I confess, I am the Mr. Richest - Chapter 128 - Couldn’t Remember, Must Be Some Insignificant Character (Four Updates, Please Subscribe)

She was originally a puppet of her family. Pursued by the police for being a business spy and hitman, she was betrayed and fell into the sea.

When she opened her eyes again, she had turned into an ordinary high school student. Because of a disgraceful birth, she had been crowded out by her relatives. Because of inferiority complex and antisocial behavior, she was bullied by her classmates.

But now she is no longer someone who acts timid. Cheat her, and she will break your bones.

She possesses formidable Jade pupils capable of seeing through walls. Other people have difficulty breaking through jade, their sight for antiques is based on gambles, but she only needs a look.

An undertaking begins as she creates legends in the world of business.

Once upon a time, they laughed at her poor and destitute state. Now looking at her net worth of 10 billion, it can’t be explained.

To the relatives that come to hug her thighs, she must apologize: “We broke off relations long ago, so get lost!”

Heaven and Earth serve as the guesthouse for all living things, with Time being the sojourner since time immemorial.

As with the difference between dreaming and awakening, the distinction between life and death is diverse and confused, and changing.

What awaits us beyond time, once we have transcended life and death, heaven and earth?

Omnipotent A-Grade Cool Female Lead VS Secret Passionate and Domineering Male Lead That Loves Assuming and is Easily Jealous

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.”