1338 Book(s) Related to His Sinful Angel

The craziest thing I've ever done? Agreeing to Mason's idea—sex in the middle of nowhere.
But then his first love called, and he left me stranded out there. Alone. In the dead of night.

Emery’s undying love for her late mother drove her to do things only a desperate person could understand. To save her mother’s company, she agreed to marry a man twice her age. There’s no way she could escape the miserable truth, but on the day of the wedding, she married the wrong groom who turned out to be the wealthiest man in the country.
It’s like the Heavens gave her another chance and she won’t let the chance slip away. However, can she withstand the tension whenever her fake husband is near her? What if she falls for him? Will he catch her? Or she’d fall into a more complicated situation?


Every man's dream was to watch their bride walk down the aisle towards them, however, the beautiful dream turned into a nightmare when Terrence found a different woman under the veil. His bride ran away and he was forced to marry a stranger. To make everything more complicated, he just got appointed as the company President and he needs to maintain a good reputation.
Keeping his fake bride by his side is the only choice left to him. However, how can he deal with his self-control when the woman he mistakenly married is a total goddess of temptation?

I thought I was a powerless human in a school full of witches, heirs, and monsters.
Until a black magician tried to kill me.
Until my blood awakened.
Until the boy with phoenix fire knelt bleeding in my arms—and I brought him back from death.
Now everyone wants my secret.
And someone wants me dead.

It's supposed to be our last class trip before graduation. The bus loses control on a mountain road and goes over the edge.

I think we're all going to die.

When I open my eyes again, I'm sitting in a classroom that looks like it's been rotting for decades.

A system alert blares through my skull:

【Welcome to Ravenwood High. Unnameable creatures roam the campus. Survive 7 days. Uncover the truth behind the campus Boss's death. Every player who dies adds $800,000 to the prize pool. Make it out, and the money is yours.】

Everyone loses it. Screaming, crying, total chaos. The first thing Brett does is shove me toward the door to check the hallway. Because of course he does. I'm the class punching bag. The girl nobody would miss.

Everyone assumes I'll be the first to die.

What nobody sees is the smile pulling at the corner of my mouth as I stand at that door, staring at whatever is writhing in the shadows of the hallway.

Five years into our relationship, a floating panel appeared just above Julian’s head, visible only to me: the [Life Priority Meter].
For the longest time, my name securely held the number one spot. That is, until recently, when it plummeted to second place.
The person who knocked me down to claim first? Harper—my best friend of over a decade.
Staring at the stack of wedding invitations on the table, bearing both our names, I knew it was time to wake up from this five-year long dream.

I'm sixty years old. My husband Marcus just whipped me with his belt — for burning an egg. My face is bruised, my hair is gray, and I gave up a full ride to Stanford for this man over forty years ago.
Then the phone rings.
The voice on the other end is mine — my eighteen-year-old self, calling on her birthday, gushing about how Marcus is out buying her a cake, how they're running away to Nashville together tomorrow.
She asks if I'm happy.
I tell her the truth: her boyfriend is in a cheap motel right now, in bed with her best friend. And those pretty promises about Nashville? He's planning to use her up and throw her away.
She doesn't believe me. Of course she doesn't.
But I know the motel. I know the room number. And I know what's behind that door.
If she walks away from him tonight, everything changes — for both of us.

Everyone envied me—a penniless orphan who married into a wealthy family. My husband, Gabriel Sterling, is handsome, charming, and filthy rich.
But what they don’t know is, our marriage is nothing but a show. We share a bed, but not dreams or words. To the world, he’s the perfect husband, but at night, he calls out another woman’s name in his sleep.
Even after I gave him twins, I couldn’t thaw his icy heart.
So I filed for divorce, taking the mighty CEO to court.
I left everything behind—kids, money, the mansion—just to cut him off for good. For the first time, I saw fear in the eyes of a man who always had everything under control.
After I walked away, he was left with crying babies and a cold, empty bed. Without me, his luxury villa was nothing but soulless concrete.
By the time he realized he’d fallen for his ex-wife, I’d already become the heiress he could never reach.
When we met again, I looked at him and said calmly, “Mr. Sterling, if you want to chase me, get in line. You should go home and take care of the kids.”
He held a child in each arm, smiling faintly. “They’re too little to be without their mom. I’m giving them back to you.”
As the servants carried the twins’ luggage inside, he popped out of a giant box and grinned shamelessly, “I’m their life-sized toy. Or you can think of me as a smart robot—with free bed-warming service included.”

