Transmigrated: The Bankrupt CEO's Unexpected Wife

Emma walked over to the display shelves. She ran her fingers over the expensive leather. She did the math in her head, estimating their secondhand market value.

She pulled her phone from her pocket. She downloaded The RealReal app.

She grabbed a pristine Chanel Gabrielle bag and carried it over to the window. She moved around until the natural light hit the leather perfectly.

She snapped several photos. She made sure to get clear shots of the hardware, the dust bag, and the serial number.

She opened the app and started typing. She used her past life's knowledge of luxury goods to write a highly persuasive product description.

She hit publish. She repeated the process. Within an hour, she had listed three of the original owner's most prized Hermes bags.

She was adjusting the angle for the fourth bag when footsteps approached. Alek stopped in the doorway of the closet. He was holding an empty coffee mug.

He looked down at the bags scattered on the floor. His jaw clenched tight.

"Are you so desperate for attention that you're showing off online?" he asked coldly.

Emma didn't even look up. She adjusted the focus on her camera.

"I'm selling them. We need cash for living expenses," she replied calmly.

Alek's grip on the coffee mug tightened. The original Emma would have starved to death before selling a single bag. This behavior completely shattered his understanding of her.

He scoffed. "A drop in the bucket," he mocked. He turned and walked toward his study. But his mind was racing. The suspicion was eating at him.

Emma ignored his insult. She kept listing the items. Her phone pinged loudly. The first bag had sold in minutes.

She stared at the thousands of dollars pending in her account. A genuine smile broke across her face for the first time since she woke up in this body.

She left the closet and went back to the master bedroom. She opened the original owner's MacBook. She needed to find freelance work.

There was no password. She opened the browser and searched for freelance copywriting platforms.

She started deleting old files to clear up storage space. She clicked on a hidden folder named "Memories."

Dozens of photos popped up on the screen. They showed the original Emma clinging to a blonde man on a yacht.

Emma recognized the man from the book's plot. It was Sterling Astor-Vance, a Wall Street trust fund kid and her ex-boyfriend.

A wave of disgust hit her stomach. These photos were a ticking time bomb for her marriage. She hit 'Select All' without a second thought.

She pressed delete. She emptied the trash bin. She completely wiped the dangerous history from the hard drive.

She opened a new tab to check the local news. An article about Alek's bankruptcy was trending. Right below it, in the comment section, an arrogant remark caught her eye-posted by Sterling Astor-Vance. Disgusted, she navigated back to her inbox, only to find a new email sitting at the top of her unread list. The sender was Sterling.

The subject line read: Heard he went broke. Meet me at the usual spot tonight. I'll save you.

Emma sneered at the screen. She clicked on the email, blocked the sender, and reported it as spam.

With the threat neutralized, she opened a Word document. She started typing up a marketing resume based on her own past experiences.

Down the hall in the study, Alek sat in front of his encrypted laptop. He was tracking his offshore funds. Dale Cooke's face appeared on a video call.

Dale looked serious. "The deep dive on Emma has started. No history of psychiatric issues so far."

Alek tapped his fingers against the mahogany desk. "Pull her recent communication logs and web browsing history."

Dale nodded. "Understood. Also, the old vultures in the Holden family are trying to lowball your core patents."

A vicious light flashed in Alek's eyes. "Feed them fake data. Keep throwing the bait until they choke on it."

He ended the call. He looked through the crack of the study door. He watched Emma typing furiously on her laptop. His eyes darkened with intense scrutiny.