The Defective Wife's Lethal Comeback

The blinding glare of the crystal chandelier felt like a physical assault.

Jolie's eyelids snapped open. She tried to push herself up, but her limbs felt like they were filled with wet cement. A sickening, unnatural weakness dragged her right back down into the plush velvet of the sofa.

Before she could even process the texture of the fabric beneath her fingertips, the memories hit. They didn't just play in her mind; they electrocuted her nervous system. A high-voltage surge of another woman's life-the original Jolie Pennington's life-tore through her skull. Jolie clamped her teeth down hard on her lower lip, tasting copper as she forced herself to swallow the agonizing pain.

She was no longer on Earth. She had transmigrated into a high-tech universe ruled by Primals-males who could shift into devastating beasts, driven by a biological need to hunt and consume energy. But that energy was a poison. Without a female to act as a catalyst, to soothe their psychic sea and regulate their feral state, a Primal would eventually go mad. Females were the ultimate prize, the only cure.

Unless, of course, you were the original Jolie.

A piece of medical paper flashed in Jolie's mind. Genetic Compatibility Index: 0. A defective female. A biological dead end.

The memory shifted violently. She felt the phantom sting of a heavy paper check slapping across her face. It was General Aloys Patterson, Jolie's state-mandated Primal partner, publicly paying a colossal fine just to annul their pairing. The humiliation in the original Jolie's chest had been so profound it had literally killed her spirit.

Jolie felt the residual heartbreak lingering in her ribcage. Her stomach churned with the ghost of the original Jolie's despair. She closed her eyes, feeling the crushing weight of a life unlived, a soul broken by a society that valued only utility. For a fleeting second, the sorrow threatened to drown her own consciousness. No, she told herself, her mental voice sharp and unyielding. I cannot be swallowed by this despair. Her era is over, and now it is mine. I will not die trembling in the dark. She let out a dark, breathless scoff. Pathetic. Jolie ruthlessly crushed that lingering weakness, locking it away in the darkest corner of her mind. She didn't have time to cry over a man she didn't know. She had to survive.

The sharp, rhythmic click of high heels against marble echoed from the hallway. Someone was approaching the lounge, and they were moving fast.

Jolie's survival instincts hijacked her body. She instantly let her muscles go slack, closing her eyes and slowing her breathing to mimic a deep, vulnerable sleep.

The heavy door of the lounge swung open. The scent of expensive, synthetic roses flooded the room. Catina Serrano, her stepmother, hurried in.

Catina sank onto the edge of the sofa. A velvet-gloved hand reached out, gently patting Jolie's cheek. "Jolie, darling. Wake up."

Jolie forced her eyelids to flutter open. She let her gaze wander, perfectly playing the role of the traumatized, discarded social pariah. She looked up at Catina with wide, vacant eyes.

Catina reached into her designer clutch and pulled out a small, silver vial. A flash of pure malice danced in her eyes before she masked it with a sickeningly sweet smile. "Drink this, sweetheart. It's a portable soothing agent. It will help calm your nerves after... well, after that nasty business with Aloys."

Jolie's sharp gaze immediately caught a subtle, unnatural shift. The liquid inside the vial wasn't the clear, thin consistency of a standard soothing agent; it was thick, almost syrupy, with a faint, iridescent sheen. Combined with the flash of malice she had just witnessed, her instincts screamed. This wasn't medicine. It was an illegal, high-grade aphrodisiac.

Catina wasn't trying to soothe her. She was trying to destroy her.

Jolie kept her expression perfectly blank. She parted her lips obediently. Catina tipped the vial, letting the thick liquid slide into Jolie's mouth. The moment it hit her tongue, Jolie pressed the back of her tongue hard against the roof of her mouth, sealing her throat. She didn't swallow a single drop.

Catina watched her throat, waiting for the bob of an Adam's apple that wasn't there, then smiled in satisfaction. She stood up, grabbing Jolie by the upper arm and hauling her to her feet. Jolie let her legs wobble, playing the part of a drugged, helpless victim.

As Catina hauled her up, Jolie let out a violent, fabricated cough. She doubled over, her free hand coming up to muffle the sound, and seamlessly spat the entire mouthful of the thick liquid deep into the absorbent fabric of her own sleeve.

"Come along," Catina cooed, dragging Jolie out of the lounge and toward the VIP stealth elevator. Catina pressed the button for the top floor.

Inside the glass box, Jolie intentionally slumped, letting the dead weight of her body press heavily against Catina's side. Through the glass, Jolie's eyes darted around, memorizing the layout of the emergency stairwells and the security cameras.

The elevator chimed. The doors slid open to a silent, dimly lit hallway. Catina half-dragged, half-carried Jolie to the double doors of the presidential suite at the very end of the corridor.

Catina pulled a black keycard from her tailored jacket pocket and swiped it against the scanner. The lock clicked green. The door cracked open, revealing a pitch-black interior. A heavy, suffocating silence bled out from the room.

Then, a sound shattered the quiet. It was a low, guttural, wet breath. The sound of a massive beast struggling for air.

Jolie's heart slammed against her ribs.

"The family arranged a private therapist for you inside," Catina lied smoothly. Jolie caught the smug, calculating gleam in her stepmother's eyes. Catina had clearly thought this through. The man inside was a top-tier General, but in his feral, drug-addled state, his memory of the encounter would be completely wiped. When the authorities eventually found the gruesome aftermath, Catina would simply weep for the cameras and blame the hotel's faulty security system, washing the Pennington family's hands of the tragic accident while permanently disposing of their greatest embarrassment. Catina gave Jolie a firm shove toward the darkness. "Go on."

Jolie stumbled on purpose. As she caught her balance against the doorframe, her right hand darted out, her fingers slipping seamlessly into the pocket of Catina's jacket. She pinched the spare black keycard and slipped it into the hidden fold of her skirt in less than a second.

Before Jolie could fully stand, Catina planted both hands on Jolie's back and shoved her with brutal force.

Jolie pitched forward. She tucked her shoulder, rolling onto the thick carpet to absorb the impact and avoid snapping a wrist.

From the hallway, Catina let out a cold, venomous laugh. "Good luck, you useless trash."

The heavy wooden door slammed shut. The electronic lock engaged with a heavy, metallic thud.

Jolie was trapped in the dark.