Waiting for the Billionaire to Die

I violently jolted awake, gasping for air in a bathtub overflowing with crimson water.

My phone lay on the slick bathroom tiles, the speakerphone blaring Donovan's arrogant laugh. Didn't you sign that prenup saying as long as you got to be Mrs. Donovan, you could endure a sexless marriage?

Right at this very moment, my husband was busy playing the devoted chauffeur, picking up his precious first love from the airport.

Through the static, Ruby's sickly-sweet voice chimed in, eager to stake her claim. "He loves me. It's time to give back what was never yours!"

Even my mother-in-law, Sharonthe woman whose astronomical medical bills were paid off entirely by my trust fundhad coldly brushed me off just hours ago. "Take this hundred grand in cash, sign the divorce papers, and make room for Ruby!"

That's right. I had just transmigrated into the most infuriating, toxic trash-fire of a novel, trapped in the body of the pathetic, doomed wife who had just slit her own wrists.

I stared down at the bleeding cut on my arm. Instead of panicking, I let out a low, dark chuckle.

Divorce? Not a chance in hell.

Because this cheating scumbag was about to drop dead!

Chapter 1

When I woke up, I was lying in the bathtub. The porcelain was slick with my own blood.

My phone lay nearby on speaker, projecting a man's irritated voice. "I'm home. Where the hell are you? Playing these hysterical little gamesis this fun for you?"

I hit end call. I dialed 911, and the next time I opened my eyes, I was staring at the glaring fluorescent lights of a hospital room.

The ER doctor clipped a chart to the end of my bed. "Five more minutes, and we would have lost you. You're lucky you have such a strong will to live."

"Yeah. I know."

I had transmigrated into a sadistic, trashy romance novel. The original host, Sloane, had spent years desperately pining after the male lead, Donovan. Under his relentless emotional abuse and cold shoulder, she had fallen into severe clinical depression, spiraling into violent suicidal tendencies.

Tonight, Donovan threw a massive welcome-back party for his precious first love. Sloane had finally cracked. She texted him, begging him to come home, sending out one last, desperate SOS. He ignored it.

Her life was supposed to end in that bathtub today.

But obviously, I wasn't her.

"Your phone has been ringing off the hook," the doctor added. "The caller ID said 'Husband'. We notified your family. He's on his way."

"He doesn't matter. How is the baby?"

Sloane had been pregnant when she slit her wrists.

"The fetal heartbeat stopped at one point, but thankfully, the baby is just as much of a fighter as you are. You're both out of the woods for now. I'll have the detailed bloodwork and reports for you shortly."

"Thanks."

A moment later, the door slammed open. A man in a razor-sharp bespoke suit strode in.

His eyes landed on the thick gauze wrapped around my wrist, and his perfectly sculpted brows pulled into a harsh scowl. "Pulling this stunt again? Sloane, if you're going to threaten suicide every single day, why don't you just hurry up and die?"

"You're still breathing. Why should I rush?" I met his gaze with absolute, chilling calm. "I'll be sure to send you straight to hell first, Donovan."

In the original plot, after Sloane and her unborn baby died in that bathtub, Donovan suddenly realized he was desperately in love with her. Cue the pathetic remorse. Cue the nauseating, too-little-too-late devotion. One year later, Donovan died of stomach cancer.

One year. That wasn't too long. I could wait.

Donovan froze, his eyes widening slightly as if he couldn't process the venom dropping from my lips.

"I was just at Ruby's welcome-back party! What the hell kind of crazy pill did you take this time?"

Ruby. His precious, untouchable first love. Frankly, I couldn't care less.

"The desire to watch someone drop dead isn't exactly something you can hide," I said smoothly. "I want you in a body bag no matter what you do. It really has nothing to do with who you're screwing or what parties you're attending."

Donovan shook his head in sheer disbelief. "Sloane, have you completely lost your mind? If you want to end your miserable life, leave everyone else out of it."

"Excuse me? Watch your mouth!" The doctor stormed back in, glaring at Donovan.

"Your wife is suffering from clinical depression, and you're standing here telling her to die? That's practically premeditated murder!"

He shoved past Donovan and turned to me, his tone dropping to a gentle murmur. "Here is your chart. The baby is perfectly fine. You two are incredibly lucky to both be alive."