Intro: At Cavendish Manor, wishes are real. So is the price. The moment one hundred million dollars hit his account, Leo started grinning, drooling, his skin turning gray. His father looked at him without a single tear, straightened his tie, and said: I want my company to be number one in the world. Twelve heirs, one after another, spoke their wishes. Money. Power. Beauty. With each wish, the shadows on the ceiling grew darker. I'm just an ordinary exorcist. None of that interests me. I only want to protect my client and push back against that invisible thread of fate.

Intro: Reborn three years into the past, I watched coldly as my scheming ex-girlfriend and my so-called sworn brother got together—the same two who had conspired to frame me in my past life. They had no idea that in all of Silvermist City, I was the only one who could devour dragonbone shards—if that certain lady wanted to survive, she would have to kneel and beg me to fall in love with her again. And my dear brother, who'd sweet-talked his way into the royal box? He probably hadn't calculated how many seconds that golden voice of his could burn for.

In this era of universal awakening, I've drawn the most tragic "BOSS" route.

For the sake of my fiancée Celine's guild, I signed an exclusive binding agreement. For four whole years, I was treated like an ATM for loot drops, and was mercilessly killed 2173 times.

When Celine led 137 elite members of her guild, armed with a permanent kill item, to stab me in the heart, preparing to dig out my core to pave the way for her new love, she thought she was about to usher in the supreme glory of being the first to kill me on the entire server.

But what she didn't know was that the hidden max-level reward for the BOSS route was "system administrator privileges".

The sword tip stopped at my chest, freezing time across the entire server. I looked at the greedy traitor before me, smiled, and pressed the "Level Reset" button.
"Sorry, this game is now in my hands."

Strip away god-tier equipment and wipe out max-level accounts. This time, I will bring down the reigning number one in the entire server, making him start from level 1 in the newbie village and personally pay the price for those two thousand bloody battles!

To save my sister, I humbly married into her family, only to be treated like a parasite by my ex-wife, who was worth billions, and suffered endless humiliation.

When she stopped giving my sister her life-saving medication for her male best friend, I was completely desperate. On a snowy night, I plunged off a cliff with my car, and my body was never recovered.

It wasn't until the police presented her with her charred belongings and the truth about how I risked my life to save her that the once aloof woman went completely insane.

Three years later, I rose from the ashes as a multi-billionaire, while she knelt at my feet like a dog, begging and pleading, "Please... just look at me one more time..."

In my last life, I was killed by the wife I loved most. Reborn once again—will I fail this time too? When magic that sweeps across the world descends, in this life, love finally breaks through the curse.

I spent ten years turning a thug into a top boxer, but he and my wife kicked me out of the game, mocking me for "not understanding business and being outdated."

I didn't argue, and turned around to pick up a homeless man who had fought in underground boxing matches on the roadside.

A year later, the homeless man's apprentice knocked out the defending champion with one punch and won the gold belt; while that ingrate who betrayed me was beaten into a cripple in the underground boxing ring.

The geniuses you all think they are are nothing more than half-finished products under my tutelage!

Seven days before the doomsday outbreak, the wild weeds by the road spoke to me: The zombies are coming.
I rushed home, intending to take my fiancée and flee for our lives.
But outside the door, I overheard her plotting with her boss on the sofa, scheming to drain all my wealth.
"He’s just an orphan with no family or connections. No one would care even if he dies."
I didn’t push the door open.
Instead, I quietly cashed out all my assets overnight and built an impenetrable island fortress without delay.
Seven days later, the zombie hordes surrounded the city.
She and her entire family were chased by the monsters, covered in blood and mangled.
They knelt frantically kowtowing and begging for help right outside my explosion-proof gate.
I coldly locked the door tight.
"You were right," I said. "No one really cares if you die. Just go in peace."

Intro: I'm an S-Class superhuman, but I was locked in a basement for five full years, subjected to inhuman abuse and torment. All they wanted was to drain my blood and energy dry. I once believed that if I could just endure it all, I would see my family again. Until my wife Valen's voice came through the intercom and revealed that it was all a lie. I will turn my fury into strength and tear it all apart with my own hands.

