My Beautiful Disciples, I'm really not the Main Character! - Chapter 12 - : The Cry of a Pheonix

When a glorious old civilization was toppled overnight, a strange purple moon rose and thus began the Purple Moon Era.

I came to a world where comics are prosperous, but why do cartoonists here have such an incomparable title of secondary school!

With the idea of ​​interest, Chen Zijun planned to become a cartoonist.

Reader: “Shameless old thief, hurry up and fill the ice hole, how can it be repaired.”

“Ah, ah, without Haruhi Suzumiya seeing me dying.”

“April is your lie, I burst into tears after reading it.”

“Our days are inscribed on the ring.”

In this way, Chen Zijun happily started the old thief road of digging holes and not filling them in another world.

Group number: 663695803, welcome to join the group to play.

- Description from novelbuddy

It's simple. A vengeful wildfire of a woman. A tyrant who begs to be burned.When Aria crashes into Kael’s empire, hellbent on making him pay for taking her job away, she’s met not with defiance—but a dare. “You want revenge?” he taunts, voice dripping with dark invitation.“Then ruin me. Take your pound of flesh exactly where it hurts.” His proposition is a trap laced with sin: As expected he calls the shots in his bed, her contempt is his twisted aphrodisiac.“Hate me until your hands shake,” he growls. “But do it on top of me, where I can watch you savor every cut.”Their arrangement is a collision of dominance and delirium. Aria wields her fury like a blade, determined to break him. Kael? He thrives under her wrath, goading her darker, deeper, hungrier.But vengeance turns slippery when every command she hisses ignites his obedience, and every cold glare melts into bruising kisses. Soon, the bed becomes a battleground—her nails carving victory into his skin, his whispers a serpent’s promise: “Chain me with your rage, darling. I’ll still come back for more.”The rules are simple: No mercy. No surrender. But as their games spiral into something ravenous, who’s destroying whom? And when hatred burns this hot, what’s left when the ashes cool?