Oops, I Dumped the Billionaire for a Better Life

Alaric's cold hand gripped my jaw, slamming my back against the freezing wall.

This was the fatal opening scene of my transmigration as the doomed villainess.

In the original book, my insane jealousy over his first love led to a miserable endrotting away in a psychiatric ward.

I forced my gaze down to the cold black Centurion card resting in my palm.

Behind me were the floor-to-ceiling windows of a Manhattan penthouse, framing a wall of Birkins and limited-edition haute couture that most people could only dream of touching.

This astronomical wealth was enough to cure anything.

Stick to the plot? In their dreams.

To hell with the male lead and his precious first love.

Starting today, I would burn his money, lay flat, and enjoy every second of my filthy rich life.

Chapter 1

Alaric's large hand gripped my jaw.

The pressure was crushing, pinning me in place.

He had just returned from a funeral.

He carried the damp, freezing scent of cemetery dirt and rain clinging to a black umbrella.

It mixed with his usual sharp cedarwood cologne.

The combination was suffocating.

"Astrid."

His voice dropped, a low, suppressed rumble.

"You better pray Pearl is okay. If I catch you imitating a single expression, a single movement of hers again"

"I'll make you wish you were dead."

My jawbone flared with pain.

Tears spilled over my lashes uncontrollably.

It wasn't sadness. It was a physical reflex.

Alaric tracked that single tear.

The temperature in his eyes dropped below freezing.

I knew exactly what registered in his mind. The Astrid in the book loved to mimic Pearl.

This was exactly how Pearl criedfragile, delicate, like a glass doll about to shatter.

The old "me" had spent three months staring into a mirror, perfecting this exact angle of crying just to be a convincing replica.

These tears appeared right on cue.

Alaric definitely thought I was acting again.

He shoved his hand away.

I stumbled back, catching the edge of the marble vanity to keep from hitting the floor.

"Hiss"

I massaged my reddened jaw, dragging oxygen into my burning lungs.

Alaric towered over me.

He looked at me like I was radioactive waste.

"Remember my words."

He yanked at his tie and turned on his heel.

"Stay the hell away from Pearl. If she doesn't wake up today, you're going down with her."

Bang.

The bedroom door slammed shut, vibrating the walls.

I leaned heavily against the vanity, panting.

The woman in the mirror had a flushed face, tear-stained cheeks, and disheveled hair.

An absolute mess. But stunning.

Astrid's face was a masterclass in genetics.

She was far more vibrant, more aggressively beautiful than Pearl's plain, innocent aesthetic.

Too bad. The Alaric in the novel preferred Pearl's type.

He found Astrid's striking beauty cheap and manipulative.

So no matter how Astrid copied Pearl, how she bent over backward to please Alaric, or how she plotted to tear them apart, she ended up bankrupt and locked away in an asylum.

Pathetic.

I touched the stinging red marks on my jawline.

The sharp pain grounded me.

This wasn't a hallucination. I had actually transmigrated.

I was now the doomed villainess of this novel.

Alaric's threat echoed in the silent room.

Stay the hell away from Pearl. If she doesn't wake up today, you're going down with her.

Right. A major plot point.

Shortly after Pearl returned to the country, Astrid orchestrated a minor car accident.

Pearl was physically fine, just fainted from the shock.

Alaric immediately pinned the blame on Astrid and barged in to interrogate her.

In the original script, Astrid threw a hysterical fit, swore on her life it wasn't her, and threw herself at Alaric, trying to use her body to win him back.

Naturally, it backfired.

It only cemented his disgust for her, laying the groundwork for her eventual institutionalization.

I glanced down at myself.

I was wearing a silk slip dress. Paper-thin and sheer.

The old Astrid's weapon of choice.

Goosebumps erupted on my skin.

I snatched a thick, oversized bathrobe draped over the armchair and wrapped myself tight, tying the belt in a double knot.

Go down with her? Psychiatric ward?

Hell no. I valued my life way too much.

Since I was stuck here as a gorgeous, loaded woman, why on earth would I choose the suicide route?

The male lead belonged to his precious first love.

The money belonged to me.

Chapter 2

I walked over to the massive floor-to-ceiling windows.

Beyond the glass stretched the glittering skyline of the most expensive real estate in the city.

A priceless hand-woven rug sank beneath my bare feet.

