When my husband developed mind-reading

*Smack.*

The woman standing in front of me pressed a hand to her stinging, slightly pink cheek, her pretty almond eyes swimming with unshed tears.

Yara’s small frame trembled faintly. Her fingers twisted tight into the hem of her vintage Victorian-style dress, and she bit hard into her lower lip, fighting to keep her tears from spilling over. She was already stunningly beautiful, but right now, teary and raw, she looked like a weeping angel—helpless, fragile, and breaking at the seams.

Watching her like this, a tiny twinge of regret tugged at my chest. But I forced it down, remembering why I was here. I hardened my heart, my voice dropping ice-cold as I snapped, "Yara, this slap is to wake you up. Stop deluding yourself that you can claw your way up the social ladder."

I glanced down at my own stinging palm, a flicker of doubt creeping in. Had I hit her too hard?

Had I hurt the sweet, lovable heroine of this story?

Twenty-four hours ago, I’d woken up trapped inside the pages of a trashy billionaire romance called *The Billionaire’s Reluctant Love*, transmigrated into the role of the scheming villainess—Jolie Salazar.

As the male lead’s fiancée, my character was sharp-tongued, bitter, and doomed to a tragic end—all while watching her groom run off with the soft-hearted heroine.

This moment right here? It matched the scene exactly: I’d just gotten back from my studies in the Alps, caught my fiancé in a vague, compromising situation with the heroine, and cornered her to confront her.

I frowned a little. The male lead was supposed to show up any second now… so where the hell was Malcolm Salazar?

Per the original plot, I’d just gotten home from abroad, walked in on my fiancé with the heroine Yara Long, and flew into a jealous rage. I’d taken advantage of Malcolm’s absence to slap Yara hard, marking my territory over my man. I’d torn into her, called her shameless, a homewrecker, a clingy gold-digger. I’d ordered her to get out of Malcolm’s life and stay far away from Salazar Corp.

Heartbroken, Yara had been getting ready to leave, but she’d waited to see Malcolm one last time before she went. When he walked in, she’d broken down crying into his arms, and I’d caught them red-handed. That’s how we got here.

"I saw you with my own two eyes, leaning all over my fiancé," I said, narrowing my eyes at Yara. "You still going to deny it?"

Yara just shook her head, sobbing hard, tears pouring down her face like rain.

Back in the real world, I was stuck in a dead-end, soul-sucking job. Even here, in this stupid novel, it’s just another gig. Nail the required plot beats, get a massive payout, and I get to go home and live the good life. The thought made a satisfied little smile tug at my lips.

But hey—acting’s my specialty.

Back in the real world, I’d worked my ass off chasing an acting career.

I might not have made it big, but I’ve got the skills.

I’ve got this. All I have to do is stick to the script, fake my dramatic villainess death, and retire to spend that fat check on whatever I want.

Yara’s sobs hiccuped, and then she cried even harder, calling out, "Malcolm, you have to help me."

I didn’t even need to turn around to know he was standing right behind me.

"What’s going on here?"

A low, icy voice rolled from behind my back.

Clad in a crisp white shirt and tailored black trousers, Malcolm Salazar stepped up beside me.

I darted a quick glance at him, and my brain short-circuited:

[Malcolm Salazar? How the hell is he this hot?]

His suit was custom-fitted to perfection, his sharp, elegant features framed by the most hypnotic eyes I’d ever seen.

I turned fully to face him, letting my gaze rake over him shamelessly:

[Great build. I’d bet he’s well over six feet, right?]

[Dude’s smoking hot on the outside, who knows what he’s like under all that, though.]

Unexpectedly, Malcolm blinked, and mouthed: ???

What the hell just happened?

Jolie hadn’t said a word out loud—why could he hear every single thought that just crossed her mind?

And when had he ever done nothing all day, anyway?

Malcolm was just about to open his mouth and ask what the hell was going on when the fragile Yara started pleading again. "Malcolm, please, do something."

Malcolm swallowed his questions for later. "What happened here just now?"

I tore my gaze off his body, and started idly picking at my manicured palm, not bothering to jump in and explain.

Across from me, Yara burst into fresh tears. "Malcolm, Jolie said I seduced you, she called me shameless… sob…"

"If you know he’s taken and you still throw yourself at him, what else would you call it?" I snapped, turning an icy glare on Yara. "Women like you would have been run out of town for this a hundred years ago."

Yara sobbed even harder. "I didn’t… I didn’t do it… sob…"

"Jolie!"

Malcolm instinctively started to reprimand me, when my inner voice cut in, loud and clear:

[Go on, scold me. Tell me I’m being too harsh, that I never should have hit her, that I’m being unreasonable. Say I’ve changed, that I’m not the sweet girl I used to be.]

[Then wrap delicate little Yara up in your arms and soothe her.]

[Then I can check this scene off the list. Haha, easy.]

Malcolm: …

That was literally exactly what he’d been planning to say and do.

Malcolm’s throat went tight, a weird, unshakable wave of shame washing over him.

When he didn’t respond, Yara’s lashes glistened with fresh tears as she whispered his name, pitiful as a hurt kitten: "Malcolm?"

Malcolm snapped out of it, clearing his throat awkwardly.

"Jolie, it’s not what you think," he said, voice deep. "You’ve really misunderstood."

I played my part perfectly, heartbroken and furious: "I don’t believe you. I saw you holding her." I gaped at Malcolm, face crumpling into disbelief, my voice breaking with anguish. "You’re actually taking her side?"

[Come on, tell me it’s not what it looks like, explain it away. I’ll refuse to listen and storm off, and that’s it for today’s script.]

Malcolm: …

Malcolm threw another suspicious glance at Jolie, who looked utterly destroyed by heartbreak.

For a second, he couldn’t tell which of her feelings were real, and which were this weird voice in his head.

He was this close to convinced Jolie had a split personality.

After a long beat of deliberation, Malcolm said hesitantly, "Jolie, don’t make a scene."

"Malcolm, you…?" I pressed a hand to my chest, eyes going wide with fake hurt. "Malcolm, you really think I’m just causing trouble?"

[Called it. You two are fucking, and you’re just playing me. This whole acting gig is exhausting, by the way.]

Malcolm, deadpan: …

"Malcolm, all these years we’ve been together… they don’t mean anything next to some girl you just met…"

The last line was right on the tip of my tongue, but I bit it back. Instead, I pinched my thigh hard under my dress, and tears welled up in my eyes from the sharp pain. "Malcolm… I misjudged you."

"I…" Malcolm instinctively jumped to explain. "Jolie, it’s really not what you think."

I looked up at him, tears spilling down my cheeks. "Then tell me. What is it really, if not that?"