Summary
I transmigrated into a novel featuring a “Yandere”—a pathologically obsessive male lead—awakening as the malicious villainess.
My husband, the male lead, was a peerless, sickly beauty.
On our wedding night, his eyes were gentle.
“I must ask you to suffer a grievance for now. In at most three years, I will give you a letter of divorce and return your freedom.”
I obediently agreed and waited quietly.
Three years later, he tore the divorce letter to shreds, the smile on his lips gentle yet morbid.
“My darling is already carrying my flesh and blood. Do not think of leaving ever again.”