Netori: Stealing The Hero's Party! - Chapter 3: Everyone Loves A Bad Boy(18+)

“Chantelle Bently, you’re a murderer! Why are you still alive? You should have been the one to die!”Daniel shoved her away furiously, his face as dark and empty as the black suit he wore.Chantelle was caught off guard and lost her balance, falling hard onto her pregnant belly.The pain was unbearable, and she cried out as her body trembled.Chantelle shook her head desperately. “I told you, it wasn’t me! It was Kate!”In a trembling voice, she pleaded, “Daniel, how many times do I have to say this before you believe me? I didn’t betray your family or the Wilson Group Of Companies, and I didn’t cause your grandfather’s death.”Anger and resentment appeared in Daniel’s eyes as he threw the divorce settlement in Chantelle’s face. “Sign this now! From this day forward, I’ll make you pay a thousand times for everything you’ve done!”The sight of the document struck Chantelle like a dagger to her heart.Her whole body froze as if she had been cast into the icy wastelands of Hell.****Her twin sister framed her, and her perfect family was destroyed on Christmas Eve.Things got worse when her husband handed her a divorce agreement. A month later, rumors spread that she had died in prison from depression.Six years later, she returned with a new face to take her revenge. She was beautiful but dangerous.Daniel felt both devastated and irritated when he saw the mysterious woman. She had the same name as his dead ex-wife, whom he hated most and the one he believed was responsible for his grandfather’s death.Despite his anger, he couldn’t deny the strong attraction he felt toward her.In fact, he was fatally obsessed and addicted to her, and the anger that had controlled him for six years slowly started to crumble.

I am Racist.…I mean, my name is Racis T.I was a stand-up comedian. The flop kind. The type who only got laughs when someone else was roasting him.One night, I was doing a gig at a shady, run-down bar—the kind where tattooed bikers drink motor oil for breakfast. I went in with my usual dark humor, but my jokes were getting the same reaction as my dating profile: complete silence.That didn’t sit right with my inner artist, who was already starving to death. So I did what any committed comedian would—I went darker.Turns out, one of my jokes (or all of them?) triggered a guy so hard that he pulled a trigger. Headshot. Instant death.But hey, look at this: A guy got triggered, so he pulled the trigger. That’s wordplay. But who cares? I’m dead anyway.All I wanted was a successful show, people laughing, and maybe a few girls swooning over my wit. I never cared about money. The millions I’d have made would have gone to charity—specifically, 0.001% of it. See? I’m generous like that.Anyway, death is death. My story should’ve ended there.But… if there is an afterlife, I had a simple wish: become a successful comedian, find a loving wife, and have just enough money to afford three meals a day… and maybe a humble little private yacht. Or a jet. But that’s it. Because, like I said, I don’t care about money.Unfortunately, wishes don’t work that way.Because, well—there was an afterlife.And it was absolutely not what I wished for.

When I became a rich young master, I had to enjoy it.
Training? No!
That is so boring.
I have a system, no need for training.

Are you hungry? Come, I will treat you with some food at a luxurious restaurant.
What a poor homeless. Come, I will give you a house.

I, Lin Fan is a good person.

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