Rise of the Rejected Luna - Chapter 111: _She’s A Distraction

I lived a mediocre life. Trapped in the simulation of everyday mundanity, the 'Matrix' you might call it. The world killed my dreams, hurt my innocence, but I moved on just fine, struggling everyday to keep living.Until it came out of nowhere, without warning: The Apocalypse.I fought to survive. I lived alone in a world where all dead humans turned to undead. But, there was only so little the average human could do against creatures with superhuman strength. So I died. It was the end.Or was it?“From one cage to another.”I opened my eyes to a world where normal reasoning was as good as garbage. A world ruled by men with superhuman strength. A medieval world with swords and... No magic. Just swords and weapons. But still, that medieval world was not so medieval. It was a crazy place, a world that I couldn't fully understand.So I decided. I'll live because I lack the resolve to end myself. I'll live because i'm a coward. I'll live because in the end, I'll die of old age anyway. But before I die, I'll figure out the truth and secrets of this world. Just for the sake of it.And what's the best way to see the world in its entirety? Of course, it's to stand at the highest summit. And that's exactly what I'm going to do. So watch me rise.

The chairman of the White House of ‘City A’ and his wife died in a plane crash, leaving their 3-year-old orphan with a large fortune. The relatives were trying their best to cheat the girl and enter the house to get ahold of it. But who knew that the ’10 billion-dollar doll’ would have chosen her father, or also known as the city’s most popular guy, on her own…

Luo Sheng: “f*ck, I’m not doing it!”

Yinyin: “Daddy, hug!”

Luo Sheng: “….”

A few days later —

“F*ck, who dares to bully my daughter? I won’t let him get away with this!”

- Description from Novelupdates

***Completed***“I'll marry you if you promise to kiss me every day.”On the harrowing day she lost her family, out of all the men she knew, Marcella didn't expect those words from “Sweet Baby” Tony. She thought he was not interested in her.She had to ask him for the marriage as she wanted to fulfil her sister's last wishes.She got married the day she suffered a horrifying loss.Don DeAngelo's youngest daughter became the wife of Antony Crawford.She didn't wait to think why he wanted to marry her when every men she knew wanted her for who her father was. She trusted him that much.But in a day, she learned that Tony was not so different from other men.What choice can she make?She can throw away the marriage and lose custody of her nephew, or...She chose to be married to him. Their marriage can be a deal. She needed him, he needed her. It's all fine.Except...What does Tony feel? Is their marriage all but a business transaction for him? What is the secret he is hiding? Why can't he reveal it to her?-----*Excerpt*“We are each our own devil, and we make this world our hell,” she said looking into his eyes. The alluring mystique behind those blue eyes made her heart skip a beat.How can she hate and love someone this much? She must be missing a part of her brain.In the silence of the dining room, the candle flickered. The curve of his lips widened and in the romantic ambiance, the thin lines around his eyes gave her a thrill.“Quoting Oscar Wilde?” he chuckled comfortably, leaning forward.“Isn't that true in our case?” she asked.She observed him, trying to digest every single expression on his face.He went silent. His lips pressed to a line. His pensive eyes never left hers except for the few seconds when he placed down his cutleries. She still couldn't guess what goes on in that smart brain of his.It is this, she thought. I am a decently adventurous person. He's an adventure. Maybe that's his allure!“Then, Birdie,” he stood up and walked to her.Marcella's back got stiff as she tried to figure out what he was going to do.Also, is that a pet name? Birdie? It's nice. But that came out of nowhere...She followed him with his eyes. He kneeled beside her and held her hand. Only when she felt the warmth of his big hand on hers did she realize that she had been holding her breath for a while.This man is going to be the end of her. It sucks when he does not feel even half of what she feels.“Let's be angels,” he kissed her hand. With a smooth smile that reached his eyes, he looked at her. “Let's be each other's angels, and let's make this world our heaven.”“You are...”Unable to find any words to say to him, she buried her face in her hand. Her chest was heaving as if she ran a marathon.This man surely is going to be the end of her.“What?” he chuckled while teasing her to show her face. “What am I?”“You're a brute, Mr. Crawford. That's what you are,” she said trying to hold her stoic expression to relay her “disapproval” of his methods. But in front of his goofy smile, she lost.She lost, and she didn't feel defeated.She felt delighted in his presence.“Mark my words, Birdie. I am taking you to the White House,” he said.Marcella opened her mouth to speak but no words came out. The determination shining in his eyes...He's not talking about a visit to the White House, is he?No way! No f*cking way!Her eyes widened. But he was smiling sweetly as always. He stood up and leaned to her ear.“Let's have today's kiss on the bed,” he said.Before she could form a resistance, he picked her up and walked up the stairs.Again, Marcell pondered the one question she's been asking a lot lately.Whom did I marry?

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.”