Wolf King And His Fox Consort [BL] - Chapter 3 - The Wolf Broods

“What? That chicken is actually a phoenix?”

“You're telling me that this dog is a qilin?”

“This little lizard is the legendary dragon?”

“What kind of weird pet shop is this? When did legendary beasts become so easy to find!”

An ordinary looking shop, but what hides inside are legendary cultivation pets. Step inside, but only if you dare.

“I don't share my possessions, Mr. Campbell. Your wife stole from me and now I want something back. You should know I always collect what I'm owed,”When Liam Campbell's wife steals from his wealthy female boss and disappears, he's left to face the music. But his boss, Lady Isabella Ashworth, has other plans for repayment—plans that involve keeping the handsome man for herself.Everyone thinks they know the score: young guy becomes a rich woman's plaything. What they don't know is that Liam's got more weapons than just his looks. Behind his perfect face lies a ruthless mind that turned him from a nobody into a rising star.Now, trapped in Isabella's world of luxury and power, he'll play her game—but by his rules. His main goal is to dominate her as much as she wants to dominate him.But who's really taming who?

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.