Temporary bride for the demon overlord - Chapter 18: The solution

In her previous life, Xiao Ying had grown up as the daughter of a wealthy family with a silver spoon in her mouth. She had thought that she would live out her days in peace. However, someone secretly told her that she was not the daughter of the Xiao family, and from then on, she had been living in fear—afraid that her secret would be exposed and her parents would abandon her. She was desperate not to lose her luxurious lifestyle, so she desperately tried to keep everything as it was!

However, just before the moment of her death, she realized that this had all been part of the Xiao family’s scheme. They were just trying to trick her out of her amulet! Their real daughter had been living a pampered life outside of the house all along!

After being reborn, she returned to when she was ten years old. Her amulet had transformed into the most powerful learning system in existence, all stored within Xiao Ying’s mind!

She resolutely left the Xiao Family, abandoning that world of superficial hypocrisy. With a bit of manoeuvring, she was taken under a new wing!

Xiao Ying: “Boss, do you need a weapon? I’ll be anything you need!”

Cheng Yang: “I need to do a quality check first!”

Harnessing the power of the learning system, she could execute all kinds of skills at a glance. Martial arts, dance, computing skills, and so on—everything had become a piece of cake to her!

Cheng Yang was very satisfied with his new weapon!

In no time at all, Xiao Ying began becoming more and more beautiful, and more and more suitors began taking note. A certain big boss could no longer remain calm.

Cheng Yang wrapped his hands around Xiao Ying’s slender waist. “You should’ve learned how to be my wife and given birth to a baby for me earlier!”

“With my knowledge, give me a fulcrum on which to place it and I shall move the world!”

The clock struck midnight when Ruelle heard the echo of footsteps. She tensed, the fine hairs on the back of her neck standing on end in the cool night air.“You shouldn't be here,” Ruelle whispered, her voice a breathless murmur. The silhouette finally came to stand under the moonlight, his dark red eyes watching her and his inky black hair ruffling.“Shouldn't I?” His voice was a dark caress, and she stood there captivated by the danger he exuded like perfume.“I haven’t seen you for the last two days,” his tone low. His hand reached out, fingers brushing against the silk of her nightgown, tracing the trembling outline of her collarbone. “Tell me, were you avoiding me, or perhaps... entertaining other offers?”Ruelle’s heart raced, her breaths shallow. She declared, “I don't belong to anyone.”“A bold claim,“ he murmured, his breath a tantalising chill against her skin as he leaned in. ”Yet here you are, pulse racing, your body tensed as if in anticipation of my touch.”His fingers gripped her chin, tilting her face towards his. The moonlight caught his eyes, revealing a glint of predatory intent. “Or must I remind you whose touch you truly crave?”

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.”