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Playing The Toxic Wife To Attract Billionaires Novel Cover

Playing The Toxic Wife To Attract Billionaires

June woke up transmigrated into the body of a ruthless billionaire's toxic, disposable wife. Before she could even process the massive Beverly Hills mansion, a cold system voice announced she had exactly five minutes of lifespan remaining. To survive, she was forced to bind with the system and strictly maintain the original owner's "brainless, abusive drama queen" persona to earn hours to live. She was forced to violently slap hot coffee out of a terrified maid's hands and physically spank her manipulative five-year-old stepson. When she tried to escape this nightmare by throwing divorce papers at her terrifying husband, Isaac Walton, he simply ripped them to shreds. Every time she tried to be reasonable or show a hint of kindness, the system tortured her with agonizing cardiac pain, cementing her status as the most hated monster in the family. The most absurd part happened when she threw a hysterical, system-mandated tantrum over a gossip magazine, and Isaac's icy demeanor suddenly melted. He gently touched her hair, offering the one thing she desperately needed. "Stop crying. I'll handle it." Just as a spark of hope ignited in her chest, the system's critical death warning exploded in her skull: accepting his sympathy would instantly deduct thirty days of her life. To stay alive, June had no choice but to violently slap away the only hand reaching out to save her, forcing herself to play the greedy villain while her husband's gaze turned dangerously dark.
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Chapter 1

June bolted upright on the king-size bed.

The silk sheets pooled at her waist as she clawed at her chest. Her lungs refused to expand. A sharp, tearing agony ripped through her sternum, as if someone had shoved a fist into her ribcage and squeezed her heart. She gasped, sucking in useless air.

She blinked through the tears blurring her vision. The room around her was massive. Vaulted ceilings, excessive gold-leaf molding, and floor-to-ceiling windows framing the swaying palm trees of Beverly Hills. The sheer opulence hit her brain like a physical blow, sending her into a brief, violent spiral of sensory overload.

Her bare feet hit the cold hardwood floor. She stumbled, her knees buckling, and practically threw herself into the adjoining master bathroom.

She gripped the edges of the marble vanity. Her knuckles turned white. She stared into the massive mirror and staggered back a half-step. The face staring back at her was breathtakingly beautiful, but the sharp arch of the eyebrows and the harsh set of the jaw screamed of a toxic, bitter woman. It wasn't her face.

A cold, synthesized voice sliced through the silence in her head.

"System Moe-7 activated."

June's heart stuttered. She pressed the heels of her hands against her temples. She thought she was hallucinating from the pain.

"You have exactly five minutes of lifespan remaining." the voice stated.

A digital, blood-red countdown timer burned itself into her retinas.

04:59.

June slammed her fist against the marble counter. "Is this a sick joke?" she rasped, her throat burning.

The system didn't answer with words. It answered with pain.

A very real, very violent spike of agony shot straight through her left ventricle. June's legs gave out. She collapsed, her knees slamming hard against the freezing marble floor.

"Plot synchronization complete," the cold voice echoed.

Memories that didn't belong to her slammed into her skull. June bit down on her lower lip so hard she tasted copper. She was June Myers. The disposable, toxic wife of the ruthless billionaire Isaac Walton.

She saw the ending. She saw Isaac and his son coldly signing the papers to lock her in a psychiatric ward for the rest of her life. June grabbed the lapels of her silk robe, her fingers trembling violently as terror coated her throat.

"Bind with the system to earn lifespan," Moe-7 demanded.

June forced her breathing to slow. She was a modern woman. She knew how to negotiate. "Show me the underlying logic," she choked out. "What are the terms? I need to see the contract."

The system ignored her. The red numbers in her vision blurred and suddenly dropped.

00:10.

00:09.

The air left the room. An invisible hand wrapped around June's throat, crushing her windpipe. She clawed at her own neck.

00:03.

Survival instinct overrode everything. "I agree!" she screamed into the empty bathroom. "I bind!"

The crushing pressure vanished instantly.

June slumped sideways onto the floor. She dragged in massive, ragged breaths. Cold sweat soaked through the back of her silk nightgown, sticking the fabric to her spine. She had never felt a fear so absolute, so physically crushing.

"Starter pack deployed," the system chimed.

A massive headache split her skull as the original June's memories-a chaotic mess of Hollywood drama, screaming matches, and vanity-were forcefully shoved into her brain.

June grabbed the edge of the vanity and hauled herself up. She stared at her pathetic reflection, mentally cursing the goddamn system a thousand times over.

A heavy knock echoed from the bedroom door.

"Mrs. Walton?" a timid voice called out. It was Maria, the maid. Her voice was trembling.

June opened her mouth, the gentle words 'It's alright' already on her tongue. Before she could speak, a blaring yellow warning flashed across her vision. "Warning. Deviation from 'toxic drama queen' persona detected."

June ground her back teeth together. She forced the muscles in her face to twist. She stared at the mirror and practiced a harsh, condescending eye roll.

She yanked the bathroom door open. She grabbed an obscenely expensive silk dressing gown, threw it over her shoulders, and tied the sash tight enough to bruise her ribs, needing the physical pressure to ground her panic.

She marched across the thick carpet, took a deep breath, and yanked the heavy mahogany door open. A rush of cold air swept into the hallway.

Maria stood there, holding a silver tray. The maid flinched so hard the porcelain coffee cup rattled against the saucer.

June crossed her arms over her chest. She looked down her nose at the woman. "Why are you making so much noise?" she demanded, her voice dripping with arrogance.

"I-I brought your morning black coffee, ma'am," Maria stuttered, her eyes glued to the floorboards.

June looked at the perfect, steaming cup of coffee. Her throat was parched. She wanted nothing more than to take it and say thank you.

A sharp, electric shock bit into her temple. The system's threat was clear.

June uncrossed her arms. She reached out and slapped the side of the cup.

The hot coffee flew across the hallway, splashing dark stains onto the pristine carpet. Maria dropped to her knees instantly, tears spilling over her eyelashes as she frantically apologized.

June stared down at the terrified woman. Her chest physically ached. She hid her hands inside the wide sleeves of her gown, digging her fingernails so deeply into her palms that the skin nearly broke, desperately fighting the urge to drop down and help her clean it up.

She forced a cold scoff from her throat. "Clean up this garbage immediately," she snapped.

She stepped back and slammed the door shut in Maria's face.

June leaned her back against the heavy wood. She squeezed her eyes shut. Nausea rolled through her stomach at the cruelty she had just inflicted.

"Persona synchronization successful," the system announced. "Reward: 24 hours of lifespan."

The red numbers in her eyes shifted to 23:59:59. June slid down the door until she hit the floor.

"Main Quest 1," the system continued. "Serve your husband, Isaac Walton, with divorce papers immediately."

June's eyes snapped open, wide with absolute shock.

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