The Hidden Heiress Is a Secret Big Shot - Chapter 261 Qingwu Initiates Embracing Him for the First Time

Hello, welcome to join the scp foundation, as a D-level personnel, you will get the following benefits:

First, you will get a unique identification number printed on your brand new orange clothes (prison uniform), such as D-213.

That’s not enough, you will also get a brand new name, which you will use to communicate with each other in the future! Like Billy-D.

As a D-Class, you just have to satisfy your superiors, and they’re good guys with guns! They will help you to have friendly interactions with all kinds of safe creatures (help the ten-meter killer lizard clean the room)

In order to protect your health at all times, our infirmary is always open, even if your work here is as easy as taking a walk!

When you’re done with a D-Class for a month, you can go home (and be shot), no matter what prisoner you were-

Don’t wait any longer, come and join scp!

- Description from novelbuddy

Then there’s James Bellini. His nickname? The Angel of Death.The man everyone fears. The man they all whisper about in dark corners. They say he’s merciless, that he has killed more people than anyone in the Circle. No one dares cross him. But there’s a secret, one that no one knows.James Bellini has never killed anyone. Not once.The rumors started because of a misunderstanding, a mistake so deep that even he couldn’t fix it. Now, the entire underworld fears him. Even the other bosses treat him like an equal, like he’s one of them. But the truth? The truth is something only God himself could untangle. And James? He’s just a man caught in the middle of it all.

When she was ten, she said, “When I grow up, I want to be the President!”“It's impossible, but you can be the President's wife,” he replied.He gazed at her tenderly. His youthful eyes filled with deep affection, as if he wanted to give her the whole world.When she was thirty-three, due to a leak of military secrets, she was imprisoned for treason, and she saw his signature on the death sentence document.She finally understood that the so-called undying love was fake, and that power and status were the true goals.Love is just like a ghost—more talked about than seen....Reborn and back to the age of twenty, she opened her eyes and shouted, “I must be the President!”“But, Madam... Your husband is already the President,” someone said.She was stunned for only a second, then viciously replied, “Then I'll take him down first, and I'll become the President!”A man gently pushed open the half-closed door, chuckling softly, “Did I hear wrong? Sweetie, you want to... take me down?”

“Villains aren’t born, they’re made...blah...blah...”Cute quote. Stick it on your Tumblr header next to your anime pfp.You boys love your villain stories, don’t you?You want carnage. Chaos. Control. You want a dark throne, a cold smirk, and a woman kneeling at your feet begging for mercy.But you?You don’t want to lift a damn finger.You’ll cheer for the villain as he kills a god, but cry when he gets betrayed.You call it “plot armor” when the hero survives—but call it “art” when the villain does the impossible.You’re not fans of villains.You’re fetishists.You want the violence, but not the silence after it.You want domination, but not the burden of being hated.You want power, but only if the story forgives you for it.You don’t read these stories to understand evil.You read them because you think you're too good to win the normal way.“Villains don’t play fair.”Exactly. That’s why you love them.Because you wouldn’t last a day in a world where strength mattered and excuses didn’t.You don’t want a villain’s life.You want his results.You want to watch him burn the world for a woman.But you’d cry if a girl left you on read.So tell me—What exactly are you rooting for?At least unlike you, I support heroes—the ones with boobs.You know the type.Tits squeezed into latex, thighs tight in spandex, preaching virtue with cum-drunk eyes the moment they fall into my arms but always end up screaming my name instead.She flies above cities, saving lives like it’s her job.But at night? She crashes into my arms, trembling, moaning, clawing at my back like I’m the only real thing she’s ever touched.Her cape drops before her guard does.But I don't need to tear it off.She hands it over herself—bit by bit, kiss by kiss, lie by beautiful lie.You ever felt a heroine's breath hitch in your ear as she begs you to stop pretending you're the bad guy?Ever watched the symbol of hope ride you like you're the last man left after the world ended?That's not conquest.That’s devotion, baby.Unfiltered. Undeniable.And the irony?They fall the hardest.Because no villain ever tried to understand them. No hero ever dared to see past the shine and into the ache beneath.But I do.I whisper into the cracks of their perfection.I plant kisses where they hide their pain.I fuck them where they forget to wear their strength.And when they break—when their moans turn to prayers, when their strength melts into submission—That’s when I rise.I’m not just some brooding misfit out for revenge, or a misunderstood loner sitting around hoping for a shot at redemption.I’m not a villain.I’m the SUPERVILLAIN—the kind your heroines moan for when the cameras are off and the capes are crumpled on my floor.