She woke up to find herself the doomed first wife who wouldn’t survive three chapters in a period drama novel.
Twenty-first-century ace diplomat Vivian Starr had transmigrated into the cannon-fodder supporting role who, desperate to climb the social ladder, jumped into a river to force a marriage and ended up stabbed to death by thugs while searching for her husband.
She glanced at the bridal chamber plastered with scarlet “double happiness” characters, then at the in-laws' cold faces that had iced her out for three years perfect. This marriage was ending.
Three days and nights on a rattling green-skinned train brought her to the island army compound. Facing the aloof officer husband who, rumor said, hadn’t come home in two years, she cut straight to the point:
“I'm here for a divorce.”
Sean Lancaster, twenty-eight, the youngest full-regiment commander in the army, iron-fisted and famously stone-faced the whole district joked he’d married a ghost bride.
Yet as he stared at the woman with clear, cool eyes and an air of poised frost, the heart that had stayed silent for twenty-six years suddenly thundered.
Then he heard her say, “I'll draft the divorce papers; you just sign.”
“When did I ever agree to a divorce?”
Sean's dark eyes narrowed. He tossed the marriage certificate straight into the wastebasket.
Vivian arched a brow. “Weren’t you the one who stayed away for two years?”
His Adam’s apple bobbed. “I already filed my disciplinary resignation. I was about to submit my discharge papers to come home to be with you.”
Later, the entire compound buzzed:
“Hey, isn’t that your Charles doing laundry again? Which load is this?”
“Good grief! Sean's wife is incredible her trading company made the front page!”
“Commander Lancaster! Your wife just gave birth to twins!”
“Sean, hurry your wife's pushing to build a free-trade zone in the South China Sea, and the provincial delegation's already here!”
