mrs. Hayes. You can stay with her for a while. Once I have time, I'll fly back, sell the old apartment, add my savings to it, and buy you a new place." "Mrs. Hayes's son, Asher, is also living there. That way, if anything happens, he can look after you." I wanted to argue, but she hurriedly hung up the phone. A moment later, she texted me Mrs. Hayes's address. I didn't want my mom to worry, nor did I want to be a burden to her. For so many years, she had taken care of me all by herself. It was exhausting. Now that my health was stable and she finally had a life of her own, I couldn't drag her down again. I grabbed the handle of the suitcase I had just unpacked and walked right back out the door. Mrs. Hayes lived in the city center, very close to the main hospital. Probably so Asher could commute to work easily. But it was very far from where I was now, and getting an Uber in this run-down neighborhood was nearly impossible. I waited for ten minutes, and not a single driver accepted my ride. Just as I was starting to panic. A message from Asher popped up on my phone. "Where are you? I'm coming to pick you up and bring you home." I opened the message, and another one followed immediately. "Have you eaten breakfast yet?" Asher and I almost exclusively communicated online. In person, he mostly talked to my mom. Honestly, I felt a bit awkward agreeing to move into his house. But he always seemed to know exactly how to ease my anxiety, acting as the perfect calming presence. I texted him back. "Not yet. I'm at the corner of 6th and Elm." He typed fast. It felt like he replied before I even hit send. "Go to Mrs. Davis's diner at the end of the alley and grab some oatmeal. I'll be there in about twenty minutes." I always followed my doctor's orders. If I didn't, my condition wouldn't be as well-managed as it was. So, I dragged my suitcase to the diner and ordered a bowl of oatmeal. Asher arrived. He wasn't rushed or panicked. He scanned the small dining area, locked eyes with me, and walked over. "Did you not sleep well last night?" His question caught me off guard. My mind instantly flashed back to the sounds I had been forced to listen to all night. I felt a rush of embarrassment and anger. I didn't know how to respond. Then he spoke again. "Make sure you get plenty of rest from now on." "Are you done eating? I'll take you home to meet my mom." I nodded. But to my surprise, his face suddenly turned bright red. "Dr. Hayes, why is your face so red? Do you have a fever?" "N-no. I don't." He stood up, grabbed the handle of my suitcase, and started walking toward his car. It was only then I realized that his phrase, "Take you home to meet my mom," carried a slightly different, more intimate connotation. I never expected a guy pushing thirty to be so easily embarrassed. 05 I had only been living at Asher's house for a week when Tristan tracked me down. Mrs. Hayes was staying at her best friend's house, and Asher was working a night shift. I had just put down my GRE prep books. The doorbell rang. When I opened the door, before I could even speak, Tristan grabbed my arm and dragged me toward the elevator. He was much stronger than me. Struggling would only end up hurting myself. So I just let him drag me. "You're coming home with me." I replied lazily. "No thanks. I need to study, and you need to build a relationship with your future wife. Me living there would just be awkward for everyone." Tristan smirked. "You're jealous." I kept my lazy, detached tone. "I'm not. You're overthinking it. I already told you I won't have feelings for you anymore, so jealousy doesn't exist for me. But if you drag me back there, your future wife might actually get jealous." "And with my condition, I definitely can't handle providing any more 'entertainment' for you guys. Be a decent human being and let me live. When you're old and grey, I'll attend your funeral." Tristan's grip on my wrist tightened painfully. "Why are you being so sarcastic? Didn't I explain it to you? Sloane is the heiress of the Sterling Corporation. My company needs a massive contract from them. My relationship with her is purely business." He had indeed sent me a text. Exactly one sentence. He said: I don't actually like her. I'm doing this for the good of the company. Just endure it for a while. Hah. I laughed out loud when I read it. I did endure it. And it cost me half my life. Then I took a screenshot of his message and sent it directly to Sloane, hoping it would help her see what kind of garbage she was dating. I leaned against the elevator wall and yawned. "Brother, you don't need to explain anything to me. We're just siblings." "You don't like me, and I don't like you. I know you're only rushing to drag me back because of your deep, brotherly concern." That finally pushed Tristan over the edge. If this were the past, I would have been desperately clinging to him, my heart racing with joy just at the thought of him caring whether I was jealous or not. But now, all I wanted to say was: If you don't love me, get the hell away from me. ... When the elevator doors opened, Tristan dragged me out and practically threw me into the passenger seat of his car. He drove fast. I barely had time to close my eyes before we arrived at his mansion. Sloane was waiting for us, her face twisted into a furious scowl. I don't hold grudges, so I smiled and greeted her. "Good evening, sister-in-law. My brother and I have such a deep sibling bond, I'm just coming back to stay for one night." "Don't worry, I'll get the hell out at the crack of dawn. To be honest, Dr. Hayes makes much better oatmeal than you make milk." Before Sloane could snap back, Tristan grabbed my arm and dragged me upstairs to his study. He looked down at me from his towering height. His tone was incredibly impatient. "Hazel, be a good girl and stay here. I'll figure out a way to explain this to Sloane." I couldn't take it anymore. "Tristan, what is actually wrong with you?" Hearing my words, his eyes went wide. "Are you cursing at me?" I rolled my eyes. I just wanted to say the one phrase that thoroughly disgusted both me and him. "You string me along while you're hooking up with someone else. You want the best of both worlds. What kind of psychological disorder is that?" Tristan's face went black. He paced the room, aggressively rubbing his jaw, his brow furrowed deeply. Then, his eyes landed on a half-empty bottle of liquor sitting on his bookshelf. He walked over, grabbed