“Can you believe that vicious woman? She’s only been married in for a month and already tried to kill her own husband. Seriously disgusting! She can wait to be thrown out of the Ashford Clan with nothing!”
“Thrown out with nothing is letting her off easy. She should be in jail!”
“For real!”
…
The furious shouting outside kept pouring in like a broken speaker. Josephine Whitmore sat at the dressing table, her temples throbbing with annoyance.
Last night, she’d been bored and randomly picked up some over-the-top CEO novel called *The Paranoid Tycoon’s Substitute Bride Ran Away Again*.
The plot was so absurd it gave her a headache. She barely made it halfway before rage-quitting and leaving a terrible review. Result? She woke up this morning *inside* the damn book—reborn as a disposable side character!
The character even had the same name as her, except this Josephine was a spoiled rich troublemaker everybody hated.
A month ago, she’d married the story’s big bad, Theodore Ashford. Theodore didn’t like her, didn’t even bother acknowledging her existence. So she went nuts and staged a car accident, almost killing him.
The Ashford family despised her to the bone. They locked her up in this room and arranged for Theodore to come divorce her.
And Josephine had popped in right smack at that moment in the plot.
The more she thought about it, the more furious she felt. In her original world, she’d hustled for more than ten years, finally reaching peak life as the richest woman in Imperial Capital. Now she was stuck in a book as a soon-to-be-dead cannon-fodder wife? This was actual nonsense.
After mentally cursing that trash author’s entire ancestry, she grabbed the water cup on the table and smashed it on the floor.
The moment it shattered, the door swung open. A man in a wheelchair was pushed inside.
The man looked young, maybe twenty-five, built well, skin pale, features sharp and almost unreal. His deep-set eyes were ridiculously stunning.
Even sitting in a wheelchair, he carried this natural noble aura. One glance and you’d think he walked straight out of a high-end comic panel.
Josephine blinked, taken aback for a second, then instantly figured it out—this must be the original host’s husband, Theodore Ashford, heir of the top-tier Ashford Clan.
Theodore’s eyes landed on the broken glass. His brows tightened, and the look he gave Josephine was full of even deeper disgust.
Before he could speak, Mrs. Aubert, the housekeeper behind him, snapped at Josephine, furious: “You tampered with the young master’s car and nearly got him killed. And now you dare throw things and lose your temper here? Did a dog eat your conscience?”
Josephine was already in a rotten mood. The housekeeper’s accusation only poked her even harder. She shot back instantly, voice sharp: “I’m still Mrs. Ashford. Since when does a servant like you get to lecture me?”
The housekeeper let out a sharp, mocking snort. “You won’t be Mrs. Ashford much longer, so stop pretending you’re somebody—”
“Mrs. Aubert, enough.”
Theodore Ashford’s annoyed voice cut through the room. Mrs. Aubert stiffened, swallowing her irritation as she forcefully shut her mouth.
“You’ve already pulled something this outrageous. Out of respect for the fact that our families have known each other for generations, I won’t press charges. But the Ashford Clan can’t keep you here. Sign the divorce papers and get out.”
He pulled a set of documents from his briefcase and handed them to Josephine Whitmore.
Josephine was never one to drag things out. Sticking to the script, she simply reached out to take the agreement. But the moment her fingers brushed the papers, she instinctively glanced up at Theodore. Their eyes met—and out of nowhere, a jolt of invisible electricity shot through the air. Both of them twitched, like they’d just gotten zapped.
They froze for a couple of seconds, then quickly looked away. Josephine shrugged it off as some weird side effect of body-swapping into a novel and didn’t dwell on it. She took the papers and lowered her head to read. Theodore also assumed the sudden jolt was just another leftover symptom from the accident and didn’t bother thinking more about it.
But once Josephine finished reading the agreement, she almost choked.
She wasn’t being kicked out penniless. The Ashford Clan was actually compensating her with ten million, all because the two families were long-time friends?
Did the villain suddenly grow a conscience?
Did she read that right?
[Wow, didn’t expect this big bad dude to be generous enough to give ten mil. Fine, whatever, a divorce it is!]
A crisp, mature electronic voice suddenly echoed through the quiet room.
Theodore stiffened. He glanced around, expression darkening. No one else was talking. Had he imagined it?
But just as the thought crossed his mind, the voice sounded again.
[The Ashford Clan is this loaded, and they’re only giving ten million? Kinda stingy, no? Ugh, forget it. Compensation is compensation. I’m in a terrible mood anyway. Once I get the money, I’m gonna blow it all!]
[How should I blow it? Go on a shopping spree? Hit up some Michelin-level food? Or get a full-on luxury spa day?]
[Hmm… no, those are too basic. Maybe I should go big—like drag a few dozen hotties to a graveyard rave and party till sunrise?]
…
Theodore’s expression instantly darkened.
He was now certain no one else was talking.
The voice was coming from Josephine.
She was still silently reading the divorce papers, lips pressed together, not making a single sound.
Which meant…
