My Artist Is Reborn - Chapter 169 – Idol

Lucille was a top student when she suddenly passed away due to a car accident she was transmigrated to the novel that she was reading before her tragic ends, and what's worse she was transmigrated in the body of the Villainess Acantha Solaris who will also die without receiving any love from everyone.

Lucifer, an ordinary orphan boy who was brought up by a wealthy family to be the playmate of their daughter.That's how things have been until one night, when he got attack by something unnatural, that was the night the world changed for him.p.sThis world is going to be dark, lots of killings, a lot of r18 contents, most not even involving the MC, also Mc is not going to take all the girls he comes across, he will have female friends he will make along the way, there will be Yuri contents and lots more, but Actions prevails them all.

The day of marriage. Lifting the sedan chair to the door, he lightly lifted the sedan curtain, but he saw no newcomer, only a piece of paper pressed under a stone.

Looking at her flamboyant font, his thousand-year-old pupils faintly spurted out a few flames. good very good. On his perfect and impeccable face, there was a faint smile, not angry but smiling.

However, no one saw the hidden chill in that smile. That woman dared to run away from marriage, he would let her know the consequences of doing so.

- Description from novelbuddy

What happens when, in the midst of struggling to keep up with life, you suddenly discover that you were a princess in a past life? Now, you're just a waitress with a drunken mother and a pile of bills to pay. But deep down, you know one thing: you’ll find the stupid jerk responsible for ending your royal life, no matter what it takes.Alexia POV:Then there are the spoiled, narcissistic rich jerks who think their daddy's car gives them a free pass to treat women like objects. Not today, Satan. These guys are like walking perfume ads with egos bigger than their bank accounts. I swear, they should just marry themselves—they're clearly their own type.When one of those jerks lands at my table, I can smell the entitlement from a mile away. I don't even wait for the inevitable sleazy pickup line or the “accidental” brush of their hand against mine. Nope. I pawn them off on one of the other waiters faster than you can say “unpaid rent.”