it, and slammed it down on the desk in front of me. The threat was unmistakable. "Are you going to stay, or not?" I stared directly into his eyes, looking completely fearless. But only I knew the truth. Just the smell of the alcohol triggered a violent physiological response. Before the bottle even touched me, my muscles started to twitch. "This again. So, what is it for this time?" "To force me to obey you? To make me act like a good little pet and stay by your side?" "Using my medical condition as a weapon to control me. You really are a wonderful brother." As soon as the words left my mouth, my head began to uncontrollably jerk toward my left shoulder. Seeing that my symptoms were severe, Tristan made no move to help me. He just stood there, making sarcastic remarks. "You never used to talk to me like this. Have you really fallen for that doctor?" My eyes rolled back. I frantically reached for a pen on the desk, intending to bite down on it to prevent myself from biting my tongue when I completely lost consciousness. But things rarely go as planned. Tristan callously swiped the entire pen holder onto the floor. I glared at him with icy eyes. "What do you think?" "Asher is here to save my life. But you... you're here to kill me." With a dull thud, I collapsed onto the floor. My eyes rolled back as the convulsions took over. Then, the study door was suddenly shoved open. Sloane stormed in, looking furious. But when she saw the scene on the floor, she froze in horror. She frantically pulled out her phone to dial 911, simultaneously shoving Tristan. "Tristan, what the f*ck are you doing?! Save her!" My eyelids were fluttering at a high frequency, so I couldn't see Tristan's expression. It wasn't until I started foaming at the mouth and my tongue lolled out... That I finally felt someone supporting my head. I survived another day. 06 When I regained consciousness, the first thing I saw was Tristan. He was sitting by the bed, trying to feed me medication. Seeing my eyes open, his tone was arrogant and triumphant. "I saved your life again. You can't survive without me. Just stay by my side and be a good girl. You're not going anywhere." "Stop saying those cruel things just to make me angry. I know you still can't let me go. Just be obedient. I'll treat you well." I rolled over, turning my back to him, thoroughly disgusted. Tristan wanted to say more, but Sloane knocked on the door and called him out into the hall. When I was finally alone in the room, my tears flowed uncontrollably. It was happening again. He was treating me like a pathetic toy to be humiliated and manipulated. As I was crying, my phone rang. It was my mom. "Mom." I tried my hardest to keep my voice steady. It wasn't the first time, anyway. She never noticed when I was crying. "Hazel, how is it living at Mrs. Hayes's house? Are you getting used to it?" I wiped away the tear stains at the corners of my eyes and launched into a long, upbeat ramble. "Mrs. Hayes's house is incredibly comfortable! She treats me so well, and her cooking is amazing. She even gives me plenty of alone time to study. I'm completely used to it. You don't need to worry about me. How are things in Europe? Are you and Mr. Vanderbilt doing okay? Are you guys planning on giving me a little brother?" My mom let out a girlish laugh. "You silly girl, what kind of nonsense are you talking about?" Then, my mom brought up Asher. "By the way, what about Asher? How are you two getting along? I watched Asher grow up. He has a great personality, he's reliable and mature. He is a bit older than you, but he looks very young. You'd never guess he's almost thirty. What do you think of him?" "What do I think?" My mom hummed in agreement. "Yeah, what do you think of Asher?" I finally understood what she was doing. She wanted me to get closer to Asher. "Mom, Dr. Hayes is a wonderful person, but I'm not good enough for him. I don't want to be a burden." "Please don't mention this again, okay? I don't want Mrs. Hayes to think I'm living in her house with ulterior motives and stop making me delicious food." My mom gave a disappointed "Mhm." After a few seconds of silence, she asked cautiously: "Hazel, what about you? Are you happy lately? Do you want to talk to Mom for a bit? Mr. Vanderbilt went fishing with his friends, so Mom has plenty of free time." The emotional wall I had carefully rebuilt instantly shattered. I covered the phone receiver and let out a quiet sob. Once I composed myself, I finally spoke. "I'm doing great! I'm just a bit stressed about my grad school applications. I'll be fine after I watch a few episodes of my favorite show." There was another pause on my mom's end of the line. Then she said: "Okay. If you want to take the exam, then take it. If you don't get in, just come home. Since Mom could raise you for the first half of your life, she can definitely support you for the second half." "Alright, you go rest. I'm going to prep some food for Mr. Vanderbilt." After she hung up, Sloane walked into the room. She didn't say a word. She just walked over and ripped the blanket off me. I panicked, crossing my arms over my chest. "What the hell is your problem now?!" Sloane frowned, then looked incredibly embarrassed as she said: "I'm sorry, Hazel. I just realized how utterly pathetic I've been. Scheming against you, intentionally triggering your medical condition... all just to fight over a piece of trash." "If it weren't for you, I wouldn't have seen what a monster Tristan truly is. Thank you for the wake-up call." "I formally apologize for everything I've done to you. And I swear, I will never, ever use someone's medical condition as a joke again." "From now on, I, Sloane Sterling, will protect you. If you ever need anything, just say the word." I looked at her in sheer bewilderment. "Is this a new manipulation tactic?" She gave an awkward laugh. "No, it's the truth." "When I think about the fact that I, the heiress of the Sterling Corporation, pretended to be a manipulative 'pick-me' girl and bullied an innocent person just to chase a toxic loser... I feel completely devoid of humanity." Sloane actually looked incredibly sincere. I believed her. Good for her. She snapped out of it fast. I asked her: "If you're apologizing, why did you rip my blanket off?" Sloane sighed. "To take you out of here, obviously." "You don't actually want to keep living in this hellhole, do you?"

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