At minus sixty degrees Celsius, my girlfriend of three years and my childhood friend teamed up to push me out of the bomb shelter and beat me to death in the snowstorm.
When I opened my eyes again, I was back fifteen days before the extreme cold arrived, and my phone had a new "Doomsday Farm" app.

Rapidly growing mutant crops and an infinitely large, temperature-controlled warehouse became my biggest trump card for rebirth.

Faced with two people who came with luggage under the pretense of "accompanying me" but actually plotted to seize the property rights of my underground research institute, I calmly turned them away, sold all my properties in the city, and headed straight for the suburbs with a huge sum of money.

Within fifteen days, I welded the abandoned research institute into a heavily insulated steel fortress.

When the epic cold wave arrived ahead of schedule, those who had betrayed me were trapped in an old apartment without water or gas, tearing each other apart over a tattered quilt.

I'm sitting in a 20-degree underground farm, eating hot stewed beef, drinking hand-drip coffee, and quietly watching them on the monitor slowly turn into ice sculptures.

In this life, having let go of my desire to help others, I simply want to live comfortably in this Ice Age.

Fourteen years. I guarded every line on the East Coast for Victoria's crime family. Six weeks. A young newcomer took away every ounce of my authority. Victoria said, "There's no need to be so sensitive." I understood her choice. I took off my ring in the council chamber, and walked away.

In order to prolong the life of my supposedly sick "white moonlight" (my love interest), my wife forced me onto the operating table and removed my kidney while I was still alive.

To force me to leave with nothing, she even cut off my mother's medication, coldly declaring, "Your mother is just a liability that deserves to be optimized."

She thought I would wag my tail and beg for mercy like a stray dog.

Little did she know, suffering from single kidney failure, I transformed myself into the deadliest viral code before my death, dragging her business empire and that male mistress into an inescapable hell.

On the day the truth came to light, the once-powerful tech queen went completely mad. She squandered her fortune, kneeling in the frost of the morgue, kowtowing and weeping blood, begging me to look at her one last time. But she couldn't find a single hair of mine.

Because I had already made a will, ordering my remains to be cremated as high-risk medical waste.

She treated me like dirt when she was alive, and after she died, I found her disgusting and didn't even bother to leave her a handful of ashes.

To honor a vow to "protect her for a lifetime," I used my flesh and blood to shield her from a fatal impact in a deadly car crash. My heart was severely shattered, leaving me barely clinging to life with a pacemaker.

Concealing my identity for five years, I single-handedly dragged her from bankruptcy and crowned her the new royalty of Wall Street.

Yet, on the eve of her IPO, just to curry favor with a powerful tycoon, she knocked away my life-saving medicine, forced me to kneel and shine shoes in public, and finally kicked my gravely ill body out into a sub-zero Brooklyn blizzard.

My dying pleas for help only earned her impatient mockery: "Save your playing dead tricks for the ghosts."

When my pacemaker completely shattered in the howling snow, that submissive Arthur died.

Armed gunships descended, and a military-grade tactical heart violently rebooted my pulse! When I opened my eyes again, I was the Supreme Commander who cast terror over the global underground.

When I crushed her capital empire with a single hand and the truth was finally revealed, she knelt in the muddy rain, frantically slapping her own face, sobbing and screaming to give her life back to me.

I flicked the ash from my cigar, my gaze as cold as looking at trash: "My wife died in the blizzard. You are just a stranger who crawled up by stepping on half my life."

Here is the English translation, tailored to match the gritty, dramatic, and satisfying tone typical of apocalyptic revenge web novels:

In my previous life, I was drained to the bone by the so-called "Doomsday Evolution System," forced to watch as my best friend and fiancée stepped over my corpse to scavenge my supplies.

When I opened my eyes again, I had regressed to exactly three days before the apocalypse. When that faint blue, glowing "cheat" materialized once more, I decisively took a step back, watching my enemies fanatically claim it for themselves. They thought they had grasped the key to ruling the doomsday. Little did they know, they had just swallowed a parasite that would devour its host.

Then, the extreme cold descended, and toxic spores blotted out the sky.

Using my knowledge of the future, I struck a deal with a female black-market boss, packing an underground bunker with tons of supplies and heavy firepower. Sipping hot coffee in front of the control room monitors, I sat back and enjoyed the show. I watched my enemies be systematically stripped of their sanity, sacrifice their companions, and ultimately degenerate into mindless, mutated lumps of flesh driven only by base instincts.

