MTL - I Thought I Was Straight - Chapter 155 Daoist come to accept me 9

To save her family, she got married and divorced not for her own will. Due to the “derailment”, she was left penniless by a divorce settlement. She finally knew it was Di Juehao, her handsome, indifferent and rascally husband of the rich family, who plotted everything! However, she gave him an impolite impact on The day they divorced! Five years later, Wen Nuan made a good showing and became Top 1 designer of a world’s famous brand. She returned with two kids. Unexpectedly, she was forcibly taken by her ex-husband Di Juehao to the hotel to have s*x as soon as she returned. In the end, Wen Nuan gave him 10 yuan and left with pride: “Hey, 9.9 yuan is the market price for a top 1 male prostitute now. The rest is the tip for you!” But when she rushed to the company, she was surprised to find that his boss was…

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Unconditional obedience to him? Dream on! Regrettably, after marrying Tang Yuchen, An Ruo's daily thoughts were of escape, escape, and more escape! Someone grew furious, “You want to flee? The only way out is if you die, or I perish!” Fine, she chose death! Yet he laughed wickedly, “Woman, do you intend to kill the son in your womb?”

After annihilating Han, Zhao and Wei empires in succession, the dynasty of Qin is ushering in an unprecedented flourishing age with powerful cultivators emerging endlessly. People take pride in being part of the Qin dynasty. However, Ding Ning, a young lad of humble origin in Changling, Qin, is determined to subvert this dynasty and kill the emperor who breaks in the Eighth Realm.

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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.”