The Defective Wife's Lethal Comeback

The blinding glare of the crystal chandelier felt like a physical assault.

Jolie's eyelids snapped open. She tried to push herself up, but her limbs felt like they were filled with wet cement. A sickening, unnatural weakness dragged her right back down into the plush velvet of the sofa.

Before she could even process the texture of the fabric beneath her fingertips, the memories hit. They didn't just play in her mind; they electrocuted her nervous system. A high-voltage surge of another woman's life-the original Jolie Pennington's life-tore through her skull. Jolie clamped her teeth down hard on her lower lip, tasting copper as she forced herself to swallow the agonizing pain.

She was no longer on Earth. She had transmigrated into a high-tech universe ruled by Primals-males who could shift into devastating beasts, driven by a biological need to hunt and consume energy. But that energy was a poison. Without a female to act as a catalyst, to soothe their psychic sea and regulate their feral state, a Primal would eventually go mad. Females were the ultimate prize, the only cure.

Unless, of course, you were the original Jolie.

A piece of medical paper flashed in Jolie's mind. Genetic Compatibility Index: 0. A defective female. A biological dead end.

The memory shifted violently. She felt the phantom sting of a heavy paper check slapping across her face. It was General Aloys Patterson, Jolie's state-mandated Primal partner, publicly paying a colossal fine just to annul their pairing. The humiliation in the original Jolie's chest had been so profound it had literally killed her spirit.

Jolie felt the residual heartbreak lingering in her ribcage. Her stomach churned with the ghost of the original Jolie's despair. She closed her eyes, feeling the crushing weight of a life unlived, a soul broken by a society that valued only utility. For a fleeting second, the sorrow threatened to drown her own consciousness. No, she told herself, her mental voice sharp and unyielding. I cannot be swallowed by this despair. Her era is over, and now it is mine. I will not die trembling in the dark. She let out a dark, breathless scoff. Pathetic. Jolie ruthlessly crushed that lingering weakness, locking it away in the darkest corner of her mind. She didn't have time to cry over a man she didn't know. She had to survive.

The sharp, rhythmic click of high heels against marble echoed from the hallway. Someone was approaching the lounge, and they were moving fast.

Jolie's survival instincts hijacked her body. She instantly let her muscles go slack, closing her eyes and slowing her breathing to mimic a deep, vulnerable sleep.

The heavy door of the lounge swung open. The scent of expensive, synthetic roses flooded the room. Catina Serrano, her stepmother, hurried in.

Catina sank onto the edge of the sofa. A velvet-gloved hand reached out, gently patting Jolie's cheek. "Jolie, darling. Wake up."

Jolie forced her eyelids to flutter open. She let her gaze wander, perfectly playing the