In this man-eating apocalypse, I refuse to touch any bizarre parasitic "gifts." Thick alloy doors and an endless supply of ammunition—that is the only true law of survival in the wasteland.

On the eve of the apocalypse, I awakened a survival system: send me $5,000, and the sender can unlock a safehouse and awaken a life-saving ability.
The first person I told was Chloe, my girlfriend of three years. In return, she humiliated me in public and cheated on me without a shred of remorse.
That was the moment I finally gave up. The "nice guy" she had drained dry was dead for good.
One month later, the zombie horde arrived right on schedule. For old times' sake, I saved her one last time. And she repaid me by shoving me straight into the jaws of the mutated dead so she could save herself.
What she didn't know... was that I wasn't the only one who had awakened powers.

My wife was forced to don a wedding dress to marry my sworn enemy, while my three-year-old daughter was locked in an iron cage suspended above the raging sea.

And I, the dignified Commander-in-Chief of the Blackwater Fleet, was forced to wear a dog collar, kneeling on broken glass and licking up red wine like a crippled stray dog.
All because embedded in their necks were biological bombs, the detonator held in the hands of my enemy.

The elites of the entire island ruthlessly mocked my cowardice, trampling me underfoot in ultimate humiliation.

That was until the climax of the maritime wedding, when my enemy smugly pressed the detonator, only for the collars to flash a safe green light—the full-frequency signal decryption was complete.
Amidst the dead silence of the crowd, I snapped the forged steel chains binding me and slowly stood tall.

The next second, ten nuclear-powered submarines violently breached the ocean surface, and tens of thousands of heavily armored death squads descended from the sky.

Looking at my enemy, now terrified to the point of incontinence and shattering his own knees to frantically kowtow and beg for mercy, I picked up that very dog chain and slipped it around his neck.

To atone for my fallen brothers, I concealed my identity and willingly played the role of a worthless loser in the eyes of my influencer wife.

I swallowed her endless abuse and the humiliation from her wealthy new suitor. I thought that by dragging my dignity through the mud, I could finally buy peace for my soul.

Until that day. Desperate for livestream traffic, she and her crew violently smashed down my door. She shattered the pocket watch left behind by my comrade's mother. She threw the casualty list—stained with the blood of my Special Forces unit—into the filthy water, trampling it underfoot while hundreds of thousands of netizens mocked me online.

They had no idea that every single name on that ledger was once a sharp blade that guarded this nation.

Staring at the soiled hero's insignia, I finally realized that submission would never bring redemption. I wiped the mud from the relics and dialed a long-dormant encrypted terminal:

"Operation 'Reckoning'—initiate full activation."

Since a shield can no longer protect my faith, it is time to draw the sword of judgment.

When the apocalypse arrived, my girlfriend, driven by vanity, exposed my unlimited resource space and incited starving people to kill me and feed me to the zombies, while she herself stepped on my flesh and blood to become the "savior goddess".
But she didn't know that I mutated amidst the pile of corpses and awakened into the only zombie tyrant.
I corrupted the space, cut off food supplies, led a horde of tens of thousands of zombies to besiege the city, and threw a bounty at the starving mob: "Use her flesh and blood to exchange for a bite to eat."
Watching the once-lofty Mother Teresa torn to pieces, kneeling at my feet weeping and begging for mercy, I laughed. Moral blackmail? Sorry, I'm the Zombie King now.

While I was being kidnapped, tortured, and murdered in the horse stable of our own family farm, my all-powerful chaebol fiancée was helping my green tea younger brother try on wedding attire.
Before dying, with my broken, blood-stained finger, I dialed the last desperate call for help.
On the other end of the phone, her tone was filled with scorn and impatience: "Vincent, can't you even tolerate a little grievance from your younger brother? Let's just cancel the engagement, and I'll replace you with him as the groom."
Later, I truly died.
My soul drifted in mid-air, watching coldly as the whole family thought I was faking death to make a scene. My older sister even kicked over my disfigured body on the haystack in disgust: "Get up right now, stop pretending to be pitiful here!"
Until the flashlight's beam completely illuminated my ghastly, rigid face, and the shattered phone screen, still stuck on the moment she hung up, clutched tightly in my dead hand...
That forever aloof, arrogant female CEO finally went weak in the knees, kneeling in the foul-smelling, blood-soaked filth, and utterly lost her mind.

