Obsessive Male Lead

My wife, Charlene Weber, has taken me to the Scumbag Court. If I'm found guilty, all my assets will be taken from me, and I'll face 10 years of imprisonment. Charlene, on the other hand, will get to marry her ideal man—Joel Quinlan—as she wishes. If I'm acquitted of all charges, Charlene will be made to divorce me without alimony. She'll also be cursed with bad luck and disfigured so badly she'll be the ugliest woman in the world. Conversely, I'll be given 10 million dollars in reparations and gain a lifetime's worth of good luck. Everyone is advising me to admit to my mistakes, but only because Charlene has always been a virtuous, devoted wife in their eyes. They think that there must surely be some complicated grievances between us at the moment. However, they are unaware that I've been reborn. This time, I'm going to tear off Charlene's mask of hypocrisy.

After four years of marriage, I decide to get a divorce. Why? Because my wife doesn't love me. She loves her childhood sweetheart. I disappear after leaving behind a divorce agreement—I give her my blessings in her search for true love. But after I'm gone, she searches the world for me like she's lost her mind.

The day Jessica Smith and I went to pick out our wedding rings, her long-lost first love unexpectedly returned to town. When we went to pick him up from the airport, she introduced me to him, saying, "This is Sebastian Grant, a friend." Jessica made it clear that I wasn't her fiancé. She even went a step further and called off our engagement party scheduled for the next day. Just when she thought I would fight and insist on marrying her, I suddenly said in relief, "Your best friend previously wanted to hook up with me, you know? And honestly, I was kind of interested."

My wife forces my sister to accompany some men for drinks so she can help her first love get investments. My sister finds an opportunity to run but gets harassed by other drunken men. As she tries to break free, she has a heart attack, and she dies. I'm devastated as I handle her funeral alone. That's when my wife calls and snaps, "Tell your sister to apologize to Claude! Do you know how much trouble she's caused for him?" I don't know how much trouble he's in. All I know is that one must pay the price for the things they've done.

In my last life, my in-laws "died," and my so-called DINK husband, Eric, begged me to raise his sweet little "brother," Luca. Seven years flew by. That scrawny kid turned into a total cutie and blew up online—pulling in tens of thousands a month. Then one night, boom—Eric's parents came back from the dead. And with them? Tammy. Eric's first love. She clung to Eric with one hand, Luca with the other, all smug as hell. "I've been traveling for seven years. I'm tired. And wow, what a perfect son—thanks for raising him." Eric's parents didn't even pretend to care. "You couldn't give Eric a kid, but at least you were useful this once." "Sign the divorce papers. Make room for Tammy." I walked out of that law firm wrecked—and right into the path of a speeding car. Tammy was behind the wheel, smiling like she won. Next thing I knew, I woke up on the same day Eric's parents had "died."

My husband's true love, Yvonne Sullivan, requests to operate on me when I'm due for a kidney transplant surgery. I'm vehemently against it, but my husband, Charles Gunner, still allows Yvonne to practice on me. My artery bursts during the operation, but she can't handle it. She panics. The hospital wants Charles to take over, but he objects. "Don't pressure Yvonne too much. Anyway, the patient won't die. If she does, I'll sign an agreement stating that the hospital has no fault in this." After the surgery, I display major signs of rejection, prompting an emergency rescue alert throughout the hospital. However, Charles is celebrating with Yvonne. He doesn't answer his phone. I'm lying in the ICU when I receive a text from him. "I'm guiding Yvonne on her dissertation at home. Don't come back when you wake up—I don't want you to disturb us."

Scott Chapman's company went bankrupt because his childhood sweetheart, Eula Saunder, had stolen confidential information from it. Despite having millions in assets, I married him without hesitation. After we got married, I not only devoted myself to caring for him after he was severely injured in a car accident, but also struggled alone to hold up the crumbling Chapman family. When he recovered, he swore that I was the one person he would never let down. But when Eula returned to the country, he had me hung to the ceiling for three days just because she asked for it. I was pregnant, thirsty, and starving. I begged him to save our baby, but he turned a deaf ear. Instead, he hugged and kissed Eula right in front of me. "If you hadn't taken advantage of me when I was at my lowest and forced me to marry you, I would've married Eula by now. "You framed her back then and had her sent abroad. Now that she's back, you need to pay for what you did!" Heartbroken, I went to see my brother, Ken. I knelt before him and said, "I lost. I misjudged him. Ken, I want to leave this place."

After being forced to give my wife's first love my heart, I died in the hallway of the private hospital she had personally founded. My six-year-old son, Ash, had already begged her thrice by the time I had drawn my last breath. The first time was when he tugged on her hand, saying I was coughing up blood. Sneering, she claimed, "So he's finally learned something—teaching his kid how to lie." Then, she had the bodyguards throw him out of the room. The second time was when he clung to her sleeve, insisting that I rambled nonsense due to the pain. "It's just a heart transplant," she opined with a frown. "The doctor already said he won't die." At that, the bodyguards stepped in again and dragged him away. The third time was when he fell to the ground, clutching her pant leg with all his strength, crying that I had already passed out. She finally lost her temper by this point, grabbing Ash by the throat and hurling him out of the room. "I have already said it—Howard isn't going to die. Dare to disturb Skye's rest again, and I'll throw both of you out of this hospital," she warned. To save me, my son pawned the most precious thing he owned—his St. Christopher medal—to a nurse. "Ma'am," he said. "I don't need to live a long life. I just want my dad to live." She accepted the medal and was about to arrange for me to be transferred to the last available room. However, my wife's first love, Skye Whitley, had someone block the doorway with his pet dog. He mentioned, "Sorry, kid. Your mom's worried I'll get bored if I can't see my dog. This room is reserved for him."

My wife, wanting to spend a romantic birthday date with her first love, added a dose of sleeping medication to the milk bottle of our sick, crying daughter. The medicine took effect, and our daughter drifted into a deep sleep, which allowed them to enjoy a romantic, undisturbed date together. When I came home, I found our daughter still sleeping. By the time we arrived at the hospital, it was too late. I called my wife, but she answered with irritation. "Is it because I'm celebrating Shawn's birthday that you must ruin it? I'll go home after the celebration is over." Then, she turned off her phone. Little did she know that, for the sake of one romantic date, she had taken our daughter's life.

My wife, Ariel Sweeney, would always buy me a new watch every time she cheated on me. We'd been married for four years, and I'd already collected 99 watches. That also meant I'd forgiven her 99 times too. This time, she went on a business trip for three days, and returned with a Patek Philippe watch worth ten million dollars for me. I then knew that it was time we got a divorce.