The Whole Internet is Waiting For Master Fu To Fall In Love - Chapter 857: How can I still marry a wife (3)

I, Ichinosuke, failed to get a job for 100 consecutive times. Furthermore, my record is still being updated as unemployed.

I’m so sorry, Mr. Lawson, you can marry my daughter Marga but Sabrina is an exception.

Why? She’s your daughter I thought you and my parents had already arranged this marriage. And I choose Sabrina. I won't marry anyone but Sabrina.

Then why Sabrina?

Let’s say that Sabrina and I have a special thing back then, Gabriel said with a little smile. Ferdinand frowned and was curious. Well, she might deny it.

Sabrina Mondragon Alvarez – is a mute rich woman. She's an introvert and hated getting along with rich people who always talk about senseless stuff. She was bullied by socialite but never they knew that behind that innocent-looking woman hides a strong and powerful aura.

Being quiet doesn't mean weak but is something more dangerous than anything. Silence would lead all of her enemies to one place that can also be called danger.

Soon, she'll have them in the place that she's secretly reserving for those who made her life and family miserable.

She said to be someone who can't speak not until he came and chose her to be his wife.

Gabriel Lawson - a rich powerful tycoon with a strong background. He fell in love with the woman he had a one night stand with and chose her to be his wife. He would do anything for her. And for those people who hurt her--they must pay a thousand folds.

I made a game.

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.”