The walk-in closet behind me held enough designer bags and jewelry to fund several lifetimes of reckless spending.

I rubbed my still-tender jawline.

The decision settled in my chest, hard and final.

I was done trying.

I was going to take his money, stay the hell away from the lovebirds, and enjoy my filthy rich life.

As for Pearl?

I prayed she woke up this exact second, perfectly healthy and breathing.

Better yet, she and Alaric could lock themselves together in holy matrimony and throw away the key.

Just leave me out of it.

Pearl woke up the very next day.

A false alarm. Alaric didn't come looking for me again.

Probably too busy playing nurse for his sweetheart.

I welcomed the peace and quiet.

Time to start my early retirement plan.

Step one: move out of Alaric's penthouse.

The place was too massive, too empty. It felt like a sterile, high-end showroom.

Plus, I could bump into him at any moment. Toxic.

I contacted a high-end real estate agent.

My demands were simple and brutal.

Lower Manhattan. Penthouse. Floor-to-ceiling windows.

Fully furnished. Ready for immediate move-in.

That very afternoon, I rolled my limited-edition luggage into my new place.

Over three thousand square feet. Massive curved glass walls.

Sunlight poured in without a single obstruction, warming my skin.

I threw myself onto a couch softer than a cloud and let out a long exhale.

This was the life.

Step two: audit the assets.

Astrid might have been hopelessly obsessed with a man, but she was still the eldest daughter of a wealthy family.

Her dowry was substantial. Alaric didn't love her, but his family cared about appearances.

The monthly allowance wired into her account was an astronomical figure.

I logged into my mobile banking app.

Seeing that long string of zeros instantly cleared my mind.

Vicious villainess? Please. This was my golden ticket.

Step three: sever all plot-triggering ties.

In the book, Astrid had bribed several of Alaric's assistants and drivers to keep tabs on Pearl.

She even hired private investigators to tail her. Stupidity.

I grabbed my phone and scrolled to those contacts.

I sent the exact same text to every single one of them.

"Contract terminated. Final payment sent. Do not contact me again."

Then I blocked and deleted the numbers.

Finally, I tapped open the message thread saved under 'Alaric.'

The chat history was physically painful to read.

A pathetic, one-sided stream of desperation.

"Alaric, the temperature dropped today. Wear a coat."

"Alaric, I ordered your favorite Michelin-starred French cuisine, want me to have the driver drop it off?"

"Alaric, your stomach is sensitive. Don't drink too much tonight."

"Alaric, I"

His replies were either a cold "K," a blunt "No need," or just dead silence.

The most recent text was sent yesterday.

"Alaric, I know I messed up. Will you come home? I miss you so much."

A shiver of pure cringe ran down my spine.

My fingers flew across the keyboard.

"Alaric, we need to talk."

I paused, staring at the words. Then, I hit backspace and cleared the field. I typed again.

"Alaric, regarding yesterday: I had nothing to do with Pearl's accident. Also, I've moved out of the penthouse. Unless it's an emergency, do not contact me. Have a nice life."

I scanned the text. Perfect.

Cold, distant, and cutting ties. Send.

Next, I changed his contact name from 'Alaric' to 'Toxic CEO.'

Finally, I switched his notifications to 'Do Not Disturb.'

Silence descended. The world was finally at peace.

Chapter 3

After doing all that, I ordered an obscenely expensive seafood spread.

Paired it with an ice-cold Coke.

I curled up on the couch, fired up some brain-dead reality TV, and stuffed my face while laughing until my sides ached.

This was the correct way to transmigrate!

Days blurred together. I let myself go.

The old Astrid, desperate to cater to Alaric's tastes, only wore muted colors and conservative, modest dresses.

She spoke in whispers. Ate like a bird.

Walked like she was afraid of crushing an ant.

Now? I lived in an oversized vintage tee and ripped jeans. Flip-flops.

I navigated the food trucks and loud underground dive bars barefaced, relying on my god-tier genetics.

Left hand gripping a taco oozing with melted Mexican cheese.

Right hand holding an icy margarita with a double shot of tequila.

I ate until my fingers were sticky. Bliss!

The old Astrid had forced herself to sit through boring Broadway operas and stare at incomprehensible private art galleries just to mimic Pearl's "artsy" vibe.

Now? I sprawled in my private home theater.

