How I Accidentally Married a Billionaire - Chapter 161 -

After coming out of a tunnel… it was pitch dark.

Jiang Xi, the warden of a mental asylum, transmigrated one day and became a girl from a farming village who had three engagements annulled and hanged herself three times.

Jiang Xi: That’s ridiculous!Jiang Xi was a psychic who could make predictions come true just by talking.

If she claimed that someone’s house would collapse, it would collapse the next day, even if it was structurally sound. In her previous life, her predictions were a little too real for her family.

They were spooked by her abilities and left her at that asylum.

She was unconcerned and adapted to life there like a duck to water. Though she managed to get promoted to warden after much difficulty, she suddenly transmigrated, and everything was suddenly the way it was before.

She studied her leaking house and sighed to herself.

Whatever. She would live life one day at a time, then.

When her mother clumsily ruined the family’s crops, Jiang Xi assured her: They would be fine tomorrow.Her mother wiped her tears and woke up the following day to check on the crops…

only to find that the ruined sprouts were budding! During the dry season, Jiang Xi’s father stared dolefully at the crops that looked like they were going to wither and die.

Jiang Xi simply pursed her lips and said: There will be a downpour soon.Jiang Xi’s father doubted her words.

But three days later, a downpour came, and he looked just like a happy child.Everyone in the village began to call Jiang Xi a lucky star, and the village head was willing to yield his position to her so that she would lead the village to riches. Bachelors proposed to her and came to her house with generous gifts even though they used to scorn her, but a tanned, muscular man with rough facial features stood in their way before they could reach the Jiangs’ house.

Zhao Xiping pointed at Jiang Xi and declared loudly: My wife! Mine!

Bored in class, Ivaim suddenly transmigrates into a world plagued with Fractured Realities.A century ago, Reality Masters suddenly arrived— bringing a wave of terror over the planet.Just as the people despaired, they began to discover “Threshold Items” which allowed them to enter the domains of these Reality Masters.They had two options starting from there :One, to become a Reality Walker— a person marked and blessed by a Reality Master, fighting by their side in order to defend against other Reality Masters.Or to become a Reality Ruiner— A person who kills Reality Masters, directly consuming and taking over the powers that they posses!However, to Ivaim, he seemed to have taken on a different path.As he looked towards his own body, he sighed as he realized that he was neither a Reality Walker, nor a Reality Ruiner.—He had somehow become a Reality Master....

“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.