For Sale. Fallen Lady. Never Used. - Chapter 4: I Bought It Because It Was Cheap ()

“Do you love...me?” My eyes stung as I asked my so-called husband.“No,” he said quietly. “I don't love you. I don't need to love you. I just need to take care of you as I promised your father before he died.”My world crumbled down on me.His words hit me like a physical blow. I staggered back, the world spinning around me. “S-So that's it? This whole time, you've been with me out of some sense of duty?”Elijah looked away, unable to meet my gaze. “Your father asked me to look after you, to make sure you were happy and safe. That's what I've been trying to do.”“Fine then. Let's get a divorce!” I announced, loud and clear.___Ash always believed he could make his cold and vicious hubby fall in love with him.However, after three years of marriage, Ash received only betrayal from Elijah. Elijah never loved him and was only with Ash because he promised Ash's father that he would take care of him after his death. Ash, heartbroken and sorrowful, decided to quit his marriage.However, when he handed Elijah the divorce papers, he ripped them pieces and pushed Ash against the wall.“You have lost your mind if you think I will ever divorce you.” Elijah glared, but Ash was unaffected by his rage. However, once Ash had left him for good, Elijah realised how deeply he loved him, and not just because of his responsibility to Ash. So he resolved to go after Ash and bring him back.Amidst this, he came to know that Ash was the one who caused the accident four years ago in which Elijah lost both of his parents. He had investigated this case for years but now that he found out it was Ash, he was devastated.“Come back before I lose my mind and do something you will regret.”But can an emotionless and frigid man who has never learned to express affection or feelings approach the love of his life while he conflicted between taking his revenge and loving Ash?

Eshwar is the name of the author who transmigrated into his own novel after his death. Eshwar’s death was caused by his own magic which he had yet to control. Why? because I didn't think I would seriously die!!!!

Anyway.... my novel's protagonist is a selfish person. why you ask? because I wrote him and I wanted him to be like me. Muhahahaha, ha.

I reincarnated into my novel!

and that to as a villain who dies in the first half, will I stand still and die?

Of course not, I may have reincarnated as a villain but its not like I will live like he did.

I'll live my life as I want! and kill all the other villains.

Why? because I love the world I created, hahaha, ha.... (real reason: I love to fight.), who else will get the chance to look at the world they have created?

System I created is messed up for some reason and is doing everything on its own!!???

we'll see how it turns out with everything messed up, well(sigh...)

Oh, but because i have reincarnated as a villain, I got a new problem and that is,

I'm handsome (sparkles), I have to say, handsome people have their own problems.

Six months ago, tens of thousands of black phantom towers appeared all over the world, floating above the cities. Chemists, physicists, religious people… all of them could do nothing.

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.”