The Wealthy Psychic Lady: 99 Stolen Kisses - Chapter 1452 - I Only Want You

Being able to learn any skill immediately, and just by raising its proficiency, stand at the summit.

He is the World Chef Association Honorary Chairman, having the title of the World Chef God.

He is the greatest composer, pianist, and conductor after Beethoven and Mozart.

He also has the title of Underground Racing King, Fist King, Gambling King, Giant of the Stock Exchange Market, Arm of the Industries and King of the Skies.

He who has a miraculous learning ability and can stand at the apex of all things if he so wishes for it, the Omni Genius.

- Description from Novelupdates

After she had transmigrated into the body of an abandoned wife of a little marquis in Ancient China, Su Nuan Nuan, a modern-day food lover was delighted!

After the death of Fu Sinian, Yu Duo’s heart shattered into pieces. As his widow, she was the recipient of Fu Sinian’s massive amount of inheritance. She spent her days drowning herself with alcohol and was depressed all the time. She mourned her late husband with the companionship of her designer purses, designer jewelries, and money that could last her several lifetimes.

But only Fu Sinian knew the truth — that after his death, this woman hosted parties, lived in their mansion, drove expensive sport cars, traveled the world, and flirted with men. She was having the time of her life.

Fu Sinian wasn’t so angry that his soul dissipated; quite the contrary, he was so angry that he had come back to life!

Fu Sinian, who had come back to life, looked at the mourning Yu Duo and smiled devilishly.

“We are on! Watch me make you fall in love with me for real this time!”

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.”