Mated To The Demon Prince - Chapter 3: Pancakes

The youngest Wiseman of the continent, Chu Tian, has traveled 30,000 years back in time to the age of antiquity due to an accident.

Unconditional obedience to him? Dream on! Regrettably, after marrying Tang Yuchen, An Ruo's daily thoughts were of escape, escape, and more escape! Someone grew furious, “You want to flee? The only way out is if you die, or I perish!” Fine, she chose death! Yet he laughed wickedly, “Woman, do you intend to kill the son in your womb?”

A conspiracy had brought her back from the countryside to replace his sister and marry the mysterious and eccentric Crown Prince.

As a tough girl She expressionlessly stretched her muscles and planning to block whatever came her way.

If that so called Crown Prince dared to touch her, she would definitely hit his head to the ground!

However, the strange crown prince seemed to have some misunderstood about her...

“My wife is obedient and sweet. Don’t scare her. ”

“My wife will have her final exams tomorrow. I need to go back early to tutor her. ”

“My wife is not knowledgeable and has a bad temper. But with me around, you have to indulge her. ”

In the upper class of S City, they received a warning from the young master of the Bo Family almost overnight: Madam Bo is a treasure. Whoever touches her will have their hands cut off!

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.”