Too Lazy to Divorce the Billionaire

The suffocating smell of smoke, rotting flesh, and the bone-chilling screeches of mutated beasts slowly faded, replaced by the gentle rustle of leaves and the faint, elegant scent of bitter orange.

Laura Lind opened her eyes, her mind still clouded by the lingering remnants of her nightmare. For two years, her soul had been trapped in a post-apocalyptic wasteland, where surviving meant carving infected flesh from her own limbs without anesthesia before diving back into the fray.

But as she pushed herself up, her hand sank into the impossibly soft embrace of premium silk sheets.

Laura froze. She slid off the bed, her bare feet burying into a plush, ivory carpet, and walked toward the full-length mirror. Reflected in the glass was a breathtakingly beautiful woman. Her skin was as pale as winter milk, her lips a natural, dark crimson, and her raven-black hair fell in loose, voluminous curls down to her waist.

It was her original body.

"I'm... actually back?" Laura stared at her reflection for several seconds before a wave of sheer, unadulterated ecstasy washed over her. She threw her hands up, beaming. "God, you finally opened your eyes! That absolute hell of a world was not meant for human beings!"

In the wasteland, she hadn't slept a full night in two years. Right before she woke up here, she had gone four days without closing her eyes, constantly on the run from monsters.

A low purr of an engine echoed from outside.

Laura strolled to the massive French windows, looking down at the sprawling, meticulously manicured Jackson estate. A sleek black town car had pulled into the courtyard. A refined young man wearing silver-rimmed glasses stepped out of the driver's seat.

Down in the courtyard, Butler Charles hurried to greet him.

"Dr. Taylor, thank heavens you're here. The Madam is complaining of a headache again," Charles said, his voice laced with anxiety as he ushered the physician inside. "Didn't her checkup from two days ago say everything was perfectly normal?"

"I can diagnose physical ailments, Charles, not psychological tantrums," Dr. Taylor replied dryly, stepping through the grand entrance. "Are you absolutely certain she’s actually in pain this time?"

Charles opened his mouth, hesitated, and sighed. "It felt... more genuine than yesterday's."

"Ah, so her acting skills have improved over the morning."

As the two men walked out of earshot, two young maids setting up the patio whispered in hushed tones.

"That's the eighth time Dr. Taylor has been called this week, right?" one whispered.

"Strictly speaking, it's the third time today," the other grumbled, rolling her eyes. "Honestly, she’s locked up in this beautiful palace with unlimited black cards, yet she acts like she’s in a maximum-security prison. If she’s so miserable, why doesn't she just leave?"

"Because her family is bankrupt, and Mr. Hayes is the only one keeping their creditors at bay. She has to stay."

The first maid sneered. "Well, her misery shouldn't be our torture. She insults us, tears down our self-esteem over the slightest things, and treats us like dirt. I already told Mr. Charles I’m resigning next month. I don't care how much they pay; my dignity isn't for sale."

Upstairs, Laura had already crawled back into the massive bed, lazily allowing Dr. Taylor to conduct his examination.

As Dr. Taylor checked her vitals, he caught her gaze. Those dark amber eyes, which had been gloomy, resentful, and bitter for the past year, were now sparkling with a serene, crystal-clear light. It was as if a dusty, forgotten pearl had suddenly been polished to a brilliant shine.

Dr. Taylor cleared his throat, hiding his surprise. "Well, physically, you are perfectly healthy. If you are experiencing frequent headaches, it's likely due to sheer boredom. I suggest taking walks in the garden or engaging in some light exercise."

Charles, standing by the door, braced himself. According to the Madam's usual volatile temper, being told she was "bored" or "faking it" would trigger a storm of thrown teacups.

"Exercise?" Laura asked, her voice soft and melodious.

Charles blinked. She wasn't angry?

Then, he watched Laura look at the doctor with utter sincerity. "Is there an exercise where I don't actually have to move? Like... lying right here on this bed while someone else does all the work?"

A heavy, awkward silence fell over the bedroom.

Dr. Taylor: "..."

