Became the Weapon Monopolist of the Gods - Chapter 79: Sultan’s Magic Mirror (9)

The daughter of Prime Minister is a nympho?

The brutish Prince is her husband?

The stroppy Princess wants to kick her husband off the marriage sedan?!

“Shit! I want a divorce!”

“Why?!”

“You can’t satisfy me in bed!”

The next day, Prince Chennan becomes the laughingstock of the whole Kingdom of Dayue.

How Hua Yueling, the Stroppy Princess with a soul from 21st century, will create her legendary story in this ancient world?

- Description from Novelupdates

I met the male lead in prison.

An Omega painted the villain. What would her revenge taste like?For a month, Eve has been seeking for a divorce from her mate who she’d been marrried to—the man she found out she was pregant for. They were after her life and regardless of the fact she was his mate, she couldn’t live. She knew too much about them.Her life was going to come to an end when her very ex-husband, her mate, tricked her into a job—a work that was finally going to cost her life. But all that changes when she sought protection fom a man, a lone alpha—strongest, wealthiest, that even the leader of the pack was below him.But if there was anything else this man was, it was…Frightening in a way she never imagined.Oh, but Malakai Basti was still just a man after all. He had secrets. And his secrets was something Eve never saw coming.Perharps…he wasn’t exactly the protection she needed. Because if anyone found out what he had hidden, Malakai Basti wouldn’t die alone.She had been implicated and bounded to him.

“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.