MTL - I Wasn’t Born Lucky - Chapter 151

“Sign them.” So coldly, he said to her out of the blue.In one day. Phoebe Saxon lost it all. Betrayed and heartbroken, she is forced to jump off a building and plunges down to her death__, never dreaming that she would be reborn again, back to the year before she met her husband, David Saxon.With new abilities like seeing ghosts, she sets her life on a new path. Help ghosts, get rich and live a carefree life while getting revenge on the bastards that harmed her in the past.It was a good plan except for one little problem: her ex husband seemed to be chasing after her?David knew only a single thing, Phoebe was the love of his life. Both of them had been betrayed by an enemy in the past, someone that played with their lives as if they were toys.This time round, he would give his all to protect her, pamper her, love her and spoil her.He would do all it took to make her his, so when she run, he chased.This novel is participating in the viral book call competition. Please show your love by adding to your library and writing a review. Thank you.

With the memory of a Level 200, Tier 3 Mage. Lu Yang returned back to his life ten years ago. Destiny made a joke with him. He was betrayed and everything he worked for was taken away. He had to get it back.

The game’s money making methods, dungeon strategy, legendary quest, equipment source, secret blueprints, combat skills. He knows all. See how a reborn player with his brothers swept the country, burned the world and created the legend of The Fire God!

- Description from Novelupdates

“My name is Yang Jian, when you are reading this, I am already dead.”A mysterious sheepskin scroll, an eye that peers into darkness, this is the tale of a survivor

“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.