Proud Goddess Falls in Love with Me - Chapter 423 - 404: One Move is Enough_1

Amelie Conley, the eldest daughter of a revered Alpha family, was once expected to carry on her family’s proud legacy. However, when she turned sixteen, she failed to awaken her wolf, which made her earn the scornful title—the Curse of the Conley Family.At eighteen, she found her destined mate and carried his child, believing she had finally been given a chance at happiness. But when she rushed to share the news, she found him in a compromising position with her younger sister, Flora.Betrayal cut deeper than any wound, but the final blow came when he rejected her without hesitation, declaring Flora as his true mate.Shunned and heartbroken, Amelie made the painful decision to leave her pack for the sake of her unborn child. But just as she tried to escape, she was ambushed—hunted down like prey.Desperate to protect herself and the life growing inside her, Amelie fled to save herself and her unborn child, only to collapse into the arms of an enigmatic stranger—Gabriel Sinclair.Gabriel was no ordinary man. He was the Alpha Prince, a name feared across the nation. For twelve long years, he had scoured the lands for his mate, only to find nothing. He had convinced himself that the Moon Goddess despised him, just as his own mother had. But the moment he laid eyes on Amelie, everything changed.“You were marked, weren't you?” His voice dropped, edged with something dangerously close to possession as his gaze met hers, demanding the truth. The question left Amelie in a dilemma. She didn't wish to tell him the truth.“I am not an ordinary wolf, Amelie. Who the fuck marked you before me?” Gabriel voiced in a possessive yet intimidating tone. Amelie didn’t know that the man, who saved her was none other than the infamous Dark Tyrant—the Alpha Prince, Gabriel Sinclair, whose intentions were still unknown to her.

“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.

Upon transmigrating, she immediately faces a disastrous flood, and then has to deal with a marriage swap to an old man who is both slovenly and hunchbacked?Someone: My wife, truly majestic and dominant!PS: This story includes a space with a bit of fantasy, and there's only the heroine who is reborn through transmigration.