My wife had an affair.
Not only that, she casually indulged her lover over the phone, allowing him to crush the bones of my right hand, known as the "Hand of God," right in front of our six-year-old child, with a stomp of his shoe. I could never hold a tool again.
Natalie thought I was just a poor, pathetic loser earning a dead-end salary, so she brazenly let her gigolo trample all over me.
But what she had no idea of was that her proud identity as a transnational female CEO was merely a toy casually tossed to her by the top old-money family I belong to in New York.
When dozens of bulletproof armored vehicles smashed through the gates and my father, the patriarch, descended like the god of death, her arrogant self finally crumbled like a stray dog.
She screamed and jumped into the icy, bone-chilling lake to retrieve the diamond ring I had discarded, wailing and begging to chop off her own hand to compensate me.
But I just held the stunning British Duchess in my arms, watching coldly as she fell into an abyss of eternal damnation.
This love, tainted with shit, whoever wants it can have it!

In the seventh year of being a stay-at-home husband, I discovered the son I cherished as the most precious treasure in my life was actually the illegitimate child of my wife and her male best friend.
To conceal the scandal of her infidelity, my CEO wife, worth millions, joined forces with her male best friend in a grand deception. They single-handedly destroyed my artistic career, transforming me into a free nanny raising their illegitimate child.
Upon learning the truth, I didn't lose my composure.
I calmly presented the divorce papers and the paternity test report proving no biological relation, then turned and walked away without looking back.
Later, that ever-lofty wife, the one who had once publicly doused me with ice water for her male best friend, was utterly consumed by regret and fury.
She kicked the scoundrel to the curb. In front of a crowd, she pressed a switchblade to her own throat, casting aside all dignity to kneel on the ground, crying and begging me to look at her just once more.
I didn't even blink. My voice was as cold as ice. "If you want to die, do it outside. Don't ruin my mood for coffee."

With one week left until the wedding, Henry Jones asked me to reschedule the date—for one simple reason:
“On our wedding day, I’m taking Ann to the hospital for her prenatal checkup.”
Ann is the widow of his brother Ethan. She’s also my half-sister. In that private room, they laughed at me for being “almost thirty and desperate to get married.”
Ann put on an innocent face. “If Rory is really in such a rush… I can reschedule my appointment.”
I wanted to break up, and Henry frowned as he lectured me:
“As her future sister-in-law, why do you have to fight her over this one day?”
I asked him, “Do you even remember what Friday is?”
He coaxed me softly: “One day earlier or later—what’s the difference?” I nodded and said “Fine,” thinking I could still swallow it.
Until I pressed my fingerprint to enter his office and overheard Ann questioning him about inheritance, and Henry answered under his breath, “It won’t come to that—I won’t let Rory get pregnant with my child.”
That was the moment I u

Luna Chen wanted a quiet life. Instead, she got a 1940s architect in a tailored suit who appeared in her bedroom at 3 a.m. and calmly announced:

“You’re my wife now.”

Rhen Blackwood has been trapped in her grandmother’s apartment for eighty years, bound by a supernatural contract.

The final condition? Fall in love for real… or the Spirit Broker drags his soul into eternal nothingness.

Luna doesn’t believe in ghosts. She definitely doesn’t believe in love. But Ren is infuriatingly perceptive, dryly funny, and the only person who sees straight through her walls.

As the deadline closes in, the lines between annoyance and aching want begin to blur. Lights flicker. Secrets surface.

And every time Ren’s form starts to fade, Luna realizes she might lose the one man who finally makes her feel alive.

She was supposed to fix his unfinished business.
She never expected him to become hers.

A slow-burn paranormal romance full of dark humor, haunted hearts, and one very stubborn ghost who refuses to stay dead.

1

I found my husband's vasectomy certificate while sorting medical bills. The procedure was done a year ago. But I was six months pregnant now.

I stared at the date on the paper and my hand just... stopped. I kept checking it again and again, but it was still the same. I was freaking out. I looked down at my bump showing through this baggy sweater, and my hands started shaking.

I got in my car and drove straight to my husband's private club. I needed answers about this, now.

I once loved Ryan deeply and helped him become the Alpha, only to be rewarded with chains in a dungeon and the mocking laughter of him and his mistress.

