My Dead Husband - Chapter 1

Chapter 1

In the second year of our marriage, the husband I had painstakingly handpicked died.

His passing was sudden, with not even a known cause of death. He left me behind to live a life of solitude, accompanied only by his immense fortune.

Those who came to offer their condolences saw me clad in mourning white, weeping until I was a shell of a person. They sighed and offered their comforts one after another.

“The departed is gone; please, Madam, restrain your grief.”

Nobody knew that my profound sorrow wasn’t just because my husband had died.

I was also weeping for myself.

Before transmigrating to ancient times and being married off as a wife, I was just an ordinary, free-spirited person from the modern world.

I worked like a dog at my job and rewarded myself by reading a bit of R-18 fiction after clocking out.

That day, I had clicked on a story as casually as usual, only to be left utterly stunned by the plot.

It was a reverse harem R-18 fiction where the female lead was sold into a Brothel by her family as a child, marking the beginning of a life spent drifting like duckweed in the rain.

The female lead was forever delicate and weak, unable to escape, unable to resist.

This didn’t suit my tastes, and normally, I would have just moved on to the next book.

But I had been scolded at work that day and was fuming with rage. After frowning my way through the sparse plot hidden between massive amounts of explicit content, I even hammered out a rant post.

I don’t know how it happened, but after typing the very last word, I lost consciousness.

When I woke up, I had already transmigrated into this book-the one I had described as a living hell for the female lead.

I had become that very lead.