Transmigrated As The Billionaire's Unwanted Wife

"I want a divorce, Vivian. Name your price."

Alexander spoke calmly, standing near the study window with one hand in his pocket, he didn't raise his voice or look away. He simply waited for my answer.

I stared at him, I'd only been in this house for a short time, and I was still learning my way around. Now, a man in an expensive suit was telling me our marriage was over.

I knew his face. Tall, dark hair, gray eyes, and a jaw that seemed permanently tense, the novel had described him as cold. Seeing him in person, I thought he also looked tired.

He seemed to be waiting for me to cry, his stiff shoulders and guarded expression suggested he'd prepared himself for tears and shouting. Perhaps he'd even rehearsed what to say when I begged him to reconsider but I had no intention of begging.

I was scared and confused, but beneath it all was one certainty….I'd seen this scene before.

I'd died, I wouldn't go into the details, I'd worked hard my entire life and still had very little to show for it. Someone I trusted had taken everything from me, leaving me with nothing.

Then I'd woken up in a soft bed, wearing a wedding ring and living under a name that wasn't mine.

I recognized it immediately.

Vivian Sterling Blackwood was the wife in a billionaire romance I'd read once. She'd married Alexander for his money, fallen in love with him, and spent the rest of their marriage desperately trying to win his affection, she cried in public, fought with his childhood friend, Catherine Hayes, and begged for attention until everyone around her grew tired of her behavior.

In the end, Alexander divorced her. She lost her marriage, her reputation, and most of her money.

I had no intention of sharing that fate.

"Did you hear me?" Alexander asked.

"I heard you." I met his gaze. "How much are you offering?"

He blinked.

"Excuse me?"

"You told me to name my price. I'd like to know what you're offering first then I can decide whether it's enough."

He studied my face as though searching for something he couldn't find.

"This isn't a joke, Vivian."

"I know. I'm not laughing."

He pulled his hand from his pocket. "You're doing this on purpose. You want me to think you don't care so I'll change my mind."

"I'm not trying to change your mind."

"You've spent two years chasing me through every room in this house, you called my office ten times a day, made scenes at dinners, and now you expect me to believe you're fine with this?"

Heat crept up my face. He was talking about the old Vivian, but his words still stung, she might not have been me, but I was living her life now, and I had to deal with the consequences of her actions.

"I'm not saying I'm fine," I replied. "I just want to understand what I'm agreeing to."

"Our marriage was never about love." His voice hardened. "I wanted a wife who suited my position. You wanted the lifestyle my money could provide. We both knew that."

"Yes, we did."

He waited, apparently expecting me to argue. When I didn't, his frown deepened.

"That's all you have to say?"

"What else would you like me to say? You're right. I married you for security, and I'm not going to pretend otherwise."

He looked suspicious, I understood why. The Vivian he knew would have argued, declared her love for him, or accused Catherine of coming between them.

Instead, I asked, "Do you have the settlement terms with you?"

"My lawyer prepared them."

"Then I'd like to read them. I want to know what I'll receive, what happens to the apartment and our shared accounts, and whether my monthly allowance will continue, I need to know I'll be financially secure when I leave this marriage."

"Secure," he repeated.

"Yes. Money matters to me, Alexander, I'm not going to pretend it doesn't."

I meant every word, I'd been poor before, and I knew what it felt like to worry about paying a bill, I wasn't about to leave a wealthy man's house with nothing just to prove I had pride.

For a moment, Alexander said nothing. His jaw tightened, as though he had something to say but couldn't decide how to put it.

"This isn't like you," he finally said.

"People change."

"Not in a day."

"Maybe I got tired. Maybe I finally thought about what I want."

It was close enough to the truth, the rest was something I couldn't explain to him.

He crossed the room, picked up a thick, cream-colored folder from the desk, and placed it in front of me.

"Read it, when you're ready to discuss the terms, call my assistant." He paused. "I expect that won't take long."

He clearly believed I'd come running back to him, I'd probably done it countless times before, waiting for him at the door or showing up at his office to demand his attention.

This time, I picked up the folder and settled into the chair across from his desk.

The first page contained figures and legal terms, I read them carefully, turning to the next page only after I'd understood what was written.

The apartment, our shared accounts, the settlement.

I wasn't going to overlook anything.

Alexander moved toward the door, but his footsteps stopped before he reached it.

"You're really not going to say anything else?"

"I'll think about your offer."

"Vivian." His voice softened slightly. "Don't turn this into a game."

I looked up, he stood in the doorway, one hand resting on the handle, he looked irritated, but there was something else in his expression, too. Uncertainty.

"I'm not playing a game," I said. "I'm reading the papers you gave me."

He watched me for another moment before leaving, the door clicked shut behind him.

I released a breath I'd been holding. My hands trembled, so I pressed them against the desk until they steadied.

In two years of marriage, Alexander had never doubted that I wanted him. Tonight, he'd walked out without knowing what I was thinking.

For the first time, he couldn't tell whether I still wanted him.

The truth was, I wasn't entirely sure myself.