Fate gave me a second chance—I woke up reborn on the morning of the mate selection ceremony. There he was, still ordering me around in front of everyone, expecting me to play the obedient servant.

Everyone tried to convince me that Ryan, the man who killed me, is the "right choice."

Yet I chose Connor—the man feared by the entire clan, the one who will bring ruin to the clan for the sake of his one true love.

This time, I refuse to be the stepping stone on Ryan's climb to power.

I'm going to make everyone see who truly holds the reins.

For three years of marriage, Nicholas Harrison only saw me twice a month—each time, just to fulfill his marital duties.
He was indifferent, knew nothing about me, and when our three-year agreement was up, he couldn’t wait to chase after his true love.
I turned away with a smile. “Nicholas, let’s get a divorce. I’ll set you free.”
From that moment on, I stopped expecting anything from him and threw myself into my career.
Soon, I was shining brighter than ever, standing at the top of my field—with no place left for him by my side.
But as my talent caught the world’s eye, Nicholas found himself drawn to me, again and again, unable to resist.
Only when I walked away for good did he finally learn the truth about our past.
He was full of regret, but I had already become a national treasure—someone far beyond his reach.
I told him, “I’m done being your billionaire wife……”

I lived as the Smiths’ daughter for seventeen years, only to find out one day that I was never really one of them—a fake heiress from the start. I didn’t hesitate. I cut all ties with the Smith family and returned to the struggling Johnsons. I didn’t even bother to pack—just took my phone and left.
People said I was in for a rough time. After all, I’d never gotten along with the Smith brothers, and now that I’d lost everything, they thought things could only get worse.
But what they didn’t know was this: the world-famous designer is my friend, the legendary doctor is my mentor, and the CEO of a major company is my childhood friend.
As for me, I’m a hit composer, a mysterious sculptor, and a young entrepreneur.
My classmates say I’m neither Ms. Smith nor Ms. Johnson—I belong to myself.
But my childhood friend just laughs and says, “She belongs to me, too.”

After Grace Foster married into the Hayes family, everyone eagerly awaited the day she would give birth to an heir for the ailing young master. Grace thought marrying Alexander Hayes meant she was doomed to a lonely life, especially since her husband was in a coma. But to her surprise, he suddenly woke up. Overnight, with nothing more than a divorce agreement, she was cast aside by the wealthy family.
Seven years later, Grace returns with two sons by her side—and a line of men eager to become their stepdad. The thing Alexander regrets most is forcing Grace to sign those divorce papers. Now, the once-proud man will do anything to win her back—showering her with love, even risking everything for her.
But winning her heart again isn’t so easy, especially when his two mischievous sons seem determined to stand in his way. Alexander never expected that the biggest obstacle on his journey to win back his wife would be these two little troublemakers!

The day I disappeared, everyone thought I went on a "recovery trip overseas." Only she knew that I was in her basement—being drugged, tied up, and forced to work, living as a tool, relying on the threat that "someone outside wants to kill you."

I helped her refine her perfume formula to the point where it could be launched on the stock exchange, and she immediately wanted to "fire" me: she poured cement into my house during a torrential downpour, hoping I would die in a hallucination.

But I didn't die, and I even managed to recover my memories piece by piece.

The moment the stock exchange rang, I cut off the live stream signal, exposing the recordings, evidence, and transaction records on the spot. She went from a genius entrepreneur to a public enemy, and her default on buybacks ballooned to billions.

Only then did she come after me: kneeling, begging for forgiveness, risking her life to block cars, and finally collapsing in a hospital bed waiting for my forgiveness.

Three years ago, I signed the Silver Vow for her, sealing away my supreme Alpha bloodline. I swallowed my pride in a greasy auto shop, living as a pathetic loser anyone could step on.
Three years later, arm-in-arm with a New York billionaire, she threw the divorce papers in my face and called me the only stain on her perfect life.
In a dark, rain-swept alley, three elite Lycans carried out their orders to shatter my limbs and dump me into the Hudson River.
As I lay dying, the Silver Vow finally shattered. The moment my eyes snapped open, every supernatural creature in Manhattan dropped to their knees—because the First Alpha, the king who united the European underworld a thousand years ago, had returned.

I was reborn twelve hours before the anomaly occurred.

In my previous life, I died tragically in a sea of fire, unable to even protect my three-year-old daughter.

