This Taoist Master is too Frivolous - Chapter 700 - 460: Take the Initiative, Strike into Hell!_2

President Forrest raised Zinnia Lawrence, catering to her every need. Zinnia believed that was love. It took two years of marriage for her to realize she was merely his best-kept pet, while she saw him as her entire world.His first love returned, and Zinnia resolutely asked for a divorce. He scoffed, “Can a cat trained from young leave its master? You can't run.”Zinnia ran away and never looked back, receiving proposals daily on her path to beauty.Jenson Forrest went crazy.“Mrs. Forrest! Be good, look at me once more.” He cornered her, his dark eyes filled with intense affection.She smiled gently, “People and dogs are on different paths. Step aside, don't block my romances.”The man held her waist, eyes reddening at the corners, “For the next 365 days, I've reserved the proposal spot. Zinnia, marry me again!”

[Note: Male lead – Yu Luobai]The story begins with an attempt at su*cide. The newly revived female supporting role is confused. After barely surviving, she discovers that she has been transported into the role of a disposable female celebrity burdened by scandal and debt.In order to repay her debts, she decides to live frugally while relying on her status to improve her fortunes. She befriends the female lead hoping to benefit from her luck.One day, she suddenly realizes that the famous celebrity has been getting unusually close.

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.”