Evil Husband, Glutton Wife: Buy Miss Piggy, Get Free Little Buns - Chapter 674 - Substitute Husband (1)

“I was scared!” she cried, interrupting him. “You're a married man, you have a wife now, and I didn't want to ruin that. I didn't know how you'd react. And I didn't want my children… our children… to be caught in the middle of more pain.”He looked at her in shock, breath caught in his throat. “You just said… our daughter earlier,” he said slowly.Yes,“ she answered. Jasmine and Hanith. They're yours.”Aaron's breath hitched, stumbled back a step, staring at her like he was seeing her for the first time again.“You told me they weren't mine,” he whispered.“I lied,” she admitted. “Because I was scared. I wanted to protect them. I thought if you knew, you'd take them away. And I also thought you wouldn't want them because you are married now.”“Five years,” he murmured, his voice barely audible. “I had children... and never knew.” He clenched his jaw, struggling to process everything.“They are your children,” she said softly. “And now your daughter needs you.”~**~A single mother, Katherine Prescott was the perfect definition of a B3 classy lady—beautiful, brainy, and brave. She worked her ass off to ensure her children never lacked, building a name for herself while running from the unwanted attachment of the past.But when the past she thought she'd left behind the day she fled with her babies came crashing against the walls she'd built—six years later—everything she buried resurfaced.What if the forgotten spark and desires kept pulling her back into the very past she wanted to forget? What if her babies wouldn't stop asking about their father? Can she really give him a second chance at love… and risk losing herself to passion again?Aaron Knight was a celebrity. He never believed he'd see her again. But there she was—still breathtaking, still beautiful as ever. He wasn't letting her go this time. He would get her back, by hook or by crook.Two problems: he was married… and she was already a mother.

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.”

Chu Chen brought the temple in his heart to the Dachang Heavenly Dynasty and worshipped the Taoist gate.

Refining alchemy inside, repairing talisman outside;

Reciting sutras and convincing the spirit, fasting ceremony.

Palm thunder method, pinch sword art, step on Yu step, pray for sunshine and rain, call gods to send generals, relieve Erdu people, cut demons and demons…

- Description from novelbuddy

Perhaps the paintings in a museum are subjected to more nonsense than you would hear anywhere else in the world.The language that comes out of an artist’s life is the painting itself. It contains the most ordinary lives that know failure, desire, recoiling in fear, and compromise.Learning is about understanding that language. We miss much of what the paintings speak because there is no way to ask the long-dead painters about the philosophy of their lives.In an alleyway in the residential area of Jongno, there’s a peculiar art gallery. This place enables us to transcend such limitations. By sheer coincidence, I ended up visiting that place and began living an entirely different life.