The Despised Wife's Spectacular High Society Comeback

Summer opened her heavy eyelids.

The blinding light of a massive crystal chandelier pierced her vision, forcing her to squint against the sudden, sharp pain behind her eyes.

She touched her throbbing temples. The fabric beneath her fingertips was unfamiliar-cold, slippery silk that felt nothing like her cheap cotton bedsheets.

Pushing herself upright, her hand felt unnaturally heavy. She looked down. A massive, flawless diamond ring weighed down her left ring finger, catching the harsh light and throwing fractured rainbows across the pristine white duvet.

Then, the memories hit.

A sudden flood of alien information violently slammed into her brain. Summer doubled over, a sharp gasp tearing from her throat as her stomach violently contracted.

She wasn't in her cramped apartment. She had transmigrated into the trashy romance novel she had been reading last night. She was Summer Hayes, the infamous, universally despised contract wife of a New York billionaire.

She swung her legs over the edge of the mattress. Her bare feet hit the freezing marble floor, the icy shock traveling straight up her spine.

Stumbling toward the vanity mirror across the room, she gripped the edges of the marble counter. She stared in absolute shock at the glamorous, perfectly contoured face staring back at her. The high cheekbones, the full lips, the cascading dark hair-it was the face of a woman built for high-society warfare.

The sharp, loud click of the lock being turned made her freeze. A moment later, the heavy oak door of the bedroom suddenly swung open.

Her shoulders shot up to her ears, startled into a defensive posture.

Julian Sterling strode into the room.

His icy, penetrating grey eyes immediately locked onto her trembling figure. The sheer physical presence of the man sucked the oxygen straight out of the room.

He didn't say a word as he closed the distance between them. He tossed a thick, leather-bound folder onto the glass coffee table.

The heavy thud echoed like a gunshot in the quiet room.

Julian aggressively jerked his expensive silk tie loose. His sharp jawline was clenched so tight the muscle ticked visibly beneath his skin, radiating suppressed, lethal irritation.

"Since you find my performance as a husband so inadequate," Julian stated coldly, his baritone voice devoid of any human warmth, "we should terminate this marriage contract immediately."

Summer's heart dropped straight into her stomach.

The word divorce rang in her ears. She frantically sifted through the original owner's memories, her pulse hammering against her ribs.

Yesterday. The high-society tea party. The original Summer had gotten drunk and loudly complained to a group of vicious socialites about Julian's coldness and their lack of a sex life.

Calculating her survival odds, a cold sweat broke out across Summer's forehead. Getting kicked out right now meant facing the brutal streets of New York with absolutely nothing. The prenuptial agreement was ironclad. If she caused a public scandal, she left with zero.

She immediately slumps her shoulders. She deliberately swayed on her feet, letting her knees buckle just enough to feign a sudden, overwhelming dizzy spell.

She stumbled clumsily toward the edge of the bed, throwing herself onto the mattress. She let out a loud, dramatic, and highly unladylike hiccup.

Julian frowned deeply. He took a reflexive half-step back, his polished oxford shoes scraping against the marble, clearly repulsed by her erratic, unpredictable movements.

"I drank..." Summer slurred her words heavily, letting her head loll to the side. "I drank way too much of that vintage champagne. I'm just spouting utter nonsense. Everything is spinning."

She grabbed a plush decorative throw pillow, hugging it tightly to her chest. It was a shield to hide the genuine, terrified trembling of her hands.

"I am so grateful," she dramatically declared, fighting back fake, crocodile tears that stung the corners of her eyes. "So grateful for the Sterling family's generosity. I love my husband."

Julian's dark eyes narrowed dangerously. He intensely searched her flushed face, looking for any subtle signs of calculated deceit.

He crossed his arms over his chest. The movement pulled the custom-tailored fabric of his suit taut across his broad, athletic shoulders.

"Section four, clause two of our prenuptial agreement strictly dictates absolute confidentiality regarding our private arrangement," Julian recited coldly.

Summer nodded her head so vigorously that she actually made herself genuinely dizzy. She lost her balance for a second, her vision blurring.

She flopped backward onto the plush mattress with a heavy thud. She threw her right arm dramatically over her eyes, blocking out the chandelier.

"I'm sorry," she muttered, forcing her voice into a fake, sleepy, and incoherent mumble. "So dizzy. Need to sleep."

She held her breath. Her lungs burned. She waited to see if he bought the pathetic performance.

Julian stared silently at her sprawled, ridiculous form. The silence stretched for a long, suffocatingly tense moment. His expression remained entirely unreadable.

Finally, he turned on his heel.

His polished leather oxfords clicked sharply and rhythmically against the marble floor as he walked away.

The heavy bedroom door clicked shut firmly behind him.

Summer ripped her arm away from her eyes. She stared at the ceiling and finally exhaled a massive, shaky sigh of relief. Her lungs greedily pulled in the air. She had survived the night.