The Immortal Wife Is Like A Cloud - Chapter 867: Not Worthy of Being a Master

Description For a million worth of contract, she became a surrogate mother. He was the chief executive of the Empire and she was of lowly birth. With her adoptive father’s business falling into crisis, she agrees to his contract. She gave birth to twins: the older brother is healthy, while the younger brother didn’t breathe out. Fulfilling the contract with a huge monetary sum as the reward, she disappeared from his eyes. Six years later – he was still the cold high-profile president, but when she is accidentally imprisoned in the cage of his golden birds he pressured her harder and harder: “Woman, do not think you can escape my hands!” The old-fashioned man: “Mu Yazhe, you’d better leave her alone, this is the child’s mother!” The man becomes frightened, questioning the reason this child’s features bears such resemblance to… Associated Names 一胎二宝：亿万首席爱妻入骨

“I shouldn't have used illegal downloads in the first place.”

Ian woke up in the middle of a strange swamp as his own terrible character.

In a dark era on the verge of destruction, the hopeless character struggles to safely return to reality.

Kurogami Ichiro was desperate because he couldn’t achieve what he wanted when he once started his martial arts path at age of 8!

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.”