The First World Sphere - Chapter 23: Gareth (1)

As the eldest daughter of the Yang Family's main branch, Yang Ruxin's pleasure was building the family fortune and supporting her younger siblings. But why was that blind and lame guy such a Relentless Spirit?When she cooked, he would come to light the fire;When she set up her stall, he would follow to hawk her goods...“I say, Mr. Gu, do you have to help with everything I do?” Yang Ruxin asked with a hint of annoyance.“Yes,” Mr. Gu nodded earnestly.“Then right now I want to...”“Wife.” Mr. Gu hurriedly stood up from his wheelchair, “as long as we don't part, I'll give you anything you want.”

All the firsts I want to remember were with you.From the summer when I was eighteen and knew nothing to the summer when I turned thirty-one and learned so much.Even the seasons without you felt like you were deeply ingrained.“We’re just friends, so there’s nothing special between us.”You pushed me away with a poker face, but because we were friends,I endured those countless days,and it seems you still don’t know it.So, it looks like I’m going to repeat the same futile effort.“Did I ask if you needed a man? If you do, I’ll be your man.”You need to get to know the thirty-one-year-old me.If you look at me with those eyes you didn’t see before.“You’ve become a real troublemaker.”Now that you’re here, it’s just the beginning of .

What happens when, in the midst of struggling to keep up with life, you suddenly discover that you were a princess in a past life? Now, you're just a waitress with a drunken mother and a pile of bills to pay. But deep down, you know one thing: you’ll find the stupid jerk responsible for ending your royal life, no matter what it takes.Alexia POV:Then there are the spoiled, narcissistic rich jerks who think their daddy's car gives them a free pass to treat women like objects. Not today, Satan. These guys are like walking perfume ads with egos bigger than their bank accounts. I swear, they should just marry themselves—they're clearly their own type.When one of those jerks lands at my table, I can smell the entitlement from a mile away. I don't even wait for the inevitable sleazy pickup line or the “accidental” brush of their hand against mine. Nope. I pawn them off on one of the other waiters faster than you can say “unpaid rent.”

On one spring evening when I was eight years old, I, Erica, Duke of Aurelia’s daughter, realized something.