Chapter 1Rewriting the Tragic Ex Wife Script

When my husband’s company went under, I stayed.

When the bank took the house, I didn't blink.

But when I caught him playing the field behind my back, that was it. I hit my breaking point and demanded a divorce.

The words had barely left my mouth when something impossible happened. A string of glowing, neon-blue text floated through the air right in front of my eyes, like a ticker tape only I could see:

[Wow, the new Female Main Character is ruthless. Reincarnated just to steal the guy from his throwaway ex-wife. Classic villain-era FMC!]

[The ex-wife is such an idiot, though. The FMC literally Photoshopped one picture, and the wife immediately screams for a divorce. No wonder she’s just cannon fodder.]

[The FMC is gonna help the guy rebuild his empire and become a billionaire's wife. Meanwhile, the ex gets lured in by a romance scammer, trafficked overseas, and dies pregnant. Tragic, but she's so dumb.]

Jeremy stared at me, his face registering a flash of shock before settling into a terrifying, hollow calm. "Alright," he said. "We'll go to the courthouse first thing tomorrow."

* * *

I snapped back to reality, my chest heaving. Pointing a trembling finger at his chest, I spat, "I said I want a divorce, and I mean it! You never loved me, did you? You absolute bastard!"

Jeremy flinched. For a second, a shadow crossed his face, but then his mouth curled into a self-deprecating, bitter line.

"It's entirely normal that you want out," he said, his voice flat. "I understand. I accept it. You don't have to make up excuses to justify leaving."

Panic flared in my chest, but I kept my chin high. "What do you mean, make up excuses? If you hadn't cheated on me, do you think I'd be standing here screaming about a divorce?!" I laughed, a harsh, brittle sound. "You agreed so fast. Don't tell me you don't have a guilty conscience!"

Maybe my sheer audacity stunned him, because it took him a long moment to reply. "You’re accusing me of cheating. Where exactly is your proof?"

"You think I don't have it?" I challenged, fueled by righteous indignation.

I did have proof. Even if that floating text called it "Photoshopped by the FMC."

I shoved my hand into my pocket and yanked out my phone. But when I opened my messages, my blood ran cold. The anonymous text—the one with the photo of Jeremy kissing some stunning brunette on a city street—was gone.

Vanished.

My thumbs flew across the screen, scrolling frantically, my breath catching in my throat. "Why isn't it here? Where did it go?"

[Where did it go? Because the FMC hacked your phone and wiped it, you moron!]

[Look, the guy only married her out of a sense of duty to her dead mother anyway. He never had real feelings for her. She's been high-maintenance forever, and now she's ditching him at his lowest point. He’s completely disillusioned.]

[This spoiled trophy wife does nothing but cry and spend money. She never deserved him. Can't wait for her to get written out of the story so the FMC and the male lead can become a corporate power couple. Period.]

Watching me fumble with my phone, Jeremy’s patience finally evaporated. He let out a low, mocking exhale—a sound that cut deeper than a knife—and turned his back on me, walking into the bathroom.

He didn't say another word. He didn't have to. The silence was deafening.

My throat tightened. A sharp ache pierced the bridge of my nose, and the tears I’d been trying to hold back finally spilled over.