Frost Lawson opened her eyes and found herself transplanted into a period drama as the cannon-fodder ex-wife destined for a miserable end.
On their wedding night, her husband abandoned her to “comfort” his widowed sister-in-law.
Frost Lawson flipped the table on the spot, summoned the whole village to watch, tore the scumbag to shreds, and beat the white-lotus widow black and blue.
They wanted to embezzle her father’s pension and seize his house? She took every last coin of their funeral savings too.
They planned to trade her father’s military honors for promotions? Dream on—she stripped the man of every rank and ruined his future.
Gossip claimed no one would want her after a divorce? She turned around and force-married the disgraced capitalist heir currently undergoing re-education—Lincoln York.
From then on, their lives flipped upside-down.
The scumbag and the widow went hungry; she and Lincoln York ate meat at every meal.
The scumbag huddled in a drafty, leaking shack; she lived in a grand three-story villa.
The scumbag, green with regret, knelt at her door begging to remarry.
Lincoln York shielded her pregnant belly, voice icy yet possessive: “Darling, don’t look at him—he’ll dirty our baby’s eyes.”
Before marriage, Lincoln York had loftily declared: I’ll never marry into a family, and certainly not a village girl.
After marriage, the once-proud young master carried a washboard and pleaded pitifully:
“Darling, please don’t make me sleep in the study tonight—I want to share your bed…”
