Madam Has An Amazing Life After Her Divorce - Chapter 102 - Hidden Scheme Exposed

This book is about how a famous web writer who specializes in doting genre falls in love with a Mr. cellophane writer who specializes in angst genre.

- Description from Novelupdates

A Low-Stakes, Cozy, Slice-Of-Life Travelogue AdventureJohn, a 37-year-old widower, discovers the extraordinary power to travel between worlds via dimensional Gates. Overwhelmed by the sorrow of losing his wife and the pain of his past, he wants to leave Earth behind. After some research and training, he embarks on a journey to explore different worlds.Though John’s class could become incredibly OP, he doesn’t care about fighting, becoming a hero, or gaining power. His journey is about healing, rediscovering life’s simple joys, and exploring the magical wonders of the multiverse. Traveling at a slow, steady pace, he meets new people, helps others as a healer or doctor when he feels like it, and reflects on his experiences through a diary-style narrative. This is a tale of introspection and self-improvement, focused on exploring both the multiverse and Earth.This isn’t a story of epic battles, grimdark themes, or becoming a superhero. Instead, it’s about traveling with friends, trying new foods, learning magic, and shopping—lots of shopping. Through these adventures, John’s story highlights how small moments bring joy and purpose, proving discovery doesn’t require grand conflicts but thrives in the extraordinary and the everyday.

“Villains aren’t born, they’re made...blah...blah...”Cute quote. Stick it on your Tumblr header next to your anime pfp.You boys love your villain stories, don’t you?You want carnage. Chaos. Control. You want a dark throne, a cold smirk, and a woman kneeling at your feet begging for mercy.But you?You don’t want to lift a damn finger.You’ll cheer for the villain as he kills a god, but cry when he gets betrayed.You call it “plot armor” when the hero survives—but call it “art” when the villain does the impossible.You’re not fans of villains.You’re fetishists.You want the violence, but not the silence after it.You want domination, but not the burden of being hated.You want power, but only if the story forgives you for it.You don’t read these stories to understand evil.You read them because you think you're too good to win the normal way.“Villains don’t play fair.”Exactly. That’s why you love them.Because you wouldn’t last a day in a world where strength mattered and excuses didn’t.You don’t want a villain’s life.You want his results.You want to watch him burn the world for a woman.But you’d cry if a girl left you on read.So tell me—What exactly are you rooting for?At least unlike you, I support heroes—the ones with boobs.You know the type.Tits squeezed into latex, thighs tight in spandex, preaching virtue with cum-drunk eyes the moment they fall into my arms but always end up screaming my name instead.She flies above cities, saving lives like it’s her job.But at night? She crashes into my arms, trembling, moaning, clawing at my back like I’m the only real thing she’s ever touched.Her cape drops before her guard does.But I don't need to tear it off.She hands it over herself—bit by bit, kiss by kiss, lie by beautiful lie.You ever felt a heroine's breath hitch in your ear as she begs you to stop pretending you're the bad guy?Ever watched the symbol of hope ride you like you're the last man left after the world ended?That's not conquest.That’s devotion, baby.Unfiltered. Undeniable.And the irony?They fall the hardest.Because no villain ever tried to understand them. No hero ever dared to see past the shine and into the ache beneath.But I do.I whisper into the cracks of their perfection.I plant kisses where they hide their pain.I fuck them where they forget to wear their strength.And when they break—when their moans turn to prayers, when their strength melts into submission—That’s when I rise.I’m not just some brooding misfit out for revenge, or a misunderstood loner sitting around hoping for a shot at redemption.I’m not a villain.I’m the SUPERVILLAIN—the kind your heroines moan for when the cameras are off and the capes are crumpled on my floor.