My Vengeful Husbands Demand A Remarriage

From the back cover

I survived ten years in the apocalypse, only to transmigrate into the body of the most despised woman in the Galactic Empire.

When I opened my eyes, I was holding a bloody whip, straddling a beastman husband the original owner had just tortured.

The mechanical system in my head immediately issued a death sentence.

"In two months, your trial marriage ends. Your six abused husbands will be legally permitted to tear you apart."

The original host was an absolute monster. She beat them, starved them, stole their meager military stipends for luxury goods, and even sent two of them to a deadly alien warzone just to impress her high-society friends.

Now, I was left with her massive debts, a blocked power core, and the terrifying reality of six powerful, vengeful beastmen plotting my murder in the basement.

I inherited all her sickening sins, and the crushing weight of their justifiable hatred felt like a suffocating nightmare.

How was I supposed to survive when the people I lived with were just waiting for the legal countdown to snap my neck?

But an apocalypse survivor doesn't just roll over and die.

I pawned the original's useless designer bags, bought the highest-grade nutrient solutions, and called my would-be murderers into the living room.

"I know you hate me, and you have every right to," I told them calmly.

"We are getting a divorce."