The Wife of the Wealthy Family Is Fierce and Cute - Chapter 545 - He Is a Fox Spirit

The enchanting and beautiful big brother’s mouth lifted up into a demonic smile, spitting out cruel and sorrowful words. “Take it out, don’t leave an intact corpse!”

The cold second brother with the icy eyes continuously bled alongside the dying and suffering man.

Their eyes were purple and enchanting. They were this world’s devils, banished by the people.

When they gained strength, they retaliated by destroying the heavens and exterminating the earth.

She was a girl who mistakenly entered another world. She’s their salvation and is the only one that must be obtained at all costs.

Overbearingly possessive and absolutely unrestrained indulgent pampering as long as she stayed by their side.

A gentle as jade man, a faint and dedicated guard.

There were those who liked it silent.

What is the type of love?

- Description from Novelupdates

Others treated disease to save person, he treated disease to steal heart.

The Frost Goddess was deeply captivated by him. The gentle and kind beautiful teacher was completely enchanted by him. Even the cold and beautiful female assassin melted quietly because of him.

Competing in medical skills? He was the one who treated the Godly Doctor. Competing with backgrounds? Leaders rushed to him. What? You actually wanted to compete with him in a match for match? Looking at the gentle girl beside him, Tang Yu had a headache as he said, “Beautiful girl, how did you fall in love with me?”

- Description from Novelupdates

She, the tribe leader of the Miaojiang witch tribe, was reborn as a pitiful little girl that everyone could bully.

“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.