The AC blasting. A literal mountain of popcorn on my lap.

I binge-watched every trashy soap opera and blockbuster I'd never had time for.

I sobbed over fake breakups and laughed until I couldn't breathe.

The old Astrid spent her days stiffly maintaining the "Mrs. CEO" facade.

She attended mind-numbing high-society afternoon teas, listening to bored trophy wives humblebrag and fish for gossip about her plastic marriage with Alaric.

Now? I deleted myself from every "socialite" group chat.

Ignored calls. Tossed fancy invitations straight into the trash.

Whoever wanted to go could knock themselves out.

I was busy. Busy leveling up in my games.

Busy catching up on the latest comics.

Busy researching which late-night pizza joint had the spiciest pepperoni.

As for Alaric? Oh, right, the Toxic CEO.

Ever since I sent that "have a nice life" text, it had been radio silence.

Not even a read receipt.

He probably thought I was playing some new game, playing hard to get, and couldn't be bothered to entertain me.

Perfect. If he never looked for me again, I'd thank God.

We were parallel lines now.

He was in his world, acting out some angsty romance drama with Pearl (according to the book).

I was in my world, enjoying the corrupting freedom of extreme wealth.

Until

Alaric's mother, my mother-in-law in name only, had her birthday.

This was an event I couldn't dodge.

His family was old money, and their rules were suffocating.

The matriarch's birthday was a massive production.

The venue was an exclusive private country club in the elite enclaves of Long Island.

By the time I arrived, the banquet hall was already a sea of rustling silk and clinking champagne flutes.

Men in tailored tuxedos. Women dripping in diamonds.

The air itself smelled of old money, power, and suffocating entitlement.

I looked down at myself. To show "respect," I had bothered to put on a dress.

A simple black slip dress. Safe, foolproof.

I had dabbed a thick layer of concealer along my jawline to cover the fading red marks from Alaric's fingers.

A thin layer of foundation, a muted nude lipstick. Hair twisted up casually.

My only jewelry was a pair of small pearl studs.

On a normal day, this look would be considered effortlessly elegant.

But standing among these socialites who looked like they were trying to wear entire jewelry stores on their bodies, I looked painfully plain.

Almost pathetic.

Chapter 4

Sure enough. The moment I stepped inside, eyes snapped to me.

Eyes widened. Whispers erupted. Smirks hid behind champagne flutes.

"Well, well, isn't this our dear Mrs. CEO?" a shrill voice pierced the air.

Mrs. Lee. One of Astrid's plastic friends from the original book.

She sashayed over, her gaze raking up and down my body like barbed wire.

"Astrid, your outfit is a bit plain, isn't it? Did Alaric forget to buy you a new wardrobe?"

She deliberately raised her voice.

Several socialites turned their heads, hiding their smirks behind their champagne flutes.

"Exactly. This is highly inappropriate for the matriarch's big day."

"Could it be Alaric is tightening the purse strings lately?"

"Or maybe someone is losing her grip on her position, and naturally"

They piled on, their honeyed words dripping with the heavy implication that I had been completely cast aside.

The old Astrid would have flushed crimson, stammered a weak defense, or run crying to Alaric to complain.

Right into their trap.

Now? I lifted a glass of champagne from a passing waiter's tray.

I took a slow sip. Only then did I meet Mrs. Lee's eyes.

"You look radiant today, Mrs. Lee," I said flatly.

"That Botox is really doing the work. When you smile, your face looks as stiff as a Beverly Hills plastic doll."

Mrs. Lee's smile froze. She subconsciously touched her cheek.

Beside her, Mrs. Wang let out a snort of laughter.

"And you, Mrs. Wang," I pivoted to her. "That diamond necklace is blinding."

"Isn't that the new centerpiece from the family's flagship store? I remember the price tag having quite a few zeros. Your husband is so generous."

Mrs. Wang's laugh choked in her throat. Panic flashed in her eyes.

Her family business was bleeding money; she had borrowed that necklace just to save face.

I didn't bother wasting another breath on them.

I turned and walked away, leaving the women standing there with the color draining from their faces.

This low-level mean-girl bullying bored me.

I'd rather check out the chef's special desserts.

I walked with purpose toward the dessert bar.

I had just picked up a massive red velvet cupcake loaded with heavy cream cheese frosting.