"You're pregnant?" Donovan choked out. His shock lasted exactly two seconds before his face hardened into a mask of pure ice.

"I told you I didn't want a kid. We used protection every single time. What did you do, poke holes in the condoms?"

"The only foolproof birth control is keeping it in your pants. Didn't you learn that in basic health class? Or are you implying I forced myself on you?" I tilted my head.

"If that's the case, call the cops. Go ahead. Press charges for marital rape."

The old Sloane had been a meek, silent doormat. This was the very first time Donovan was facing a woman who bit back. His jaw clenched tight enough to shatter teeth. "You're totally unreasonable."

"A man who can only throw around tired clichs in an argument is completely useless everywhere outside the bedroom." I let out a cold sneer and yanked the nurse call cord beside my pillow.

"Security? Please escort this emotionally unstable gentleman off the premises. He's disturbing my rest."

Chapter 2

Donovan locked his jaw, glaring at the back of my head. Right then, his phone buzzed in his pocket. Ruby's voice bled through the speaker, breathless and sloppy.

"Donovan I'm so drunk. I don't know how to get back to my hotel"

Donovan shot a sharp glance at my bandages. "Tonight isn't a good time."

I waved him off with my uninjured hand. "Oh, it's a perfectly fine time. Get out."

In the original plot, Donovan was supposed to be in Ruby's bed tonight. And Sloane was supposed to bleed out on those cold porcelain tiles.

He pressed two fingers to his temples. "Are you done throwing this tantrum?"

"You are impossible to please," I shot back. "When I was throwing myself at you, you looked at me like I was a disease. Now that I want you gone, you're sticking around like a stage-five clinger. What, did you suddenly fall in love with me?"

Donovan's face darkened. He stared at me like I had grown a second head, then spun on his heel and slammed the door behind him.

Ten minutes later, the door clicked open. He dragged a rigid hospital recliner right next to my bed and collapsed into it without a single word.

For the rest of my hospital stay, Donovan remained anchored to that chair, radiating a bone-chilling silence.

On the day of my final psychiatric evaluation, my attending doctor, Felix, ran me through a full battery of neurological tests and psychological screenings.

He stared at the printouts like he was looking at a medical miracle.

"Your clinical depression it's gone. Your psych evaluations and scans are completely healthy."

"Depression usually starts when a patient obsesses over a single target, leading to tunnel vision. Every rejection snowballs into self-hatred," I said smoothly.

"I used to love Donovan. He was my entire world. When he treated me like garbage, I thought I was worthless. Now that I don't give a damn about him, my will to live naturally came back."

Felix smiled and reached out to shake my hand. "Congratulations, Sloane. And I mean that as a friend."

Felix was the only person who actually gave a damn about the original Sloane. He had watched that poor woman drown in a toxic relationship. Every ounce of effort she gave was swallowed by a black hole. Her purest love bought her nothing but scars.

"So what's your game plan now? Are you filing for divorce?"

"Divorce?" I swirled the ice water in my cup, a sharp smirk pulling at my red lips. "This company was built with my trust fund. I'm going to drain his bank accounts, strip him of everything he owns, and toss him out like the trash he is."

On the day I was finally discharged, Donovan texted me saying he was "too busy" to pick me up.

Instead, a text popped up on my screen from an unknown number. It was a photo of Donovan.

His eyes were hazy with alcohol, a genuinely soft smile playing on his lips. The top two buttons of his tailored shirt were undone, exposing his collarbones.

Sloane had never seen him look at her like that.

I stared at the screen, feeling absolutely nothing.

I forwarded the photo straight to my divorce lawyer for the archives.

The moment I stepped into my own foyer, the electronic lock on the front door chimed.

It wasn't Donovan. It was his precious first love, Ruby.

"After all these years, the security code to this mansion is still my birthday. Sloane, how could you ever compete with the real lady of the house?"

She looked me up and down, practically radiating the smug arrogance of a woman who knew she was spoiled rotten.

"Does playing the glorified house-sitter for us make you happy?"

She crossed her arms, completely unaware of the brutal wake-up call I was about to deliver.

