A Stepmother's Marchen - Chapter 31

What if the president always coerces her to do “hard work” on the grounds of deducting her salary?
To do or not to do?
After finishing the work, Lin Sheng silently took out his mobile phone, opened the circle of friends, and pressed down word by word:
The president asked me to work at her house again!
President, she has a little white face!
The woman behind the successful woman is me! it’s me!

Domineering domineering president X small staff
The daily life of the president and the staff is so sweet and sweet~

- Description from novelbuddy

Luo Xing travels through the world of pirates and obtains a system of increasing defense power. When he receives different degrees of damage, he will increase the defense points of the corresponding level.

Luo Xing started from Wano Kingdom’s Hundred Beasts Group, step by step towards becoming the strongest.

“Come on, Yamato, hit me, you’re welcome!”

“General Akainu, did you not eat enough in the morning? Why is the magma so warm?”

“White Beard, your Zhenzhen Fruit should be even stronger, right?”

Luo Xing continued to challenge the strong, and what broke the strong was that Luo Xing became stronger and more fleshy, and in the end they couldn’t even break Luo Xing’s skin.

Teacher Kai shouted loudly: “Among the people who have fought against me in terms of defense, no one is more fleshy than you. I, Kaido of Beasts, would like to call you the strongest creature!”…

- Description from novelbuddy

After assisting the man she loves with all her heart to the throne, Li Wanrou dies miserably in the cold palace, her dead body wrapped in a broken mat and thrown into the disorderly funeral hillock.

war, blood, and betrayal carved him into something else. A legend. A killer. A mercenary whose name struck fear into both criminals and so-called heroes alike.But now, the world had changed. Lines blurred between right and wrong, between justice and vengeance. Should he step into the light, wear the mask of a hero, and fight for a cause greater than himself? Or should he embrace the darkness that had always been his home, a place where morality was just another illusion?“Don’t box me in with your shallow ideas of good and evil,” he muttered, his voice calm but edged with danger. “I do what I want, when I want.”The air was thick with tension as he moved like a shadow through the dimly lit room. The writer had no time to react—one moment, he was scribbling nonsense about legends and myths; the next, a cold barrel pressed against the back of his head.The figure smirked beneath his mask, eyes gleaming with something between amusement and menace.“You wanna write fiction?” he whispered. “Then let me show you how real legends are made.”A single gunshot shattered the silence.As the writer’s body slumped over the desk, the man holstered his weapon, stepping into the faint glow of a flickering neon light.“It’s that simple,” he said, his voice unwavering. “I’m Deathstroke.”