MTL - Reborn Russia As An Oligarch - Chapter 891 that's win-win

A fair complexion can conceal three shortcomings, but being overweight can ruin everything. Gu Yi doesn't look bad, but her round plump figure always attracts strange looks from people. In her previous life, her marriage was mediocre, but in this new life, even as a plump woman, Gu Yi is determined to rise up!

Riku Barusak is a hard-working child. Despite possessing an innate superior physical strength and having withstood harsh training she fails to unlock her talent as a spiritualist. The failure results in her being thrown away by her family.

【Double C1V1】A certain gossip magazine exposed that the newly crowned actress Mu Yan spent the night at the villa of a certain already-married business mogul,accusing her of being a mistress intruding into someone else's family.Mu Yan posted on Weibo, “I went back to my own home, what business is it of yours?”Young Master Jiang from the Jiang Family, known for his immense power and noble grace in Upper City, reposted the Weibo, causing a city-wide uproar.At home, Mu Yan looked at the man beside her who kept refreshing her Weibo on her phone.“Since when did you learn to direct and act all by yourself?”The man was displeased, “You won't acknowledge me, and you won't let me fight for it myself?”Mu Yan, “...”She really couldn't tell who had been the domineering one forcing her to sign the marriage papers back then.If love were a poison, when he first met her, he was already poisoned to the core, with only her being the antidote.A secret love story in the entertainment industry.

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.”