Sold to My Killer Husband: His Concubine's Dilemma - Chapter 131: Price of forgetting her blood

She, the unfavoured adopted daughter of the Lin Clan, was just a pitiful little girl who had to live under someone else's roof.

And he, son of the richest man in the country, tall, handsome, and cold and evil.Originally, the two of them had not interacted at all.

However, due to a coincidence, she had become his wife.She had originally thought that she was only being used by him, but he would actually be a wife-doting man!

Whoever dared to bully her would be annihilated by him!

He was extremely overbearing outside, yet he was more like a hungry wolf in bed.

She couldn't bear it any longer and wanted to escape, but he blocked her.He lovingly asked, “Wife, you’re already pregnant with my child, where are you going to escape to?”

Her first encounter with Qin Sijue is an unexpected one. While trying to hide from her pursuers, she accidentally barges into his changing room. Yet, their paths crosses again fatefully—after a fake marriage, she legally becomes his bride. She imagines that they will only interact before the agreement ends, after which they would have nothing to do with each other. However, Qin Sijue comes over with two red booklets—their wedding certificate. “Take them for an appraisal and see if they’re real”.

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.”