In this life, I returned from hell with the "Shadow" that rules the abyss, only to discover that the only antidote to ending the wasteland lies in my daughter's palm.

Her ex-wife, who was possessed by a monster, the greedy military, and even "myself" who went mad across parallel universes all tried to tear her apart and suck her blood.

You want to harm my daughter? Fine. Then let's see if you can withstand this all-consuming polar night!

For seven years, to support my wife’s dream of building a perfume empire, I hid my identity as the heir to a trillion-dollar conglomerate and stayed in the basement, crafting the core base notes for her in silence.

But on the day she finally rose to fame, she hung my mother’s heirloom around her young lover’s neck and looked at me with naked disgust as she forced me out with nothing.
“A useless piece of trash that reeks of poverty like you would only drag down the class of my brand.”

I didn’t beg.
I signed the papers without hesitation, then cut off the only supply of raw essence that had been suppressing the toxicity in her perfumes.

In just one week, her new product triggered a catastrophic disfigurement scandal, and her billion-dollar empire came crashing down.

When she was ruined, covered in mud, and kneeling outside the gates of my estate, crying tears of blood and begging for mercy,
I simply held my perfectly matched new wife in my arms and watched coldly as security dragged her away like garbage.

“Clean it up. Don’t let her stain my ground.”

Seven days before the apocalypse, my vampire parents forced me to hand over three million to buy a house for my baby brother in full.

As an actuary, I knew that order would collapse in seven days and the money would become worthless. So I not only readily agreed, but also used their family's records as collateral to raise millions in high-interest loans, building an impregnable, top-secret fortress.

Seven days later, an unexpected change occurred.

The debt-collecting gangs and the endless horde of zombies drove them to the brink of despair. Meanwhile, I sat in a temperature-controlled safe house, sipping freshly ground coffee, calmly watching the cannibalistic karmic retribution unfold on the security camera.

In the apocalypse, there is no family affection, only the probability of survival.

In my past life, I gave away all my resources to protect them, only to have my girlfriend and best friend lock the security door themselves, leaving me to be devoured alive by zombies in despair.
When I opened my eyes again, I was back three days before the apocalypse.
I maxed out my credit cards, frantically stockpiled hundreds of tons of supplies, and built an indestructible steel fortress! When the bloody apocalypse arrived as scheduled, those traitors were frantically torn apart by monsters outside the door, crying and banging on the door for help.
I sat in front of the monitor, took a sip of hot coffee, and calmly pulled down the last steel gate.
"In this life, you don't even deserve to be dogs."

For my fiancée’s career, I was willing to be the ghost designer behind her for five years.

Until the day of the key bid, she stole the blueprint I had spent two sleepless years perfecting and signed it with the name of her useless first love.

The drawings are gone You can draw them again He needs this project to survive Be sensible she said, impatient when I confronted her

I did not argue My heart went cold I calmly left my engagement ring and my resignation letter and went to Europe

In just three months, without me, she became disgraced and buried in debt While I won Europe’s highest architectural gold award

I watched the once proud her soak in icy water for five hours just to earn a trace of my sympathy

I handed her a basic junior interview form with indifference Want to start over Report to the front desk Start with errands and work your way up

To win a smile from my icy wife, I stood for four hours in a London blizzard, only to be greeted by her returning hand-in-hand with her childhood sweetheart, who had just returned from abroad.

For three years of marriage, I had concealed all my sharp edges, solely to warm her heart.
Until company secrets were leaked, and she unquestioningly believed her childhood sweetheart's framing, locking me, who suffered from severe claustrophobia, in a dark, abandoned wine cellar for a full forty-eight hours.

Watching her arrogantly slam the "Clean Break Agreement" onto my bleeding face, I smiled.
The moment I signed my name, the humble Arthur who loved her died utterly in the abyss.

That night, my yacht ran aground and exploded.
And the first heir of the Vance conglomerate, missing for three years, officially took control of the global technology lifeline.

Six months later, betrayed and facing bankruptcy, she clung to my trousers like a dead dog on the red carpet of a top-tier banquet, weeping and begging me to start over.
I was arm in arm with a true socialite, and I didn't even lift an eyelid as I looked at the woman covered in mud on the floor:
"Security, throw this crazy woman who's dirtied the carpet away. Don't spoil my fun."

