MTL - Steel, Guns and the Industrial Party Across the World - ~ Five hundred and ninetieth, arriving at Jingyao

The elder master in Shen’s refused female secretary to maintain his image，thus the girl, who was beautiful and tough, lost her job. Later, she became the secretary of the young master, a playboy.

As a secretary, she not only had to help the playboy deal with the enemy but also help him deal with women. At the same time, she also had to face suspicion and attacks.

She fought her way to gain his trust and became his best assistant. However, things changed quietly.

She noticed that he was getting closer and closer and wanted to remind him not to cross the line, but he said, “If we don’t cross the line, how can we fall in love?”

- Description from Novelupdates

I never asked to be a part of werewolf society - or this world.Every day that passes, the mating bond between my protector and I threatens to occur, once and for all. To consume me entirely... and lock my path with this world on the brink, even when I still think of home.⧖ ⧖ ⧖One minute I was Citra Lomdi - a Princess to a kingdom of silk and secrets in a whole other place. There, I was a *magnificent* Fox shifter... maneuvering in the gilded cage that was my life. The next thing I knew...I was trapped in the body of a she-werewolf being rejected by her mate. A man that wanted the original owner, Helene Duskpaw, to accept the rejection of the mate bond so badly that he'd be easily convinced to kill me. He did *almost* seem to be trying!But my problems didn't end there.An 'Apocalypse System' has chosen me and a countdown timer reminds me whenever I look that fate can be measured. That there might be a point to my arrival here.A fierce & brilliant CEO of a supernatural society tech empire has their sights on me, too. The Alpha of the Rimecoat Pack that is quite annoyingly... as sexy as she is powerful.This Kyrie Voss also seems to believe she is my fated mate. Silly wolf superstitions. Whether that is true or not, isn't really important!I'm caught in between a cold-snap future and a hot-love pursuit... but I am Citra Lomdi and I will not be tamed. Not by the wolf within me I share this body with, the rogues that see me unmarked, or the Alpha that can set my blood on fire with her amazing restraint.The only problem is:Helene was pregnant before she died. So now, I am too.

Terminally ill before even reaching the age of 40, Song Nuanyi awaited a gloomy end. Her death just happened to clash with her son’s wedding. Yet, her children, who she painstakingly raised, her mother-in-law, who she served for so many years, and her husband, who she exchanged vows with to love and cherish forever, none of them noticed her. When they finally discovered her corpse, they simply said, “Just bury it.”

Everyone else went on to enjoy the wedding while her funeral was empty with no visitors. No, one person did come. She watched as the person she despised cried his heart out in front of her grave, revealing his love for her. The sorrow in his voice made tears well up in her eyes.

When she opened her eyes again, she had returned in time to the day before her wedding. The memories of her past life were still vivid in her mind. She hurried to the race track and found the man to blurt out, “I’m getting married tomorrow. Don’t you want to crash the wedding? Don’t you want to steal me away?”

The man was stunned before snickering. “Ms. Song, did you hit your head?” She added insistently, “I’m asking you one last time, are you brave enough to come?” The man did not answer but pulled out a credit card instead. “Ms. Song, if something is wrong with your head, go and have it checked.” She took the card and said, “I’ll take this as your betrothal gift.”

Having said that, she left. The man was dumbstruck, as he never expected her to take his card.

News of the self-righteous young lady of the Song family seeking out the capital’s number one playboy, Young Master Jin, spread quickly. Someone asked the man what happened, but he just blew a whistle and said, “Come along with me tomorrow. We have a big business to do.”

Song Nuanyi was anxious because she did not know when he started liking her in their past life. Would he even show up tomorrow?

Character Setting:

Song Nuanyi – self-righteous, aloof, noble young lady

Wu Chenjin – frivolous, dandy, young master

“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.