The Strongest War God - Chapter 1284 - : Still a King in Prison

Yu Fei was sabotaged by her peers at a celebratory gala. They pushed her into a hotel room, but it turned out to be the wrong one! The four men who were hired ended up waiting for nothing the entire night. Meanwhile, Yu Fei found herself crossing paths with the noblest and most dangerous man in Nan City!

Ever since then, the cold Mr. Feng began pampering his wife endlessly. She liked making movies, and so he casually invested several hundred million. He’d let her become an internationally acclaimed director and celebrity if that’s what she wanted!

“I, Feng Yi, want to pamper this woman. Does anybody have a problem with that?” Mr. Feng asked.

One day, a reporter asked him this question. “Mr. Feng, what do you do when you get home each day?”

“I spend time with my wife,” he answered.

“Are you showing your affection for her?” The audience thought out loud.

“Mr. Feng, what’s your hobby?” The reporter asked.

“Spending time with my wife,” he answered.

“That’s impossible… Absolutely impossible!” The audience exclaimed.

“Mr. Feng, what is most important to you?” The reporter asked.

“Spending time with my wife,” he answered.

“Do you think you’re the only person with a wife?” The audience asked.

The bigshot, who was rumored to be a cold and merciless man, actually loved his wife to pieces. His greatest hobby was to pamper his wife in every way imaginable!

Dear readers! Fresh green style, maybe you will like it more in .

All Things of this World, Turn to Ashes, Flowing Blade-like Flame!

*Slow Burn Historical Fantasy Novel*

Elise had about to change into the dress that was lying on the corner of her bed when she heard a knock lightly calling from her door. Curious, she turned the door knob only to have a tall man towering in front of her.

“Master Ian!” She called.

Ian smiled with the usual mischievous smirk that he always used. His crimson eyes trailing a little over her room and spotted the black dress over her bed and shifted his eyes over to the woman in front of him. He stepped forward and spoke. “Where did you acquire that dress?”

“Mr. Harland gave it to me.” Elise replied and strained her neck to see Ian’s brows knitted in its elegance.

“Do you know why a man would love to give a woman a dress?” He gave the riddle that she always had to think twice before replying. But this time, she found no answer and instead shook her head. “I don’t know.”

His grin grew bewitching as though something had stirred deep inside the scarlet eyes that he had. He slowly slid his hand over the collar of her dress, sending a cold shiver that startled her for a moment due to its freezing temperature. After unbuttoning the first two buttons on her collar, he tilted his head down, whispering to her ears. “Because they want to be the one to undress the cloth.”

He paused and kissed her neck, turning the pale skin to red before retracting his move to fix his eyes on her and leisurely replied. “Unfortunately, you can’t wear the dress over there with this.” He chuckled and passed a box over to her hand. “And the fortunate news is I prepared a dress for you.”

Elise was a cursed little girl who could see ghosts. Her family hated her and threw her from one adoptive family to another. However, misfortune didn't act alone. When she was brought up by her aunt, she was sold as a slave. When she had thought she would become nothing but a sacrifice to the sorcerer, she was saved by a man whose identity was far different than a normal mythical being.

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.”