In my last life, I shoved my wife Sarah out of the path of an oncoming car and ended up critically injured myself.
My mother-in-law, determined to get her hands on my savings, secretly switched my medication with cheap knockoffs and left me permanently infertile.
Then she showed up at my office and made a huge scene, pressuring me to quit my job and become a full-time househusband.
As for her and Sarah? They had the nerve to move in some so-called lover who could "carry on the family line," then used my hard-earned money to support him under my own roof.
When the apocalypse hit, they locked me in a room and fed me to that infected homewrecker.
Now that I've been given a second chance, I look at the three parasites standing in front of me—mocking me, acting self-righteous...
I feel no anger. Only amusement.
Fourteen days until the zombie outbreak, and they're still dreaming about how to bleed me dry.
This time, I'm taking back every cent they stole from me—with interest.
And when the end finally comes, I'll be sitting inside my impenetrable safe house, watching with ice in my veins as they turn on each other in despair.

I took the blame for my wife and went to jail, thinking I was protecting our family.

Five years later, when I was released from prison, my mansion was confiscated, my company fell into the hands of my younger brother, and the woman I loved with all my heart was nestled in my brother's arms, mocking my misfortune.

They had been having an affair for a long time, and even my imprisonment was a conspiracy meticulously planned by this despicable couple! What makes me even more furious is that my precious daughter was abandoned on the street like a stray dog, and subjected to beatings and bullying by their illegitimate son .

They thought that by draining my blood, they could forever condemn me to oblivion.

But they forgot that I was once an unparalleled genius in the business world.

In my previous life, the apocalypse struck. I entrusted my last hope of survival to my best friend of twenty years, but the moment the zombies swarmed, he unhesitatingly pushed me into the horde to be his shield. My girlfriend of three years, standing high above, watched coldly, her face filled with relief at shedding a burden.

In the excruciating pain of being bitten to death, I was reborn 72 hours before the apocalypse.

Looking at the messages from that despicable couple on my phone, I calmly blocked and deleted them, then cashed out all my assets, hoarding three million US dollars worth of top-tier weaponry and massive amounts of supplies. The apocalypse

arrived as expected. When my scheming girlfriend and betrayed brother were chased like dogs by zombies, kneeling before my fortress, frantically begging for mercy,

I sat atop a mountain of supplies, holding an infinitely replicating spatial ring, a gun pressed against his kneecap, and sneered: "Want to live? Never in this lifetime."

In this life, I will not be a saint; I will be the sole king of this post-apocalyptic wasteland.

Just as my business partner called to gloat, the loan shark's hitmen were frantically hacking at my security door.

"Arthur, I've been reborn too. I embezzled that ten million in company funds to build a doomsday bunker. Enjoy taking the knife for me!"

Listening to the voice through the receiver, I simply smashed the window and vaulted from the second floor, not wasting even half a second on his bullshit.

Building a private shelter with ten million in dirty money? He had absolutely no idea just how terrifying the monsters that would rip apart the earth's crust in thirty days truly were.

Dragging my bleeding arm, I charged into an underground internet cafe and forcibly hacked into the highest early warning system of the Overseas Defense Agency.

Half a year later, the Abyss descended. His proud bunker was crushed like papier-mâché during the very first beast tide. As he scrambled for his life through the mud like a pathetic bug, he looked up—only to see a national-level steel fortress stretching for thousands of kilometers across the horizon.

And there I was, clad in a black-and-gold Supreme Commander uniform, looking down at him from hundreds of meters above.

In my past life, I squandered all my wealth to support my fiancée's family, but when the extreme heat of the apocalypse arrived, she and her lover broke my legs, brutally drained my marrow, and devoured me alive.

When I opened my eyes again, I was back in the seven days before the apocalypse.

This time, I will never repeat the same mistake.

I decisively kicked away these cold-blooded parasites, canceled all my credit cards, and, with the true love who died to save me in my past life, built an indestructible, top-tier temperature-controlled fortress.

As global temperatures soared, Los Angeles became a scorching inferno, and the fiancée's family couldn't even get a sip of dirty water, ultimately being forced to resort to cannibalism and killing each other.

And I, sitting in a 22-degree air-conditioned room eating chilled watermelon, coldly watch this bloody live broadcast of dogs fighting each other.

The fires of hell have been lit, and your judgment has only just begun.