Charles: "..."

Did she just ask for a professional medical recommendation on how to be a professional slacker?

Before the silence could stretch any further, Laura's phone on the nightstand began to buzz aggressively. Charles, eager to escape the bizarre atmosphere, quickly retrieved the phone and handed it to her. "Madam, I will see Dr. Taylor out."

Once they reached the hallway, Dr. Taylor tapped his temple, looking grimly at the butler. "Jokes aside, Charles. Get her a psychiatric evaluation. I think she's finally lost it."

Back in the bedroom, Laura propped herself up against the pillows, putting the call on speaker.

"Our reality show, The Perfect Match, starts streaming this Wednesday. Do not screw this up," her talent agent, Gavin, barked over the line. He sounded exceptionally smug. "You need to play up the 'miserable, oppressed housewife' angle. Make sure to pick fights with the other celebrity guests. The internet loves to hate a dramatic victim. Once you build up enough hate-following, we can leverage that traffic for your post-divorce career."

Gavin chuckled, assuming he had her under his thumb. "Don't worry about the backlash. Bad publicity is still publicity. Once the divorce goes through, I have plenty of ways to clean up your image."

Laura let out a soft, amused laugh. "And what exactly are those ways, Gavin? Selling me off as a high-society plaything to some bloated, old executive?"

Gavin choked on his breath. "Laura, what are you—"

"I was trapped in a hellhole for two years, Gavin. Do you honestly think I’m going to throw away a life of unlimited shopping, private yachts, and luxury villas just to go back to being a low-tier hustler?" Laura rolled over, pressing her cheek against the cool, crisp silk of her pillow with a sigh of pure contentment. "My family married me off to a billionaire so they wouldn't have to suffer, and quite frankly, I have no intention of suffering either. Why on earth would I want a divorce?"

Without waiting for Gavin’s furious reply, Laura hung up and promptly blocked his number.

She began scrolling through her phone, deleting a massive list of contacts she didn't recognize. Within minutes, a warning banner popped up: Battery Low (5%).

Laura stared at the charger cable sitting on the velvet sofa across the room. To get it, she would have to sit up, get out of bed, walk across the plush carpet, retrieve the cable, walk back, and plug it in.

For a survivor of the apocalypse, this sequence of actions felt like an insurmountable mountain of labor.

"Charles!" Laura called out.

Charles, who had been lingering near the door in case she threw a delayed tantrum, pushed the door open immediately. He bowed his head, preparing for the worst. "Yes, Madam. What are your orders?"

"The charger," Laura mumbled, pointing lazily toward the sofa. "Bring it to me."

Charles walked over, picked up the cable, and plugged her phone in. He waited for the shouting to begin. "Will that be all, Madam?"

Laura looked at her phone, now charging safely. "One more thing." She pointed toward the nightstand. "Find someone to install a service bell right here."

Charles stared at the empty space on the nightstand, then at Laura, his mouth slightly open. "A... service bell, Madam? Like the ones in restaurants?"

"Yes," Laura said, pulling her silk sleep mask over her eyes. "Make sure it has a gold finish. It saves me from having to raise my voice."

Charles stood frozen, utterly bewildered. Was she... actually too lazy to even call his name?

A call bell?

Butler Charles’s mind raced as he backed out of the bedroom. Does she mean the kind they use in high-end hospital suites, or a basic pager for the elderly?

Normally, there was always a maid stationed right outside her door. Was she truly so lazy that she couldn't even raise her voice to call for them? Or had she been entirely serious when she asked Dr. Taylor for an exercise she could perform while remaining completely motionless?

As Charles drowned in a sea of silent, bewildered questions, Laura Lind was already drifting off. She deleted a dozen more unrecognized names from her contacts, let out a delicate yawn, and tossed her phone onto the nightstand. She couldn't afford to waste a single second of this glorious, comfortable bed on a piece of plastic. If some cosmic anomaly decided to drag her back to the monster-ridden wasteland, she needed to have logged as many hours of sleep as humanly possible.

"Why are you still standing there?" Laura mu