Heir to The Forgotten Throne - Chapter 7: Inferno of Despair

Xiao Rou, a girl growing up in a poor countryside family, finds that she’s actually the daughter of a wealthy couple. Her mother had mistaken another girl for her back at the hospital. Thinking she would change from an ugly duckling to a noble swan and live happily ever after with her real family, reality strikes her in the face.

[Mature Content]Arabella Donovan sacrificed her youth solely for her husband. However, he divorced her because she could not bear children for him, causing her great pain.Bella decided to disappear from his life.Five years later, she returned to the country with her adorable son.Her peaceful life started to get disturbed when her ex-husband chased her back the moment he found out she was giving birth to his son.But now, she wasn't the same Bella she used to be. She is an entirely different person.*****“Boss, she's back!”“Who?” Tristan Sinclair asked while scribbling his signature across stacks of papers.“Your wife—” The assistant hesitated, watching Tristan closely. When he saw Tristan's furrowed brows, he corrected himself. “Sorry, I mean your ex-wife, Ms. Donovan. She's returned with a boy...”Tristan sighed, eyeing the contract before him. After five years of searching, only to find out she's moved on, it feels hurt. But he couldn't avoid it. She deserves happiness with someone else. He'll take this loss. “She deserves a new husband...” Tristan muttered, dismissing his assistant.“Boss, what I meant was the cute little boy. I think he's around four years old—”Tristan snapped. His head up, fixing his sharp gaze on his assistant.“I need you to arrange a DNA test for the kid. And get me her address!”A glimmer appeared in his eyes as a smile slowly spread across his face.

After the battle, the beautiful senior sister shyly raised her face in front of you and slowly closed her eyes. At this time, you…

Eh? The choice this time was too simple. Of course, it was four.

I am Racist.…I mean, my name is Racis T.I was a stand-up comedian. The flop kind. The type who only got laughs when someone else was roasting him.One night, I was doing a gig at a shady, run-down bar—the kind where tattooed bikers drink motor oil for breakfast. I went in with my usual dark humor, but my jokes were getting the same reaction as my dating profile: complete silence.That didn’t sit right with my inner artist, who was already starving to death. So I did what any committed comedian would—I went darker.Turns out, one of my jokes (or all of them?) triggered a guy so hard that he pulled a trigger. Headshot. Instant death.But hey, look at this: A guy got triggered, so he pulled the trigger. That’s wordplay. But who cares? I’m dead anyway.All I wanted was a successful show, people laughing, and maybe a few girls swooning over my wit. I never cared about money. The millions I’d have made would have gone to charity—specifically, 0.001% of it. See? I’m generous like that.Anyway, death is death. My story should’ve ended there.But… if there is an afterlife, I had a simple wish: become a successful comedian, find a loving wife, and have just enough money to afford three meals a day… and maybe a humble little private yacht. Or a jet. But that’s it. Because, like I said, I don’t care about money.Unfortunately, wishes don’t work that way.Because, well—there was an afterlife.And it was absolutely not what I wished for.