A Will Eternal (Web Novel) - Chapter 18: Drawing the Attention of the Crowd!

Zara Hansley had always believed herself forsaken by the gods due to the terminal illness she was diagnosed with. Every doctor she visited had declared she would not live past her 23rd birthday.Yet, when left with only a few months to live, Zara found out that the root of her illness was a curse, one which she could break. Just like that, she was given a new chance at life—she had to scour the earth for the cure in just a few short months or succumb to her fate.Fate, however, was a funny thing—it brought her to a stranger that would alter the course of her life forever, and his life by her.Born to an ancient family, Amir Frostcrown was cursed to bring misfortune to any female around him. Not only that, he was able to hear the thoughts of others, thus further drawing a line between him and other ordinary folk. As such, while these abilities amassed him an enormous wealth over the years, he was destined to live a loveless life of solitude.That all changed when his and Zara’s paths crossed. As someone that was completely unaffected by his curses and abilities, Amir Frostcrown was immediately intrigued by this dying girl.One dream, one vow, and two curses. That was all it took for Zara to tumble from the world of reality into fantasy. Would she be able to find her cure in time? When secrets are revealed, would Zara and Amir Frostcrown stand the test of time?***“We were fated to be from the beginning!” he amusedly declared as he looked at her dotingly, eyes sparkling and only her image visible in his blue eyes.“I don’t believe in fate!” Zara mumbled softly as she looked to the ground, afraid of facing him and the undeniable truth he spoke of.“But don’t you see?” Amir asked. “Isn’t fate what led us to this very moment?”

“Will you marry me, Anais?” The male lead proposed to me. “What about Selena?” “Selena doesn’t matter. You’re the only one I’m interested in now.” Even without a hint of interest in the female lead. “I’m sorry, but I…” Before I could even utter my refusal, the refreshing sound of coins rang in my ears. [asdf has donated 100 points!] Accept and get ten thousand points “Shall we go pick out a ring first?” Forget about conscience; if it’s fun, that’s all that matters.

Witnessing her fiance’s derailment with her own eyes, she married a “poor and poor” poor second generation.

The next day, jewelry, diamonds, haute couture clothing, luxury cars and mansions were received softly.

He is a domineering president who is cold-hearted and black-bellied in front of others, and he is also a three-good man who spoils his wife, loves his wife, and loves his wife.

 …

Rumor has it that his cleanliness allergy makes him never touch a woman, but she is a complete exception;

Rumor has it that he is an ascetic man who is so indifferent to strangers that he is extremely gentle in front of her;

Rumor has it that he is generous and neat and never cares about others. After his marriage, he overturns countless vinegar jars every day…

Her married life: sweet, sour, sweet, sweet, bitter, salty;

His married life: Chai, rice, oil, salt, sauce, vinegar, vinegar, vinegar, vinegar, vinegar, vinegar, vinegar, tea.

- Description from novelbuddy

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.”