I Became the Wife of the Monstrous Crown Prince - Chapter 167: Into the light we dream of (13)

Qiao Nan: Crap! I am your biological daughter, yet I am treated as if I was picked up from the streets. In fact, you treat me worse than that!

Mother Qiao: Qiao Nan, you are not as pretty or smart as your elder sister. You are not as blessed as her. You have no right to study, marry, or to have your happiness!

Qiao Nan: Why am I not allowed to study, marry, or to seek my happiness? I will find a man right now and marry him!

Qiao Nan is dumbstruck upon discovering that the man right beside her is a powerful figure in the quad—the person who has the most promising prospects to be the future Chief.

Qiao Nan stares at the well-built man in front of her. He has firm abs and cold, chilling eyes. She swallows the lump in her throat as she says her greetings, “Good Morning, Chief!”

Ye Chu is a miserable supporting character from a novel (she transmigrated).

She’s the most famous socialite in Shanghai, but her existence was to emphasize the magnificence of the white lotus female lead.

In the previous life, Ye Chu died in an accident. After rebirth (still in the novel), she didn’t only want to get revenge, but also change her fate, allowing every side character to have the opportunity to shine. Ye Chu and Lu Huai are a fake couple in their previous lives but reunited in this life.

They probed each other at every turn and slowly got closer to each other. They two fell for each other and confronted their enemies together.

- Description from Novelupdates

[R18 novel with a lot of sexual content]Artem never expected to take on the role of a villain, let alone transmigrate between harem novels. Bound by a system, his task is clear: steal the heroines from all the protagonists’. From Chinese Cultivation and Korean Gate to Japanese Isekai Fantasy, VRMMORPG, and beyond—no heroine is off-limits, and no protagonist is safe!

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.”