A familiar, icy voice slid over my shoulder.

"You certainly look relaxed."

My hand flinched. The heavy frosting almost smeared across my fingers. I turned around.

Alaric stood a few paces away.

A perfectly tailored black tuxedo clung to his broad shoulders, radiating a suffocating aura.

Pearl stood right beside him.

She wore a moon-white vintage slip dress, her long hair cascading softly over her shoulders.

A measured, sweet smile played on her lips. Fragile. Fresh.

Like a delicate orchid needing constant protection.

A brutal contrast to my careless black dress.

Alaric's eyes dropped to the high-calorie cupcake in my hand.

They dragged up to my bare face and the concealer on my jawline.

A minuscule frown pulled at his eyebrows.

His gaze scraped over my face without a shred of warmth.

"My mother is looking for you," he stated coldly, issuing a command to a low-level employee.

"Go pay your respects. Watch your behavior. Don't humiliate the family."

Pearl gently tugged at Alaric's sleeve. Her voice was pure honey.

"Alaric, don't speak to Astrid like that. Her look today it's quite nice."

She turned to me, her eyes brimming with innocent apology.

"Astrid, Alaric didn't mean it that way. He's just worried his mother has been waiting."

Chapter 5

What a perfect little peacekeeper. I stared at her.

The original book constantly debated whether Pearl was genuinely kind or just a high-tier manipulator.

But right now, the flash of smugness buried deep in her eyes was crystal clear.

Tch. I was too exhausted to play their game.

"Got it," I nodded, my tone deadpan. "Going right now."

Without breaking eye contact. I lifted the high-calorie red velvet cupcake dripping with cream cheese frosting.

Shoved it. Into my mouth. In one single bite.

It was far from elegant. Brutal, really.

My cheeks puffed out.

The overwhelmingly rich, sugary frosting melted over my tongue. Satisfaction.

Alaric's brows snapped together into a hard knot.

His gaze scraped over me like a serrated blade.

Pearl froze, clearly thrown off script by my lack of manners.

I chewed a few times and swallowed hard.

I snatched a glass of juice from a passing tray and chugged it.

Washed down the heavy sugar. Then, without sparing them another glance.

I left the empty wrapper on a table and walked straight toward the matriarch sitting in the center of the room.

Alaric's mother was immaculately preserved, draped in a luxurious deep purple silk gown.

Not a single strand of hair was out of place.

She maintained a perfectly practiced smile while conversing with several older socialites.

The second she saw me approach, that smile fractionally dimmed.

Her eyes dragged over me with a heavy, judgmental weight.

"Happy birthday, Mother," I said, my voice completely flat.

"Mm," she hummed a dismissive acknowledgment.

Her critical gaze raked up and down my dress.

A sharp crease formed between her brows.

"What on earth are you wearing?" Her tone dripped with raw displeasure.

"What kind of occasion do you think this is? Absolutely zero class."

The surrounding socialites turned their heads, their eyes gleaming with silent mockery.

"Furthermore, Alaric and Pearl are over there. Why are you wandering around alone?"

Her voice turned razor-sharp. "It's an embarrassment. Go over there immediately!"

Always like this.

Under this crushing pressure, the old Astrid would have panicked, her hands trembling helplessly.

Then she'd make a mistake. Get publicly humiliated. Become the punchline of the night.

I pulled in a slow breath.

I lifted my chin and locked eyes directly with the matriarch.

"Mother, I'm feeling quite unwell today, forgive my lack of manners," I said.

Not loud, but crystal clear.

"I wouldn't want to pass a bug to you or the guests, nor would I want to ruin the mood."

"Now that I've paid my respects, I will be taking my leave."

She froze.

She clearly hadn't anticipated me stating my departure so bluntly.

The old Astrid would have swallowed razor blades to please her, just to perform for Alaric.

"You" Words failed her.

"Wishing you a wonderful birthday. I had the butler place my gift in your study."

I gave a slight, mechanically flawless nod. "Ladies, excuse me."

And with that. I didn't wait for a reaction.

I turned on my heel. Walked away without a single stutter in my step.

I could feel the matriarch's stunned glare burning into my back.

From a distance, Alaric's two icy lines of sight pinned me.

The muffled whispers of the crowd eager for drama buzzed in the air.

Not my damn problem.