"Sloane, if I hadn't left the country five years ago, you wouldn't even exist to him. You saw it yourself. The second I came back, Donovan couldn't wait to see me. If you have any self-awareness left, pack your bags and get the hell out."

Chapter 3

I poured myself half a glass of bourbon into a crystal tumbler, watching her with cold, dead eyes. "If I recall correctly, you went to New York, Ruby? If you were really that important to him, he would have chartered a private jet just to see you, instead of playing the tragic, star-crossed lovers right now."

Ruby froze for a second. "How could Donovan afford a plane ticket back then? If he had money, do you think he would have let you hold his mother's medical bills over his head to force him into marriage?"

"So you admit it. Five years ago, Donovan was nothing but a broke loser who couldn't even afford a basic economy ticket." I swirled the amber liquid in my glass and turned to face her.

"And now that he's the CEO of his own empire, you waltz in here and tell me to get out. Honey, that's not romance. That's highway robbery."

Right on cue, the wail of police sirens pierced through the front doors.

Ruby's brows snapped together. "You called the cops?"

I raised my glass to her in a mock toast. "When someone tries to rob my house, I call 911. Just a little public service announcement."

As the officers marched up the steps, she was still screaming. "Let's see what kind of bogus charges you can actually pin on me!"

"Breaking and entering with intent to burglarize," I stated flatly to the police right in my living room.

Ruby started crying a river, playing the delicate victim. "Officers, please, we just have a little relationship dispute"

"I don't know this woman," I cut in smoothly. "She bypassed my home security and trespassed onto my property. That's a felony. If I remember correctly, that carries a mandatory minimum sentence."

"Sloane! I'm just coming back to my boyfriend's house! You want to send me to prison?!" Ruby's voice cracked, her smug facade shattering at the threat of real jail time.

I walked right up to her, looking down at her face twisted with jealousy, and splashed the rest of my bourbon directly onto her cheap knockoff Chanel jacket. "Remember, this isn't your boyfriend's house. This is my private property."

I wiped my hand with a napkin and drawled, "First, he is my legally wedded husband. Second, the deed is in my name. Didn't you just get back from the States, Ruby?"

"Then you should know perfectly well that prison is getting off easy. Under Castle Doctrine, the second you stepped through my front door, I would have been perfectly justified in putting a bullet between your eyes."

"Sloane!" Donovan's voice cut through the air behind me, sharp and dangerous. "What the hell are you doing?"

In the past, the second he raised his voice, Sloane would shrink back. She was terrified of displeasing him, always swallowing her pride just to keep the peace.

I wasn't built like that.

"This woman trespassed onto my property." I didn't even flinch, just raised a single eyebrow at him. "What do you suggest I do?"

Donovan stepped past me and turned to the officers. "This is my wife. She misunderstood my relationship with Ms. Ruby here. It's just a domestic dispute."

He brought his entire corporate legal team to the precinct, throwing his money around until the charges were swept under the rug. As the police signed off on the mediation papers, Ruby shot me a contemptuous glance, flashing a victor's smirk.

Walking out of the police station, she immediately shrank behind Donovan, playing the fragile little bird. "Donovan, it's all my fault. I shouldn't have shown up unannounced to explain the misunderstanding to your wife. I didn't think it would make her this angry."

Donovan's brows knotted together. "Sloane, even if you're jealous of her, you don't have to be this vicious. You could have ruined her entire life over"

Smack!

Before he could finish his self-righteous speech, I raised my hand and slapped him hard across the jaw.

Donovan froze, completely stunned. "Did you just hit me?"

"Is there a problem?" I inspected my immaculate manicure with deadpan calm. "I slapped you because you needed to be slapped. Did I need to schedule an appointment for it?"

The old Sloane was genuinely jealous of Ruby. She envied this vile woman simply because Ruby received his gentleness.

That was because Sloane had loved him.

I, on the other hand, lacked that kind of saintly patience.

Chapter 4

I grabbed his jaw, forcing him to look at me. "Do you realize where you screwed up, hm?" I murmured. "I don't give a damn how many side pieces you entertain."

"I've always turned a blind eye to your little affairs. But this brainless bimbowho knows if she's mistress number five or six by nowactually had the audacity to parade herself right in front of me."

"You can't even keep your own plaything on a leash. Tell me, exactly how useless are you?"

