Rebirth of an Idle Noblewoman - Chapter 356 - The Real Boss Is Here

My sick sibling died so my usefulness is over. With that I choose to die, but I became a villainess in a third-rate novel?! In face of miserable end, I thought I can end this troublesome life with my own hands… But why do they keep trying to save me? “Don’t take your partner status from me, Selina.” “Can you dare to be greedy?” My life is getting better and better, and the day I will die is coming. What should I do?

I struggled until I was thirty-eight and couldn’t afford a house. I had to pay a gift of three hundred thousand in advance to get married. I lived frugally and frugally for most of my life until my liver was broken. But where was the money? Who made the money?

Jiang Qin, who harbored countless grievances, was reborn at the age of eighteen. The only thought he had when he opened his eyes was to start a business and make money.

The first step is to snatch back the love letter you sent, turn it over, and write three lines in the school belle’s astonished eyes:

You can’t work for anything, and you can stay with a rich woman if you can.

You can make more money if you lose it, but you can make more money if you lose your conscience!

Social animals, never slaves!

As for love? Dogs don’t even talk about that stuff!

- 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.”

When the night came, there was a twittering sound in his ears, and the monster in the shadows began to move restlessly. Jason’s hungry stomach began to roar, and he couldn’t help swallow his saliva. Hunger was the best spur.