I stepped out of the blindingly bright, suffocating banquet hall.

The crisp night wind hit my skin. It felt incredibly good.

I pulled out my phone. Requested an Uber. Stood by the curb waiting.

Behind me loomed the extravagant estate. Like a massive, freezing cage.

I looked down, scuffing a loose piece of gravel with my shoe.

Freedom felt incredible.

Chapter 6

Alaric showed up at my door.

It had been over a month since I walked out of his penthouse.

A rain-soaked Sunday afternoon.

I was curled deep into my couch, hugging a massive tub of ice cream, bingeing a tragic classic movie.

My eyes were red, and my nose was running.

The buzzer went off. The high-def security screen lit up, flashing Alaric's deadpan, structured face.

Raindrops clung to his dark hair and the broad shoulders of his coat, sharpening his jawline and amplifying that suffocating, freezing aura of his.

I pinched the bridge of my nose. What the hell did he want?

My finger hovered over the console before I hit the unlock button.

It was pouring out there.

Letting the billionaire CEO drown on my welcome mat felt like too much paperwork.

Alaric stepped inside.

A wave of damp, freezing air rolled in with him.

His sharp eyes immediately swept my living room.

On the massive home theater screen, the movie leads were sobbing through a tragic death scene.

Empty snack wrappers littered the expensive rug.

The glass coffee table was buried under half-eaten bags of tortilla chips and crushed high-calorie energy drink cans.

And then there was the nearly empty pint of H?agen-Dazs Macadamia Nut ice cream I was cradling against my chest.

I was zipped into a thick, neon-green dinosaur onesie.

My eyes were bloodshot, and tear tracks streaked through my nonexistent makeup.

Zero aesthetic appeal.

A hard crease formed between Alaric's eyebrows.

He stared at me like I was a stain on his rug.

"What?"

I yanked a tissue from the box and blew my nose loudly.

I didn't bother standing up. I definitely wasn't offering him a drink.

Alaric's jaw twitched.

He wasn't used to me not throwing myself at his feet.

He stayed silent for three agonizing seconds before walking over to the oversized armchair across from me.

He lowered himself down.

The plush cushions swallowed him slightly, instantly wrecking his rigid posture.

"Next month is the family's annual charity gala," he stated, his voice flat, like he was delivering a quarterly report.

"It's at the Hamptons estate. You are required to attend."

"Cool."

I dug out a massive spoonful of Macadamia Nut ice cream and shoved it into my mouth, wincing as the brain freeze hit.

"Got it."

Alaric tracked the metal spoon with utter disdain.

The crease between his brows deepened into a ravine.

"Astrid." His tone dropped dangerously low. "Watch your manners."

I forced the freezing lump down my throat.

"Alaric, I'm in my own penthouse, wearing a onesie, eating ice cream, and watching a movie."

"Who exactly am I performing for?"

I met his gaze, completely deadpan.

"It's not like I'm dragging the prestigious family name through the mud out on the streets."

That shut him up.

His sharp eyes locked onto me, scanning my face like he was dissecting a complete stranger.

"What exactly have you been doing lately?" he asked, out of nowhere.

"Huh?" I blinked. "Eating, sleeping, gaming, and binge-watching. Why?"

"You haven't gone looking for trouble with Pearl?"

Thick suspicion dripped from his words.

A harsh laugh escaped my throat.

"Alaric, I told you last time. I had absolutely nothing to do with Pearl's little fender bender. And I have zero interest in messing with her."

I slammed the pint of H?agen-Dazs down onto the glass table.

"I'm way too busy enjoying my life to crash your little love triangle."

I paused, leaning back into the cushions.

"Relax. As long as that massive allowance hits my bank account on time, I swear on my life I'll stay out of your zip code."

"You two can play out your epic, star-crossed romance all you want. It's none of my business."

"I'll just sit here, be your invisible trophy wife on paper, collect my paycheck, and keep my mouth shut."

Was that blunt enough for him?

Did that spell out my early retirement plan clearly enough?

Alaric's facial muscles tightened. He stared hard at me.

The look in his eyes was complicated.

It wasn't just the usual raw disgust anymore.

There was something else filtering through. Scrutiny? Confusion?

And a flash of was that offended ego?

"Astrid," he gritted out, his voice turning to ice. "You better back up those words."

