Drama

After Grandfather passed away, I traveled to the Capital to seek refuge with my Fiancé.

I had heard that he was proud and aloof, already enamored with someone else, and looked down upon me, his country-bred fiancée.

Anxious all the way, I only realized upon meeting him that the rumors were false.

He was clearly upright and self-disciplined, gentle in temperament, and not only handsome but also cherished me deeply.

I married him with peace of mind.

Three months after our wedding, his nephew, who had just returned to the Capital from his studies, came to pay his respects and stared at me in a daze.

Later, I happened to witness him confronting my Husband at our door, his face full of disbelief.

“Second Uncle! How could you impersonate me and marry my Fiancée?”

I transmigrated into a novel, but there was no such character as me in the story.

For seventeen years, I lived as a wealthy and beautiful heiress in the book.

Just when I was about to forget that I was someone who had transmigrated into a novel, the Story Management Bureau finally assigned me a task.

On the first day after I died, my boyfriend brought his first love back home.

They kissed passionately on the sofa I bought, acting as if no one else were there. They ate the celery dumplings I had made by hand and played with the gaming console I had given him.

One day, his first love asked curiously, “Where’s An’an?”

My boyfriend’s voice was calm. “We had a fight a few days ago. She applied for a business trip with her company.”

Oh, he still doesn’t know that I’m dead.

On the night of my birthday, my boyfriend said he had to work overtime.

But his childhood sweetheart just posted a selfie on her WeChat Moments, holding his arm, with the caption: “No matter when, my brother will drop everything to come find me, hehe.”

My eyes burned and I couldn’t help but comment:

“What the hell are you giggling about?”

I found a bottle of women’s lubricant in my husband’s bag.

I didn’t argue or make a scene.

I quietly replaced it with a bottle of 502 super glue.

At 2 a.m., the new postpartum nanny was taken to the emergency room.

I chased after He Chenyi for six years, coming whenever he called, leaving whenever he waved me away.

While he was holding another woman and drinking a wedding toast, I was diagnosed with Leukemia at the hospital, with only three months left to live.

Later, he knelt by my hospital bed, crying and begging me to accept a bone marrow transplant.

How ridiculous. I never even wanted to live.

Fifteen years after getting married,

My husband suddenly wanted a divorce.

He said women over twenty-five are basically sixty-five.

I’m already thirty-eight. He said I’ve got one foot in the grave.

I was heartbroken.

Every time I thought about a future filled with money but no husband, sadness nearly suffocated me.

My husband found me annoying. He yelled at me.

“Would you seriously die without a man?”

I nodded. “I would.”

“Then just go die.”

I was miserable. I grabbed the 1.5 billion yuan I got in the divorce and ran out, crying.

I didn’t want to die, but I am a traditional woman at heart.

And a traditional woman simply can’t live without a man!

So, clutching all that money, I set out to find a new man.

But now my husband wasn’t happy about that either.

The day before my engagement to Zhou Yanchen, the Crown Prince of the Jing Circle, my sister was reborn.

She cried and begged our Parents to call off the engagement.

Just as I was about to ask what was going on, a Danmaku suddenly flashed before my eyes:

[Wait, why did the Female Lead get reborn? Author, come out and explain, is this right?]

[This is supposed to be a Yandere forced love story where she runs and he chases! If the Female Lead doesn’t marry him, what am I supposed to read?]

[Calm down, everyone upstairs. Actually, having a second chance isn’t so bad. The Female Lead loves her freedom. Imagine a life where you can only eat ingredients flown in by air, only wear custom-made clothes, and even the brands of daily necessities are controlled by the Male Lead. From then on, there would never be another peaceful, carefree day. She doesn’t want that!]

My eyes lit up, and I volunteered on the spot.

I’m willing! I’m willing!

I died of a sudden asthma attack while being bullied.

My family sent my bruised and battered body straight to the incinerator; no one went to my school to demand justice for me.

Later, my brother started dating the girl who bullied me.

He turned her into the blade he would use to avenge me.

When I was five, my father brought home a handsome deaf boy and made him my child husband.

I prided myself on being a progressive woman; since childhood, I always told people he was my brother. I never expected that, more than ten years later, one drunken night,

I slept with him – and forgot about it.