Transmigrated: The Bankrupt CEO's Unexpected Wife

Emma woke up with a sharp pain splitting her skull. The hangover tore through her nerves like broken glass. She clutched her forehead and fell back against the pillows. Her stomach heaved.

Unfamiliar memories flooded her brain. The information overload triggered a violent wave of nausea. She gripped the silk bedsheets until her knuckles turned white. Her chest heaved as she tried to pull oxygen into her burning lungs.

She forced her eyes open and looked around the room. Orange Hermes boxes and empty liquor bottles littered the floor. The visual shock made her suck in a cold breath. The sheer waste of money made her stomach drop.

She pushed the heavy duvet off and tried to get out of bed. Her foot caught on a discarded high heel. She tripped and crashed onto the carpet. The hard impact against her knees sent a very real jolt of pain up her legs.

She crawled toward the floor-to-ceiling mirror. The face staring back at her was covered in smeared, heavy makeup, but the underlying features were stunning. She scrambled backward, her heart hammering against her ribs. This was not her face.

Her gaze darted to the nightstand. A copy of the New York Times lay there. The bold headline read that the Holden technology empire had collapsed. Her heart plummeted into her stomach.

She snatched the newspaper and checked the date. The cold reality washed over her skin. She had transmigrated. The newspaper headline confirmed it: she was in the novel 'The CEO's Tender Vow', right at the point where the villain, Alek Holden, lost everything.

Rationality snapped back into place. The original owner of this body had thrown a tantrum and attempted suicide because the male lead went bankrupt. Emma knew she had to change her strategy immediately if she wanted to survive.

She scrambled to her feet and rushed into the bathroom. She turned on the cold water faucet and splashed her face. The freezing water shocked her system. A violent shiver ran down her spine.

She scrubbed hard, washing away the ruined makeup. She stared at the clean, pale face in the mirror. Her breathing slowed. She made a silent vow to stay alive.

She walked out of the bathroom and faced the disaster zone. She forced down the bile rising in her throat and started cleaning.

She picked up the designer clothes scattered on the floor. The price tags were still attached. Her mind raced, calculating how much cash these fabrics could bring in.

She tossed an empty wine bottle into a trash bag. The glass clinked loudly against another bottle. The sharp noise grated on her tense nerves.

She pushed open the bedroom door and walked into the living room. It looked like a hurricane had ripped through it. Sofa cushions were thrown everywhere.

She dragged the vacuum cleaner out of the closet and tried to turn it on. She pressed the wrong button on the unfamiliar model. The machine let out a piercing alarm.

She panicked and yanked the plug from the wall socket. Frustration burned in her chest. She took a deep breath, plugged it back in, and tried again.

Two hours later, the living room was somewhat presentable. She collapsed onto the sofa. Her lungs burned, and sweat dripped down her neck.

Her stomach let out a loud rumble. The hunger pangs were sharp. She pushed herself off the sofa and walked into the kitchen to find food.

She pulled open the double doors of the massive refrigerator. It was completely empty except for bottled water and a jar of expired caviar. She let out a heavy sigh and closed the doors.

The electronic lock on the front door beeped. Heavy footsteps broke the dead silence of the penthouse. Emma's entire body went rigid.

She peeked around the kitchen island. A tall man walked through the door. His face was cold and exhausted. The sheer physical presence of him made her breath catch in her throat.

Alek Holden took off his heavy winter coat. Cold air clung to him. He looked up and saw the clean living room. A flash of extreme shock crossed his dark eyes.

His sharp gaze locked onto Emma. She was standing there in loungewear with no makeup. He narrowed his eyes, his jaw tightening in suspicion.

The oppressive weight of his stare made the hairs on her arms stand up. She forced her facial muscles to move and managed a stiff smile.

Alek ignored her smile. He walked straight to his briefcase and pulled out a thick document. His movements were rigid.

He slammed the document onto the marble kitchen island. The heavy thud echoed in the large room. The air between them turned to ice.

He slid a fountain pen across the marble toward her. "Sign it," he ordered. His voice was hoarse and completely devoid of emotion.

Emma looked down. It was a divorce agreement. Sitting right next to it was a bank card with a pitifully low balance.

She looked up and met Alek's freezing gaze. She did not reach for the pen. Instead, she placed her hands behind her back and rubbed her wrist.

Alek stared at her, his patience wearing thin. She shook her head firmly.

"I am not signing that."