My Ten Wives and Ten Rings in the Apocalypse - Chapter 134 Please, Don’t Open It. Repeated Chapter

Marianne, a talented curator at a museum, caught the attention of Mrs. Chaterine Ganke, a painting enthusiast who was also a very wealthy lady. The lady liked Marianne so much that she insisted her grandson, Leonardo Ganke, to marry her. Leon didn't love Marianne, but he couldn't refuse his grandmother's request.

On the night of her wedding, Marianne was insulted by her husband.

“Have you looked at yourself in the mirror? Ugly girl, don't expect you to sleep in the same bed with me!!!” Leon shouted to Marianne in contempt.

(Marriage in place + silly wife + vest + sweet pet + strong man and strong woman + pretending to be a pig and eating a tiger)

After a calculation, she had to marry her sister, who was rumored to be blind and lame, and could not live beyond the age of thirty.

Later, everyone in the capital knew that the powerful Mo family, Mo Yuchen, married a fool and spoiled her.

someday.

The foolish girl leaned against the man’s arms, touched the man’s Adam’s apple and said, “There are rumors in the capital that you married a fool. Do you want me to show them my vest? Block their mouths?”

The man grabbed her small hand and put his arms around her small waist, his Adam’s apple rolled, and his voice was hoarse and too low, “Little Luoluo, be nice~ The vest is not in a hurry, there are more important things right now.”

“What’s up?”

A stupid girl is puzzled.

“Deadly thing.”

After speaking, the man hugged her by the waist.

If you want to show your vest, go dream!

He didn’t want his wife to be missed!

- Description from novelbuddy

“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.