MTL - There Is Chef Yu In The Entertainment Circle - Chapter 63

The wife is first, the country is second, and the husband is of lesser importance.

All of his life was spent riding a war horse and accomplishing meritorious military services. But what was the result? In the end, he was cast aside once he had served his purpose.

Out of selfishness, he had favored his consort and neglected his wife. Ultimately, the one who stood by his side was the wife that he had neglected for 10 years…

After being reborn, Jing Shao decided to repent and turn over a new leaf…

Standing outside the door while holding a pillow, Jing Shao gazed at the sky. He must first mend his relationship with his wife. Jing Shao formed a fist and knocked on the door, “Jun Qing, I know my wrongs, let me in!”

- Description from Novelupdates

A woman with heavy makeup said, “My husband's net worth is over a hundred million, and all I need to do every day is go shopping for beauty treatments. I don't need to work at all!”

Suri Drew said, “Hmph, my husband's liquid assets alone are a billion. Did I mention it?”

A sexy lady said, “My husband is a master of judo and karate. I feel so safe with him!”

Suri Drew said, “My husband can take down ten strong men with his bare hands. It's just a piece of cake.”

Ding! Congratulations to the host for obtaining one billion in funds.

Ding! Congratulations to the host for acquiring top-notch combat skills.

Wife's boasting all became a reality.

Yigol Novak is a bit panicked as he said, “Honey, if you keep bragging, the entire blue star will be mine...”

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She was forced by her husband and his mistress to jump into the sea and commit suicide, only to be rescued and taken care of by the jerk's uncle for seven years.

“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.