Building A Business Empire From Scratch In Another World - Chapter 173 : Argument

When the pure lotus provoked her, she slapped her instantly, “It's just a pair of worn-out shoes. If you want them so desperately, take them and wear them.”President Jones intruded with a cheeky face, “Wife, even if they're worn-out shoes, I'd only let you wear them.”“Scram!”...【One man, one woman】Four years ago, she left in fury with the bun in her oven. Four years later—“Uncle, I noticed that your face has a gloomy look, it looks like you have excessive liver heat. It's obvious you lack a wife. Do you want to get to know my mommy?”The president who remained aloof from women looking at his mini-me, his eyes deepened. He immediately packed up the mother and child, and brought them back home, pampered them to the point of annoying everyone.Someone asked, “President Jones, isn't this a bit too unreasonable?”The president smirked coldly, “You expect me to be reasonable when pleasing my wife?”This is a story about an overbearing President Jones, who's fiercely dominant, and unreasonable in pampering his wife.

By the time I reached thirty, I hadn't managed to provide any of the happiness I wanted for my wife.I also still couldn't become the support my parents relied on.At this turning point in my fate, my income suddenly began to increase randomly.(A daily life tale in a wealthy family setting, featuring a single female lead and no harem.)

She is a descendant of Shennong with unparalleled medical skills and possesses a unique treasure. He is a handsome warlord who mysteriously goes blind and is sly and cunning. Crossing into another world, she becomes a six-year-old little waste. Through defying the heavens with summons and forbidden magic, she rises up in one fell swoop, showing a dazzling brilliance, looking down upon the powerful.When arrogant meets cunning and genius clashes with monstrosity, at that moment, the world trembles in awe!

“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.