Chapter 1

One minute, I am a corporate drone, pulling an all-nighter and on the verge of a caffeine-induced heart attack before a huge project presentation. The next, I wake up inside a novel.

I am the tragic, throwaway wife in some trashy billionaire romance.

My new husband, a CEO with a net worth that has more zeros than I can count, slides a black card and a contract across the polished marble table.

His voice is stripped of all warmth. "Sign it. Your only job is to be a decorative object. Don't ask what you're not supposed to ask. Don't touch what you're not supposed to touch," he orders.

I accept the contract with the reverence of a soldier receiving a Medal of Honor, my mind immediately translating it into corporate-speak.

My purpose is simple: function as a beautiful, silent accessory.

My main rule is to stay out of his personal life.

For this, I am granted a project stipend of two million dollars a month, tax-free, which is already more than I could have dreamed of.

Besides, the position comes with the ultimate perks: a complete absence of KPIs and performance evaluations, coupled with the blissful reality that the boss is hardly ever in the office.

This isn't just heaven. This is the promotion I could literally kill myself for and never got in my past life.

I clutch the pages, my voice trembling with pure excitement.

"Consider it done, Mr. Goodman. Just a few questions. Is there a probationary period? What's the protocol for benefits, like, a 401(k) and health insurance? And would you like me to submit a detailed monthly expense report for your approval?"

*****

My barrage of questions cracked Theo Goodman's icy facade for a second.

He probably figured this was some bizarre attempt to get his attention. A deep line formed between his eyebrows, his eyes flashing with an impatience he didn't bother to hide.

He snapped, "Vivian Reed, cut the crap. I don't have time for your little games."

I immediately recognized my blunder. A cardinal sin in the corporate world is never trying to read your superior's mind. My role was contractor, not consultant. My job was to execute, not strategize.

I instantly dropped my eyes and changed my tune.

"My apologies, Mr. Goodman. I overstepped."

I snatched a pen and signed my name with a decisive flourish. The whole process took less than ten seconds.

"All set. Have a good evening, Mr. Goodman."

I placed the signed contract neatly by his hand and stood to see him out. Every move was fluid, practiced to perfection.

Theo's frown deepened. He stared at me, his gaze probing, like he was examining a lab specimen he had never seen before.

"That's it?" he asked with a note of genuine disbelief in his voice. He clearly hadn't expected me to be so agreeable.

Of course, I knew what he was thinking.

In the book, the original Vivian had thrown the tantrum of the century to marry him, like suicide threats, public breakdowns, and the whole nine yards.

After the wedding, she escalated to a full-blown psycho-stalker, tracking his every move and harassing his one true love. It ended, predictably, with her being thrown to the curb with nothing.

But I wasn't her.

In my last life, I died from caring too much and managing too much. Now, handed a golden ticket to a life of getting paid to simply exist? There was no way I was fumbling this bag.

When he didn't move, I forced myself to add a final clarification.

"Mr. Goodman, I want to assure you that I fully understand and accept all terms of our agreement. You have my word: I will fulfill my duties as a trophy wife to the highest standard and will not cause you any trouble whatsoever."

He fell silent. The air grew so still that you could hear a pin drop. For a solid minute, I braced for an explosion. Instead, he just stood up, turned, and walked out without another word.

The second the door clicked shut, I melted into the plush velvet of the sofa.

I whipped out my phone, pulled up my banking app, and stared at the string of zeros that just landed in my account. A laugh bubbled up. I couldn't help it. The tears just started flowing.

I was done with the morning rush, done with weekly reports, done with nightmare customers.

My only daily task was to wake up whenever I damn well pleased and figure out how to spend a fortune. This was, without a doubt, the best job in the world!

The next day, I woke up when the sun was high in the sky. I threw open the curtains, and the light that flooded the room was so brilliant that I had to squint.

Downstairs, the butler, Blake Poole, had prepared a breakfast spread fit for royalty, a decadent mix of everything from French toast to delicate smoked salmon and poached eggs.

I savored every bite, my mind already churning, strategizing my first official day on the job.

Theo hadn't given me any specific directives, but as any top-tier contractor knows, being a self-starter is non-negotiable.

He had given me a palace, so I wasn't about to let my performance turn it into a pigsty.

I flipped open my laptop and created a new PowerPoint, "High-Society Wife: A Value Proposition Strategy."