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... old slaves will not take care of the mother, just plead guilty to the lady." ""

"Slaves are also following you!" Late Green was also hurt by the words of Xing Niang.

In the eyes of Yan Meiyu, there is a trace of viciousness. In any case, Yan Yan is not killed by herself. The waiters around me can testify, so let her die!

Yan Yan glanced at her thoughts and laughed. "Do you want to testify for yourself with your own prostitute? Are you yourself, who believes? Can you block y ...

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One day, as usual, Annabelle remembered the memories of her previous life.

It was revealed that she has been reincarnated as the second most popular character in a novel.

She also did all kinds of bad things to the male lead, and in the end, she is the person who will end up in prison!

‘In the end, I’ll get caught. It’s crazy!’

Anabelle begins to save Ian from danger by intercepting the conspiracies that were laid out one by one to prevent her impending doom.

But in the process, she caught the attention of some unexpected people…

“Oh my, that’s the spirit of chivalry our family pursues! I like that a lot!”

Ian’s mother’s eyes began to sparkle at her.

“Would you like to be my partner to the opera?”

After saving Ian, the prince keeps flirting…

“Ian, I’ve decided to quit being your rival and live a new life.”

“A new life?”

“To stop paying attention to a man like you who’s always up and down, marry a man with no character, and live a normal life.”

“Who’s the opponent? And why am I up and down?”

The male lead, Ian, keeps obsessing over me for some reason.

“Why do you not talk harshly to me these days…? Do it again.”

Everyone just seems to be a little weird!

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Demien Walter died on a rain-soaked road in 2025, his career a footnote in football history.A journeyman midfielder whose playing days ended in obscurity. A tactical obsessive whose notebooks gathered dust. A coach whose first opportunity came too late and ended too soon.Until he opened his eyes in 2003, inhabiting the body of Yves Laurent — head coach of AS Monaco.Now, armed with twenty years of football knowledge from a future that hasn't happened yet, Demien faces the ultimate tactical challenge: rewriting history from the touchline.He knows which players will become legends. He remembers which matches change careers. He's witnessed the tactical revolutions that transformed the game.Monaco is just the beginning. With each victory, each tactical masterclass, each deviation from the timeline he remembers, Demien alters football's destiny. From the Champions League's bright lights to World Cup glory, from Milan to Madrid to Manchester, his journey will reshape the beautiful game in ways no one could predict.No cheat codes. No supernatural abilities. No second chances.Just a man with future knowledge in a past world, attempting to build a legacy that even death couldn't erase.Football isn't just played on the pitch. It's won in the mind.And Demien Walter's mind has already lived through everything that's about to happen.

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The clock struck midnight when Ruelle heard the echo of footsteps. She tensed, the fine hairs on the back of her neck standing on end in the cool night air.“You shouldn't be here,” Ruelle whispered, her voice a breathless murmur. The silhouette finally came to stand under the moonlight, his dark red eyes watching her and his inky black hair ruffling.“Shouldn't I?” His voice was a dark caress, and she stood there captivated by the danger he exuded like perfume.“I haven’t seen you for the last two days,” his tone low. His hand reached out, fingers brushing against the silk of her nightgown, tracing the trembling outline of her collarbone. “Tell me, were you avoiding me, or perhaps... entertaining other offers?”Ruelle’s heart raced, her breaths shallow. She declared, “I don't belong to anyone.”“A bold claim,“ he murmured, his breath a tantalising chill against her skin as he leaned in. ”Yet here you are, pulse racing, your body tensed as if in anticipation of my touch.”His fingers gripped her chin, tilting her face towards his. The moonlight caught his eyes, revealing a glint of predatory intent. “Or must I remind you whose touch you truly crave?”