Crowned Consort in Golden Age - Chapter 343 - 342. Mother-Son Bond Broken

I complained that the play script in this other world was terrible. But then they told me, ‘If you don’t like it, write it yourself.'” I got so mad that I plagiarized the lives of famous people and made them into scripts. ⌠Your Highness, I still have twelve battleships.⌡ ⌠The die is cast.⌡ ……But it ended up being way more popular than I expected. Somebody, help me!!!

So, apparently I'm Albedo now...And to make things worse, I'm in the Marvel universe, which one exactly, I've got no fucking clue.Fuck man! Why do I have to be in the body of a inverted person! Do you know how attention drawing white hair and red eyes look like in the real world?! It's been like what, the 4th person who asked me if they were natural?!...I gotta dye this shit black, like my original hair was...

Han Yue Ling, a peerless beauty with a great personality, but she carries a lot of secrets.She loved a man for 10 years, but on the day of her wedding, fate decided to play a cruel joke on her and take the man away.Three years later, she decides to move away.She stumbles upon Lu Tian, the ruthless and cold CEO of Lu Corps. Thinking it was just an accident, she stumbles upon him again and again. Before she knew it, the man is already living with her!Is this an unexpected second chance at love? Will she be able to love again?

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.”