MTL - Eternal God Emperor - Chapter 3871 Supreme 3rd column

When Evelyn’s loser fiance steals her company's secrets and elopes with her prostitute mother, she finds herself facing impending bankruptcy. But unexpected help comes in the form of an unusual offer from her business rival and ex-boyfriend, Alexander Langford.“Bear my children, Eve, and I’ll save this precious company of yours.”To everyone else, Alexander is the heir to a billion dollar fortune, and the acting industry’s handsome darling. But to Evelyn, he is nothing more than a cold-hearted, arrogant man she dumped for being a compulsive liar years ago - but unknown to her, he has never lied about his love.How could Alexander miss the golden chance to hit two birds with one stone? He gets his inheritance, and a family with the love of his life. Now, if only dear Evelyn would stop thinking the worst of him…[Strong female lead x doting male lead.][EXCERPT]“You’re out of your mind,” Eve snaps. “You could have any woman in this world, and you want ME to be the mother of your children?!”“Why not? You’re smart, savvy, and fucking hot,” Alex says as he takes a step forward, trapping her body between his muscular arms. His dark blue eyes gaze deep into hers with unbridled lust. “I want our children to have the best from both of us. Our children could take over the world.”“There is no ‘our’,” Eve says coldly, pushing him away. “I will be the surrogate for your children. This is nothing but a business deal. There is NO love in this contract. But in exchange, you need to do something else.”“And what is it?”“Help me take down my ex-fiance. That bastard deserves to die after fucking my mom and ruining my life.”Alex chuckles. “It’s a deal then, sweetheart.”It was nothing but a business deal at first. But what if the line between business, love, and hatred were getting blurry as they got entangled too far and too long?[Power couple, slow burn, getting back together.]

Struggling until thirty-eight years old and still can't afford a house, you have to pay a dowry of 300,000 to get married, living frugally for most of your life, your liver is shattered from overworking, but where's the money? Who really took all the money?

Jiang Qin, who is full of grievances, was reborn at the age of eighteen. The only thought in his mind when he opened his eyes was to start a business and make money.

The first step, to take back the love letters he had sent out, flip it over, and write three lines in the stunned eyes of the school beauty:

You must never work for others, better to latch onto a wealthy woman if you can.

You can make more money if you lose it, but if you lose your conscience, you can make even more!

As a corporate slave, never be a servant!

As for love? Even dogs don't talk about that stuff!

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Welcome to Freia. A continent where evil magi ruled. Until firearms came, that is. Now the people live free of those demons…

More, however, must lurk beneath the surface.

Claude, a transmigrator from another world, finds himself in the midst of this changing world, attending ‘middle school’. Or, as he calls it, ‘boot camp’. His destiny was to graduate and join the military, but the future is seldom so simple.

His life, and the world, is set on the path of upheaval and chaos the day he finds a cookbook.

A magical cookbook.

- Description from novelupdates

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.”