Extraordinary Genius - Chapter 7 – Foreign currency exchange

“You are offering me a marriage of convenience, but princess… there's nothing convenient about me.”

___

Izabelle had underestimated the fire she thought she was going to play with tonight. But how could she ever have foreseen that the man she had happened to come across with does not play with just a small fire, but a whole inferno?

___

Excerpt:

“You going through this marriage with me might as well be like you digging your own grave. Because the moment you start to want more from me, I will divorce you. And the moment you break your promise and try to fight me… I will ruin you and break you apart completely. Mercilessly. You will regret ever meeting this devil tonight.” His threat was given in the same soft but cold voice.

But Elle did not even flinch. Her gaze never faltered either. This man was ruthless, and she knew that clearly. His eyes that moment promised nightmares and darkness without any promise of respite.

But no matter what he says now, it would still not change her decision. She truly had no other choice.

“I understand now…” she said quietly, steeling herself. “Since you don't trust that I will keep my word, how about we do this? You prepare the divorce documents beforehand now and I'll sign it. That way, once you decide to divorce me in the future, the papers would already have been signed and there would be no way I can trouble you about it. You would just need to send it to the lawyers and have it notarized.”

A heavy silence reigned before his quiet disbelieving laugh broke the silence.

“I'm at a loss for words, Princess Izabelle.” He looked wickedly amused. But then he started nodding in approval. “Fine, princess. I will marry you.”

In a fantasy world where martial artists can split mountains and creeks with a wave of their hand and break rivers with a kick, there exists a little restaurant like this.

The restaurant isn’t large, but it is a place where countless apex existences will rush into.

There, you can taste egg-fried rice made from phoenix eggs and dragon blood rice.

There, you can drink strong wine brewed from vermillion fruit and water from the fountain of life.

There, you can taste the barbecued meat of a ninth grade supreme beast sprinkled with black pepper.

What? You want to abduct the chef? That’s not going to happen, because there’s a divine beast of unfathomable level, the Hellhound, lying at the entrance.

Oh, that chef also has a robotic assistant that killed a ninth grade supreme being with a single hand and a group of crazy women whose stomachs were conquered.

“They Call Guys Like Me a Simp.”(Meanwhile, I’m out here living what their favorite MC only dreams about.)You ever notice how stories glorify the ones who feel nothing?The MC who never laughs.Never feels.Who plays women like chess pieces and calls it intelligence.He manipulates a girl? “He’s strategic.”He never opens up? “He’s mysterious.”He never flinches, never laughs, never lives —And you call that strength?Funny.Because to me?That’s just a prison in disguise.You see an “alpha.”I see a boy too scared to feel anything real.While they spend ten chapters monologuing about logic and sacrifice,I’m already making the Saintess scream,drenched in sin,halo cracked,legs trembling from truths her prayers never taught her.And I didn’t get there with cold eyes or control.I got there with laughter and chill. With warmth. With a grin and a hand on her thigh.I didn’t need to dominate her mind —I freed her heart.But that scares people, doesn’t it?Because readers trust the ones who suffer.Who stay quiet.Who kill without blinking and love without showing it.But me?I flirt.I laugh.I take hits and smile back, bloody and defiant, as if too weak to get angry.I don’t need to pretend emotions are weakness.I weaponize mine.Pleasure. Connection. Laughter.That’s my arsenal.And while your favorite MC is still calculating his next five moves,Trying to outwit death and romance like both are math problems,I’m already balls deep in the jade fairy — her sacred yin furnace clenching like it’s worshipping my shaft, her Dao Echo shattered into breathless moans, and her so-called cultivation path leaking down her thighs while she begs me to break her meridians again.You call that luck?Nah.That’s mastery of the three worlds.Because in a world that respects coldness,I came in hot.Where others manipulate, I connect.Where they posture, I play.Where they sacrifice, I seduce.So go ahead.Call me a simp.But while your genius MC is busy monologuing about destiny,I’m the one making goddesses question theirs —with a smirk, a touch, and no regrets.I’m not the hero.Not the villain.I’m just a simp… the kind who leaves your cold, emotionless MC’s woman dripping, ruined, and too stretched to go back to him.