The Lovely Heiress Is Actually A God Beast - Chapter 270: Really Miss the Little Tag-Along

(Third Person Limited PoV.)Betrayed by his fiancée, mocked by his siblings, and disowned by his family—that was Lev’s fate.Even when he regained memories of his life on Earth, where he realized that his world was strikingly similar to his favorite novel, it still didn’t help him change anything.How could it be?Because the protagonist of the story had already achieved his happy ending—gaining a beautiful wife and living a blissful life. Meanwhile, the world continued to move forward.What do people usually do with a novel that has ended? They tend to stop caring about the world within it, even if it falls into ruin, especially if the novel isn’t particularly popular.The world Lev Razanov lived in shared a similar fate—it was destroyed.[Hero’s System successfully installed.][Critical condition detected.][Do you wish to return to the past?]Lev was given a chance to return to a time when the story of his favorite novel had just begun.Although he was destined to become an extra villain—a pawn of the pawns serving the real villain, he vowed to end the lives of anyone who had caused him suffering: his siblings, his fiancée, the main character, or anyone else.[Hero’s System inherits your desire from your life on Earth—the desire to do good.]“Who said killing your enemies is an evil act?”

Living together with my ex-husband?

Sarah never thought she would one day meet Michael, her ex-husband, again in the operating room with his body full of wounds and needing treatment from her.

They were already divorced for three years, and Sarah didn’t have a good memory of the man. If she could… she would have let him die. However, she was a doctor, and a doctor's job was to save patients.

Sarah immediately regretted her decision to save the man because it turned out that Michael had amnesia and remembered that they just got married!

To make matters worse, she stupidly accepted her ex-in-law's request to pretend to remain Michael's wife while taking care of him. Why did she do that?

However… during the time she spent with her ex-husband, Michael's attitude was very different from what Sarah had last remembered. He was very gentle… and loving. It made the feelings she thought were gone, come up to the surface.

Would Sarah be able to deal with her feelings? What would happen when Michael's memory suddenly returned? Would his attitude stay the same?

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EXCERPT:

“Wifey,” Michael called, looking at Sarah who was lying beside him.

“Hm,” Sarah answered curtly, not looking at Michael.

“I think I'm healthy.”

Sarah's body stiffened when she heard that. Was Michael healthy? Did that mean he had remembered everything? Would he scold her for tricking him?

“Wifey? Why are you silent? I think I'm healthy and I can do it,” Michael said quietly.

“What do you mean?” Sarah finally looked at Michael with raised eyebrows. “Do what?”

“Making babies.”

In the rural northeastern mountainous regions stands a tiny Buddhist temple, named One Finger Temple. It isn’t a large one but it is extremely miraculous.

The temple has rice that emanates an aromatic fragrance.

The temple has sweet and refreshing water that rivals ambrosia.

The temple has Buddhas that grant wishes to the sincere.

The temple isn’t large but it has everything. The temple isn’t large but it has flourishing incense offerings that far exceed all temples. The temple isn’t large but it attracts both citizens and foreigners that line up overnight…

The temple has a bald but handsome monk. Every day, he would bawl, “I want to renounce asceticism! I want to marry a chick that’s not too pretty, have a cute baby, and lead a stable life!”

This book is a casual novel that introduces various Chinese traditional customs, as well as Buddhist ones. It strives to be a positive book, allowing people to reflect on how they should live their lives and treat others.

- Description from Novelupdates

“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.