From the start, I was married to a billionaire CEO, but my mission was to kill him.
On our first day as newlyweds, I served him cyanide-laced coffee. He drank it all, then told me to add more sugar next time.
The next day, I sabotaged his brakes. He “died” in a car crash off a cliff, but came home right on time for dinner that evening and gently wiped the motor oil off my hands.
I was slowly losing it. What kind of monster was this man?
Later, I learned that he had an immortal body and had already figured out every secret behind my being forced to kill him.
He wasn’t angry. In fact, he thought my blushing, guilty look was adorable, and even started creating opportunities for me to “kill” him.
Even the old butler couldn’t help complaining: “Sir, your wife is trying to kill you again!”
But he only smiled like a lovesick fool. “Mm. She’s so lively today, too.”
I killed him a thousand times, and he treated me like his first love.
In this game of murder, who was the real prey?
