My Savior Was My Monster

I suffered from severe pyrophobia and haphephobia.

My fiancé, a top psychologist, spent three years of gentle patience, pulling me back from hell.

I thought he was my savior and decided to say yes to his hundredth proposal.

But on the day I was trying on my wedding dress, I accidentally pushed open the secret door in his study, disguised as a bookshelf.

Behind a one-way mirror, the walls were covered with photos of my agonizing struggles, along with an experimental report about to be published.