You're Fired, Darling

I spent three agonizing years bedridden, coughing up blood while my husband Torgal paraded his mistress around the neon-lit metropolis of Veltaris. When his daily doses of poison finally finished the job, I expected oblivion. Instead, I woke up five years in the past, standing at the exact gala where he first tried to publicly humiliate me! But here is the absolute kicker: I found an obsidian bank card in my pocket wrapped in a handwritten note from myself. My dying past-self hadn't just been weeping in bed; she spent those three years ruthlessly manipulating underground markets from a burner phone, setting up a limitless secret fortune for my second life! With infinite petty cash and zero shame, my goals are gloriously simple. Step one: team up with Drazhan, Torgal’s infuriatingly handsome, cynical rival who is actually the rightful heir to the Venz empire. Step two: buy my husband’s entire company out from under him and fire him on live television. Step three: hand his sniveling mistress a mop and point her to my lobby. But as Drazhan and I trade wicked insults and dismantle our mutual enemies, I have to wonder - is my fake alliance with my biggest rival turning into something dangerously real?