Life of Being a Crown Prince in France - Chapter 12 - Clues (Vote for Monthly Tickets)

The all-powerful boss is stripped of his identity again!One is handsome while the other is proud; the two-faced refined rascal versus a cynical girl with hidden identities.Everyone secretly jokei that Master Mo’s wife is an ignorant and incompetent little tyrant.Bad at her studies? Lu Mian emergei as the top student for science at her college entrance examination.No talent? Lu Mian shows everyone how competent she is at multitasking by playing the piano with one hand, and painting with the other during a live performance.A prodigal? She makes a small fortune in just two days with her limited knowledge.Boxing, Go chess, appraising treasures, car racing… Bring it on! She can do them all.The soft-spoken Xiao Qimo adjusts his glasses with pride. “Who else has something to say?”One of his subordinates raises his hand cautiously. “Master Mo, your wife seems to be the one who single-handedly destroyed the illegal laboratory.”Xiao Qimo looks at his wife who is quietly practicing calligraphy. “That’s impossible!”It isn’t until…During the general meeting for the International Elite Organization, both Xiao Qimo and Lu Mian wear a mask. They take the stage and succeed as the organization’s Chief and Deputy Chief, respectively.The Deputy Chief beside me looks like my wife. This is Xiao Qimo’s thought.The Chief looks like someone I know. Lu Mian is thinking the same thing, too.Soon, the newly appointed Chief is seen blocking his deputy at the ladies’ room.What happens when two strong and uncorrupted individuals fall for each other?

He is the Lord of the Heavenly King Hall, the old Kunlun monster, and the Stay-Home dad. Let’s see the cultivation adventure of an invincible dad.

Dear readers! Fresh green style, maybe you will like it more in .

[Urban Martial Arts, Passionate Martial World.] He was a super expert who, due to accepting an inheritance, underwent a physical transformation that put his life at risk. To extend his life, the king returned...

“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.