Ruby stared at us, the color draining from her face as her voice trembled. "Mistress number five or six? What are you talking about?"

She looked at Donovan. When she realized his eyes were dead-locked on me, she completely lost it.

"How could you treat Donovan like this! You actually laid a hand on him! Are you completely trashy?" She lunged at me, raising her hand high to strike.

Donovan caught her wrist mid-air.

Smack!

Before Donovan could even open his mouth to play the peacemaker, I raised my hand and slapped him across the other side of his face.

"Look closely at the trash you picked up. She actually tried to lay hands on your legally wedded wife. Is this the kind of uncultured, feral garbage you're into now?" I tilted my head.

"I respect your grotesque taste in women, but do me a favor and keep her locked up. Don't let her out in public to embarrass you and disturb the peace."

I patted Donovan's rapidly bruising cheek, then elegantly slipped my black leather gloves back on. "Don't give the press a reason to say that the CEO of the Donovan Empire is a loser who doesn't even know how to cheat properly, falling for a cheap, vulgar idiot."

Ignoring Ruby's hysterical shrieks and curses, I picked up my Birkin bag and gracefully stepped into the back of my waiting Maybach.

By the time I arrived home, the paparazzi had already plastered high-definition photos and videos of the police station showdown all over the internet. I wired my PR team to buy a top-tier trending spot for the story.

Within hours, the internet exploded. The hashtag DonovanCEO_CaughtCheating_SlappedByWife shot straight to number one.

[Holy shit, this billionaire wife is such a badass.]

[Usually when a guy cheats, the wife either cries her eyes out or posts a pathetic 'we are working on it' statement. Barely anyone just straight-up smacks the cheating scumbag without a second thought.]

[She still lost though. Look at how the mistress is leaning on him like a fragile little bird.]

[Gross, shut up. Rich marriages are just business. You can tell this queen has zero feelings left. She literally doesn't care. She's rich, gorgeous, and probably has a lineup of hot young pool boys waiting for her anyway.]

[Fucking epic That dude looks so pathetic.]

I sat on my velvet sofa, letting my private manicurist finish my nails. Not long after, Donovan stormed into the living room, gripping his phone tight, his face twisted in absolute fury.

He shoved his phone into my face, displaying the drunken photo of him that Ruby had sent me. "You pulled all that just because of this?"

"I thought you hated it when I looked at your phone," I remarked lazily, admiring my freshly painted nails. "Don't ever touch my things again."

Donovan gritted his teeth, barely suppressing his rage. "This was from the welcome-back party. I had a little to drink. Everyone was there."

"I don't give a damn about the details, so save your breath." I leaned back, crossing my arms. "I only have one rule for you. Every time she shows her face in front of me, I will slap yours."

"My demands are very simple. Keep your trash on a leash."

"How long are you going to keep throwing these hysterical tantrums?! I already told you, she and I are just"

"Shut up. I'm about to eat, and hearing your voice is making me nauseous."

I walked over to the dining table and sat down at the head of it. He immediately followed and sat across from me, but the placemat in front of him was completely empty.

"Where is mine?" Donovan glared at me impatiently.

He had chronic stomach issues. The old Sloane used to bend over backward to nurse his health, personally cooking gourmet, nutrient-dense meals for him every single day.

"I only had the Michelin private chef prepare my portion." I picked up my crystal wine glass and took a slow sip of the vintage Bordeaux.

"Could you stay away from my dining table? That battered, swollen face of yours looks like you got jumped in a cheap dive bar. It's seriously killing my appetite."

Donovan slammed his phone onto the table, his face turning an ugly shade of purple as he slumped back into his chair.

Oh, throwing a little temper tantrum now, are we?

I picked up my plate and headed straight upstairs to my master suite to binge my favorite show. A second later, the chaotic, violent sound of shattering porcelain and smashing plates echoed up from the dining room.

Chapter 5

Donovan hated the old Sloane.

Simply because she had once told him, "As long as I can marry you, I can endure anything."

He took that as a free pass to parade an endless stream of women through their shared home, forcing her to listen to their moans through the master bedroom door all night long. She had swallowed her tears, convincing herself it was all her fault, a deserved punishment.

