MTL - Dear Mr. Lu - Chapter 47

**This book is in the viral competition. Support me by adding to library, gifting power stones, and golden tickets**Perhaps out of mercy, Ava Whitlock found herself reborn before all the tragedies - before her public image was ruined, before her career ended, before her real family disowned her existence and she was brutally murdered by the fake daughter her family had.All Ava Whitlock ever wanted in her whole existence was to have a family of her own, one which adored her and reciprocated her love.Her adoptive family were abusive, and when her real wealthy family descended from heaven, Ava thought the universe finally answered her prayer. Her prominent family were the owner of the Whitlock's conglomerate, the largest conglomerate in Lebron City.She had three powerful brothers: Jerome, the general manager of the conglomerate; Noah, the director of the conglomerate's firm; and Caspian, the best software engineer in all of Lebron City.Ava thought she had it all, but what she never expected was that her real family wanted nothing to do with her. They saw her as an eye-sore who was here to claim the position of their fake daughter, and they made no attempt to hide that they preferred the fake daughter to their flesh and blood.On her death bed,Jerome, Ava's eldest brother asked, almost laughing, “Ava's at the point of death?”Her mother hissed before replying almost immediately, “Good. Let her rot.”“Why are we being informed about this?” Noah, Ava's second brother asked.“Ava is no longer part of the Whitlock household after the little stunt she pulled. It's sickening that she still bears my household's name legally, but don't call me even if she's dead,” her father said dryly.In this life, Ava had another mission. To stop her name from getting ruined publicly, and to earn her family's respect instead. She didn't care about her family's love anymore.But a lot of things changed in her new life that she didn't have answers to.How did she end up with three other guardian angels?! And why did they address her as their lovely little sister?! Also, how did she have a fiance in this new life who was dotting on her?

Mochizuki Touya, a 15-year-old boy, who got zapped by a flash of lightning due to a freak accident caused by God, wakes up and finds himself face-to-face with God.

Fat kitty died, killed by a lightning strike while stealing a chicken leg! And then, the kitty was reborn into a rich family in the 80s, which, having had nine grandsons, longed for a granddaughter and instantly made her the most adored one in the family! She was so happy with her life, being pampered by grandma, adored by parents, and protected by big brothers. Of course, it would have been even better if that big bad wolf hadn't cast covetous eyes on 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.