Devoted Love:The Billionaire's Precious Wife - Chapter 992 - 991

“Mr. Lei, rumor has it that you have a crush on me?”

With a cold icy face, the man ignored her question and continued reading his documents. He later decided to explain himself, “I swear to God I want nothing to do with you! The b*stard who spread the rumor is a dog!”

Snap! Suddenly, a pencil snapped in his hands while their eyes meet. The surrounding seemed to have frozen.

A few moments passed…

“Grrr woof!” Lei Xiao barked…

Caelith doesn't want too much in life, a clean home, a happy mother, and maybe a girlfriend. Raised in the Stormont manner, one of the highest ranking noble household in the kingdom, he grew up a bastard, mistreated and abused by the main lineage.At the tender age of sixteen nobles undergo a divine ceremony, receiving the opportunity to be blessed by the gods however he receives Nothing.Caelith struggles in this world but at the end of the day, He is Nobody, and he has Nothing.

After all, transmigrators of this era were no simple matter. Some became slimes, others turned into treasure chest monsters, and some were even reduced to mere skull--such things were all commonplace.It was nothing more than playing a villain, Shiayar didn't care. Wasn't it only natural to pay some price to become stronger?[Destined Great Villain System][“Let this world feel the agony!”][Newcomer Mission: Let the young and naive Grand Duke's daughter of the Azure Garden Dukedom, Miss Silvia, experience the betrayal of her loved ones and, amidst the pain and despair, complete her transformation and rebirth.]

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.”