"Bet on it." I snatched the H?agen-Dazs right back off the table.

"Don't let the door hit you on the way out."

Chapter 7

Alaric stood up.

His shadow fell over me, heavy and suffocating.

"The annual charity gala. Dress appropriately," he ordered, his tone cold and absolute.

"Don't make a fool of yourself like last time."

With that, he turned on his heel and left.

The heavy door clicked shut, cutting off the freezing pressure he brought with him.

I rolled my eyes. "Psychopath."

I went back to digging into my ice cream.

On the massive screen, the tragic lovers finally reunited.

They held each other and sobbed in the rain.

Fresh tears spilled from my eyes. This time, from the pure emotional payoff.

The family's annual charity gala arrived.

The sheer scale of wealth displayed was even more obscene than his mother's birthday.

The venue was a sprawling, ultra-exclusive private estate in the Hamptons.

The guest list was composed entirely of heavyweights.

Wall Street titans, tech billionaires, and political elites.

The atmosphere was stiff, dripping with old-money arrogance.

I played it smart this time. I booked a high-end stylist days in advance.

I chose a foolproof, hopelessly conservative dark red velvet gown.

Long sleeves, high neck. It only showed my wrists.

My hair was pinned up in a flawless, tight chignon.

A pair of modest emerald studs rested in my ears.

Light, barely-there makeup.

I looked proper, mild, and non-threatening.

Like a piece of expensive background furniture.

It perfectly fit the criteria of a "trophy wife on paper."

When Alaric saw me, his gaze hitched for a fraction of a second.

He didn't say a word. Just gave a curt, dismissive nod.

Pearl was there too. She wore a flowy, pastel pink tulle dress.

Ethereal and innocent, like a literal fairy.

She stuck close to Alaric's side, sporting a sickeningly sweet smile.

Alaric's entire demeanor around her softened visibly.

He intercepted champagne flutes meant for her.

Spoke to her in low, murmuring tones.

His eyes were completely locked onto her.

The surrounding crowd watched with silent, mutual understanding.

The whispers buzzed like flies.

"Look at that. That's the one who really holds the CEO's heart."

"The actual wife is just a useless trophy."

"I heard she moved out of the penthouse. Divorce papers are probably being drafted as we speak."

"Shh, keep it down"

I tuned it all out.

I grabbed a glass of juice and found the most obscure corner I could.

I happily played the role of a silent wallflower.

The gala's schedule was agonizingly long.

Endless charity speeches, silent auctions, fake philanthropy

I finally survived until the actual dinner service began.

The guests moved to the grand dining hall.

The massive, long tables were strictly arranged by social hierarchy.

As the official Mrs. CEO, my assigned seat was chained directly next to Alaric.

Pearl, however, was relegated to a secondary table with the extended family's lesser socialites.

As she sat down, she shot a glance in my direction.

Her eyes brimmed with manufactured grievance.

Alaric caught it too. His brow twitched.

But given the public setting, he swallowed whatever he was going to say.

Course after course of absurdly expensive food was served.

I firmly adhered to my "eat more, speak less" policy.

I focused entirely on the culinary masterpiece in front of me.

The private chef's skills were phenomenal.

Top-tier Beluga caviar paired perfectly with French blinis.

A rich black truffle reduction cascaded over a flawless medium-rare A5 Wagyu steak.

The butter-baked Boston lobster was incredibly tender.

I was absolutely in heaven.

I completely missed the fact that Alaric, sitting right next to me, had barely touched his silverware.

He was busy navigating the interrogations of the Wall Street board members at our table.

Every so often, his gaze would flick over to me as I mercilessly devoured my lobster.

His eyes carried an unreadable, heavy weight.

Halfway through the dinner service.

The stiff atmosphere began to loosen up with the flow of alcohol.

People started mingling and networking.

Pearl, gripping a glass of red wine, floated over with deliberate grace.

She stopped right beside Alaric's chair. Her voice was pure spun sugar.

"Alaric, I'd like to propose a toast to you and Astrid. To the incredible success of tonight's charity gala."

A perfectly calibrated flush colored her cheeks.

Her eyes were wide and clear.

Anyone watching would think she was the picture of sincerity.

Alaric picked up his crystal champagne flute.

He turned his heavy gaze onto me. The silent command was crystal clear.

Chapter 8