The Number One Star in the Interstellar Era - Chapter 662: UNEXPECTED MEETING

After a year of marriage, Jiang An finally accepted the fact that Dr. Gao did not love her and resolutely decided to divorce him, leaving the country. Unexpectedly, after the divorce, the seemingly aloof and ascetic Dr. Gao cried and begged for reconciliation at her doorstep every day.One day, Dr. Gao, drunk, forcefully kissed her and drunkenly confessed, “If I weren't afraid of someone else taking you away, would I have married you so quickly?”“Jiang An, I've never loved anyone, but I know I want to have everything about you.”A daily question: Did Dr. Gao remarry today?Flash marriage/Marriage before love/Pursuing wife drama/Remarrying battle

On his coming-of-age day, Argolaith’s mistake bound him to a mystical magic unseen in the world. As his powers grow, they threaten to reshape the realm—but can he master them before they bring ruin?

What? He’s transmigrated into an apocalyptic novel?

What? He transmigrated into a white lotus?

What? The white lotus killed the main character shou (bottom, uke) and even proudly became a mistress?

Oh, luckily the white lotus in the apocalypse has a thick thigh to hold on to (someone to rely on).

What? This was actually an apocalyptic rebirth revenge story?

What? The thick thigh was actually a really big cannon fodder?

Therefore, this is the dramatic story of a man who transformed into a white lotus struggling to survive in an apocalyptic rebirth revenge novel, trying to avoid the reborn pig’s foot (the original main character), and trying his best to get away from the cannon fodder gong (top, seme).

- Description from Novelupdates

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.”