Sir, How About A Marriage? - Chapter 202 - Inner Turmoil

“I WILL MAKE THEM ALL REGRET THE DAY THEY MET ME! I WILL MAKE THEM WISH THEY WERE NEVER BORN! AND I WILL MAKE THEM HATE THE DAY THEY THOUGHT OF BETRAYING ME!”“You will, Sweetie. And I'll help you with that...”Those were the last words Avery spoke and heard before passing out in her bloody red wedding gown, on the same day she was supposed to marry her boyfriend from senior high school.~~Avery McCallum, the sole heiress and president of the McCallum Group of Companies, had her whole family wiped out on her wedding day. Framed for her grandfather's murder and stripped of her position, Avery vows to take revenge on those who wronged her. But her powerless state seems to mock her determination.Enter Archibald Donovan. She used to hate the devilishly hot and narcissistic chairman of the A² Corp who also happened to be her older brother's best friend, but when consumed with the need to take revenge, she begged him to marry her in return for fulfilling a long list of conditions. Archie agrees, and a month later, Avery re-emerges as Ava Donovan, a rising actress and the wife of the most powerful man in the country.With her newfound status, Avery systematically destroys her adversaries, uncovering dark secrets and hidden agendas along the way. But as she navigates the treacherous landscape of her new life, she must confront the truth about her family's past and at the end of it all, come back to him.She owed him after all...EXCERPTArchie's eyes darkened when he saw her stumbling out of the wine cellar, a bottle of wine in one hand and her night robe, in the other. She was literally half naked.“Hey...” her greeting came out in a slur, and that was all he needed to know she was drunk. Very drunk, at that.“Why?” he asked simply, knowing she would interpret his question as she usually did.“I...I visited them today. The flowers on their stones were already wilted and...and...it broke me. I wanted to be happy and at the same time, I wanted to cry,” Avery replied, inhaling short wisps of air before she continued, “Then I found the cellar.”“Did it work?”She shook her head slowly in reply, lifting her head up in time to see a mischievous smirk curl on his lips.“Don't be sad, Baby girl. I happen to know a way to make you cry and keep you excited at the same time,” he said.“Really?”“Wanna try it, Mama?”Avery nodded, slowly but firmly as he closed the distance between them.As he promised, she did cry...in pleasure.

They were together out of a deal, but the relationship between them is extremely real.She was forced into a deal where she would pretend to be his new wife, and her parents would receive a large sum of money from him. He is a well-known CEO locally. Many women regard him as the object of their secret crush. After she became his wife, she suffered many jealousy traps of those women, but he helped her resolve them one by one. Slowly, she started to fall in love with him. Becoming his wife is no longer&n

Book 1 Sold? [Volume 1]The most frightening thing a girl can imagine is being abandoned. But what's worse?Being sold at an auction, naked and afraid and then being bought as a toy.Rosalie never thought she would actually end up getting sold at an auction. Her life wasn't all flowers but still she didn't want to end up a salve. When the worst was happening she gets sold to a billionaire.Book 2 Owned? [Volume 2]Getting chased by gangsters, getting kidnapped and then forced to become a slave of one of the biggest Mafian boss of the country was Azalea's greatest nightmare.But to make it worse the kidnapper was the man Azalea had hated all her life for depriving her of her only familyBook 3 Captive? [ Volume 3]After the disappearance of Azalea, Arius always found himself lost in thought about her. He never got over her but what happens when a little ball of joy enters his life and becomes a path for finding his lost love again?

“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.