By day, she maintained the hollow dignity of Mrs. Donovan, desperately holding together a rotting marriage. Back then, she never dared to confront his cheating. If she showed even a hint of discomfort, he would immediately sneer at her, "Didn't you say you could endure anything? If you can't handle it, get the hell out."

Now, I didn't give a single damn.

And suddenly, he was the one losing his mind.

I cranked my surround sound system to the max, enjoying my hot catered meal and binge-watching my shows in my suite. He couldn't handle this little bit of neglect?

This was only the beginning.

A few days later, Donovan's secretary, Graham, called me. "Mrs. Donovan, Mr. Donovan's stomach issues are acting up. He wants you to come to the office immediately."

"I'm at the medical spa. I don't have time," I replied lazily.

Graham froze, clearly not expecting a flat rejection. "He's genuinely in a lot of pain"

"If he's not feeling well, tell him to go to the ER or call his private doctor. I don't have a medical license, so what exactly do you want me to do?"

Through the receiver, I could faintly hear the sharp crash of Donovan smashing things. Graham forced a nervous laugh. "Mr. Donovan says his stomach is acting up again, and as long as you come and pacify him, he'll feel better."

I hung up the phone without a second of hesitation.

What did he think the old Sloane was? His personal therapist?

Before my esthetician could even finish my chemical peel, the spa manager hurried into the VIP suite. Someone was waiting for me downstairs.

"Who is it?"

"He said his name is Graham, your husband's secretary. He looks incredibly frantic."

"Let him panic. Tell him to wait."

I let them finish my full-body massage, had my makeup touched up, and took my sweet time strolling down the sweeping glass staircase. Graham stood in the lobby, looking like a drowned rat.

As Donovan's most loyal lapdog, Graham was a master at kissing up to the strong and stepping on the weak. Since Donovan treated Sloane like garbage, Graham naturally followed suit. Whenever she visited the office to drop things off, he went out of his way to humiliate her.

There was a time when Donovan was busy screwing some random model in his office. Graham had stood outside, actively blocking Sloane's path.

"Madam, people need to learn to read the room. Mr. Donovan is hungry, but he certainly doesn't want your pathetic homemade food. If you go in there and make a scene, it won't do anyone any good. It'll only make him despise you more."

With that, he had grabbed Sloane's carefully prepared bento box and tossed it straight into the trash can. "Alright, if there's nothing else, please see yourself out."

It had been pouring rain that day.

Sloane stumbled back to her car, completely shattered, and got into a horrific crash.

That was how she lost her first baby.

The arrogant, untouchable Secretary Graham from back then was now standing before me in absolute ruins. His designer suit was plastered with half-eaten pasta and cold sauce. Even his hair was slick with grease.

"Well, look at you, Graham. Rough day at the office?" I asked, trailing my hand lightly down the gilded handrail.

Graham's eyes lit up the second he saw me. "Madam, I'm here to escort you to headquarters."

"Did you take him to a doctor?"

"Mr. Donovan refuses to go" He shot me a desperate look. "He's been in a terrible mood lately."

"A terrible mood? So terrible that he dumped his lunch on your head? Aren't you supposed to be his favorite little right-hand man?"

Graham pursed his lips. "Mrs. Donovan, you've always catered perfectly to Mr. Donovan's tastes. He completely rejects the five-star takeout we order."

"We've tried every high-end restaurant in the financial district, and he says it's all garbage. It's already 2 PM, and Mr. Donovan still hasn't eaten a single bite."

"Where did you order from?" Under his confused gaze, I held out my hand. "Give me your phone."

I tapped the screen and reordered the exact same takeout Graham had just bought, down to the last detail.

Chapter 6

By the time I reached the headquarters, the food delivery had just arrived. I took the bags from the courier and headed straight up to the executive suite.

I pushed the heavy oak doors open, only to be immediately greeted by a thick project proposal flying straight at my face.

"What kind of garbage is this?!"

I easily sidestepped the binder, glancing at the suffocating, stormy atmosphere in the office. "Should I wait outside until you're done screaming?"

Donovan's head snapped up. The second he saw me, he unconsciously loosened his silk tie. He turned away, his explosive rage instantly simmering down into an icy silence as he stared fixedly at his monitor.

