Unwritten Fate [BL] - Chapter 50: Where Mornings Begin and Hearts Stir

Warning: This novel contains explicit adult content, violence, and a ruthless anti-hero MC. Read at your own risk.I was the strongest player in the world—until they betrayed me.When I woke up, I wasn’t a player anymore. I was just an NPC. A nameless mob, doomed to be farmed for EXP and discarded like trash.But then, I heard it:(You have been killed.)(Unique Skill Activated: Infinite Resurrection.)(Each death makes you stronger.)Every time a player slaughters me, I steal their stats, their skills, and their power. I evolve beyond the system’s control, beyond the limits of this world.They thought I was nothing.They thought they could use me, farm me, erase me.Now, I am the final boss—and I will make them suffer.On the battlefield, and in my bed.They will submit. One way or another.

Abigail’s only crime in life was being born as the mute daughter of the deceptive maid, who drugged her boss and got pregnant for him… or so she thought.All her life she had to serve her stepsister, Genevieve, attending to her every whim. While Genevieve used every opportunity she got to make Abigail’s life hell, even to the point of seducing Abigail’s boyfriend.On the night she resumes college, Abigail crosses path with Jamal Jonas, a heartbroken elusive billionaire, who leaves behind a stuffed animal that belonged to his first love. Abigail keeps the stuffed animal, which stirs her long lost memories.Five years later, Jamal shows up again, but this time as Genevieve's new live-in driver.Working for Genevieve quickly places him near the supposedly mute and intelligent Abigail who he doesn’t immediately recognize, and soon enough, Jamal finds himself pulled in by Abigail's charms.Jamal quickly realizes there is more to her than meets the eye, and there might be more connecting Abigail to his first love than Genevieve.

It was understood that this was a capitalist country, where the possession of the greatest amount of capital determined to whom the nation effectively belonged.The smile that had been resting on William Sheffield’s face was abruptly erased as his expression turned cold. In a tone laced with determination, it was demanded by him that the police be contacted immediately so that they could crush those who stood in their way. The reasoning behind his words seemed clear: if such actions had been taken before by someone like Rockefeller, then why should it not also be possible for Sheffield?A sense of irony hung in the air as the sentiment was expressed—this was America, where each day seemed to unfold as though it were part of an ongoing shootout, with battles fought not just with guns but with power, influence, and wealth.