Sugar Dating with CEO - Chapter 170

Wen Ying became the “Unlucky One” chosen by Lord God.No matter which world she appears in, she is not loved.————“I heard that you became a sugar baby?”“Stepped on three boats. Ah, the boats probably capsized.”“You are a minister’s wife, but you’re seducing his majesty, why are you such a slag?”Actress-born Wen Ying, displayed the exclusive smile of a white lotus——So what? In the end, won’t all of you become my ministers.

Alexander was the greatest tyrant in history. His cruel, brutal and vicious reign struck fear in his enemies and allies alike. But that all ended when he was betrayed by his own people and beheaded by his archrival. As Alexander’s consciousness faded away all he could think of is all the faults he made, how he could have avoided them, how unlucky he had been, and his wrath and unwillingness to die at the hands of the man he hated most! But unexpectedly he was given not only the answers to these questions, but also a second chance to right all his many wrongs.

Before the rebirth, Gu Qingyao wanted to marry him but did not dare to marry. After the rebirth, Gu Qingyao, with the space materials in hand, all day planning to marry him with a huge dowry.

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.”