A Mistaken Marriage with Mr. CEO - Chapter 1887 Aileen Went on Board

Every novel has a low IQ supporting female that serves as a foil to the female lead’s good and beautiful sides. She’s the stepping stone on the path of love between the male and female leads, destined to live her life doing stupid things until her tragic end.

One day, all of the villainous supporting females came to their senses. They began to rebel! And quit! For the sake of world order, the System found a human to take their place.

World 1: The female lead risks her life to shield the male lead while the supporting female quakes in a corner (and watches the show)

Male Lead: ?? So you never loved me.

Supporting Female: He finally found out, looks like my job was a success. The end of the year bonus is mine!

Male Lead: ?!

A fun and breezy quick-transmigration story~

- Description from Novelupdates

Her husband, Derrick Vaisil, who had a funeral four days ago, suddenly came back to life. But this man was so different from before he died!

“I’m hungry, wife.”

From regularly turning up in the dining room that he had always avoided,

“How about we use the same bedroom?”

To a furtive suggestion of combining their bedrooms that they had always been using separately.

What in the world happened to this man?

*

“You always give off this delicious smell…………. but how can I bear with it?”

Right now, at this moment, Judith felt like he was a cruel predator who would completely devour her from head to toe easily.

“You, uh, what the hell are you?”

He, who tormented her as he repeatedly sucked on her soft earlobe and put his tongue inside her ear, chuckled.

“What am I?”

Derrick kissed her chin and whispered languidly.

“I am your husband, Judith.”

“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.

I found myself inside the game I used to enjoy.But something feels off.