The terrified executive manager shot me a look of profound gratitude. "I-I won't disturb you and Madam any further, Mr. Donovan."

"Get out," Donovan stated flatly.

I dropped the paper takeout bags onto his massive mahogany desk, threw myself onto the plush Italian leather sofa, and immediately started scrolling on my phone, ignoring him entirely.

Donovan took one look at the bags and his face darkened. "You bought takeout?"

"I was at the medical spa."

"I don't eat this kind of trash," Donovan said, his voice dropping to a freezing temperature. "The food outside is unsanitary. It always makes my stomach hurt."

"Then hire someone." I glanced around the sprawling, luxurious office. "You have everything you need right herea private suite, an executive kitchen. I'm sure there is an endless line of eager women who would love to cook for you."

Donovan finally caught the underlying hostility. He strode over and snatched the phone right out of my hand.

"Are you still throwing a tantrum over Ruby? Now you're straight-up going on strike with my daily routine?"

I actually laughed out loud, rolling my eyes hard.

"I used to serve you like a free maid, and now I'm done. Don't go begging for insults. Are you going to eat this or not? If you won't, I'm throwing it in the trash."

Donovan glared at me, his eyes burning with frustration. He snatched the bags off the table, sat back down, and began eating in total silence. His brows were pulled into a tight knot, making a massive show of how difficult it was for him to swallow the food.

He was doing it entirely for my benefit, playing the martyr.

But I just watched him with dead, completely hollow eyes.

When I walked out of the office carrying the empty takeout containers, Graham jumped up like he had seen a ghost. "Mrs. Donovan, please, allow me"

It was the exact same takeout from the exact same restaurant. But because I was the one who brought it, Donovan actually choked it down.

Graham looked like his entire reality had just shattered.

"From now on, order this exact takeout for him every single day," I ordered smoothly.

"T-This"

"Just tell him it's from me."

Graham stared at me, his gaze shifting from nervous to profoundly respectful. "Mrs. Donovan, even though Mr. Donovan has had his distractions over the years, I can truly see that you are the only one in his heart."

I couldn't help but let out a sharp, mocking laugh. "Don't bother with the cheap flattery, Graham. It's not funny, it's just nauseating."

Even after everything that had happened, Donovan's only concern was whether Sloane was cooking for him. He didn't even stop for a single second to wonder if her wrist, freshly stitched from a suicide attempt, was in agonizing pain, or if she even had the strength to hold a heavy cast-iron pan.

That wasn't having someone in his heart.

The old Sloane had elevated him to a god-like status. He was so used to walking right over her that he completely ignored her existence, yet he subconsciously expected her to be at his beck and call twenty-four seven.

Half a month later, Donovan threw a lavish birthday banquet for his mother, Sharon.

I genuinely had zero interest in attending, but my socialite contacts mentioned that a lot of A-list billionaires and tech moguls from S City would be there. I figured I might as well show up and do some networking.

Just seeing that miserable old hag was already bad enough luck. But to my absolute disgust, standing right next to her was Ruby.

It was a literal convention of human garbage.

Ruby was dressed in sickly-sweet, innocent pastel gown, sitting exactly in the seat reserved for the hostess. The second she saw me, she practically jumped up.

"Oh, I'm so sorry, Sloane. I just wanted to catch up with Aunt Sharon. It's been so long since we last saw each other."

"You sit right back down. We're not done talking." Sharon didn't even spare me a single glance, holding tightly onto Ruby's hand.

"You like that condo I'm staying in, right, Ruby? I'll have the deed transferred to your name tomorrow."

Sharon reached out, and I noticed a faded jade bangle on her wrist.

It wasn't particularly expensive, but it was an antique family heirloom passed down through the Donovan lineage. The old Sloane had desperately wanted to wear it, a symbol of being truly accepted into the family.

Sharon had explicitly told her that she would only hand it over over her dead body.

Now, Ruby was wearing that exact bangle. She shot me a smug look and gracefully sat back down in my seat. "Sloane, you heard her yourself. Aunt Sharon insisted I sit here."

Chapter 7

"Does stealing other people's things really taste that sweet?" I pulled out the chair and gracefully sat down directly across from them. "Or do you just get a kick out of this pathetic little competition? It's a textbook sign of low self-esteem