Novel & Cerita The Tyrant Wants To Live Honestly Spoilers

I thought he was going to call 911 or the cops, but the first thing he did was open the livestream app's backend. "Shut it down! Turn it off! Cut the feed!" he screamed. His fingers shook as he jabbed the red "End" button. On the screen, the comments were already exploding. The earlier footage was a bit blurry because of the heavy rain, but everyone had heard the conversation. [What the hell? What's going on? Is she really dead?] [Wasn't this supposed to be a stunt? Someone actually died?] [What did Terence Locke just say? He hid the truth from his daughter for realism? That's straight-up murder!]

Curiosity gripped them, craving the thrill of an unexpected twist. A series of deafening explosions echoed as Tyron spat blood and was sent flying—he had been utterly defeated. The crowd had anticipated this outcome, so they weren’t entirely surprised. However, their curiosity only grew—would Oscar kill Tyron? After all, killing was a common occurrence in this world, though doing it here required some consideration. “How dare you act so arrogantly, you daemonic fiend.” A cold voice suddenly pierced through the tension, and a figure appeared before Tyron, whose face lit up with relief as he recognized Adrian standing before him.

"What matters is the truth. Did you do it? Did you go against our plan?" Tyler remained silent for a moment, his gaze averted, unable to meet my eyes. The weight of his actions hung heavily in the air, and I could sense the turmoil within him. Finally, he mustered the courage to speak. "Yes," he admitted reluctantly, his voice filled with a mix of shame and defiance. "I did order her to bed with me. I thought... I thought it would make it more realistic, like a form of torture. I didn't anticipate her speaking about it."

So, now that someone had actually dared to rub him the wrong way, the darkest side of Tyr’s heart had shown itself. “Clint, I am not in the mood to talk much with you. I’ll start with the countdown now. Every ten seconds that pass, I’ll have my men throw a person off from the rooftop until you tell me who is the culprit behind you that got my wife kidnapped.” “Mr. Summer, I really don’t know anything.” Clint was already on his knees, panicking and weeping bitter tears. However, Tyr was not bothered to listen to Clint’s words. He had started with the count down. “Let’s start with your mistress. I am giving you a chance,” Tyr said indifferently and beckoned.

“Because my brain couldn’t make up anything original. Elias. Tyrant Elias. Captive Elias. Of course the real one has the same name. Life’s hilarious like that.” He tilts his head. “Tyrant? Captive bride? What are you talking about?” I take a deep breath and it feels like my ribs complain about it. “I had this long dream. Or coma dream or whatever. You… well the dream you kidnapped me or something. Made me marry him. I got pregnant. There was school and a guy named Yuto and this girl Lauren taking pictures and Ryan whose girlfriend got killed. It was all so real. I pushed out a baby and he died and then you tried to strangle me and then a mental hospital and jumping off a bridge kissing while

His throne. But, he, for one night, felt no bitterness at all. And spent it in a soothing embrace. He smiled as he recalled it, knowing it might’ve been the only occasion. Emilia noticed it and gave a soft sigh in return. She knew things had to be done when she came here, but she didn’t expect this much. Another task appeared on the list. Have the fake fairy fall in love with the Tyrant Emperor. Alexis had bathed and ate her breakfast slowly, not feeling rushed at the usual sight of Hector in the garden which obviously wasn’t a thing anymore. She didn’t know when her lessons with Emilia might start, but she knew she had some free time before then.

“If you claim the scavenger, you know Alban will rally his people behind it. He’ll challenge your father on Brody’s behalf, and your father will lose. His blood will be on your hands. Or do you think you can beat Alban yourself now that you’re all grown? Eh?” There’s the shame, clawing down my throat. “Just because you fucked the scavenger, the facts don’t change. Go shower. Pull yourself together. Sleep in your own damn bed.” She sets her glass down with exaggerated care, and then drums her red nails on the leather arms of the chair. “What happens to the bog rat if you’re gone, and Alban installs Brody as the alpha heir, eh? I bet every mid-rank lecher looking for a cheap thrill would just

They can only pray for their daughter's safety and wish that the tyrant can be lenient. Mr. Lawson speaks up before everyone else does "Uh I will bring Clare back. She probably just has much to think about. Once she is better she will be back." "No need" Morris "I will bring her back myself" Morris finishes his words, turns his back and walks out, giving no chance for the parents to find their daughter. The widely known title 'the Tyrant of the mafia world', Casper possesses extensive connections and control all over the place. His vast territory spans beyond finding a mere two people, especially when he is really keen for his beloved angel, his fianceé.

“The number for the CIA is in here. Call the director. Check the number through the central line, then ask for him. He’s waiting for your call.” Christine dropped the ID on the table but kept her eyes on Marcus while Terrence did exactly as he said. He checked the number on his laptop before dialing. Christine heard Terrence speaking, but she kept her attention on Marcus. He looked different now, his eyes no longer cold. Marcus looked tired, and his Roberts gray eyes showed sadness and regret. Good Lord…could Marcus actually be telling the truth? Please, let it be true. It would mean so much to Terrence if Marcus was really a good man. But if that was true, what was he doing with all those e

He looked at me like a man starved, like I was the only source of life in the entire world. And then, he did something I never expected. He dropped to his knees. The most powerful man in the world. The Golden Tyrant. The man who commanded armies and economies. He sank to his knees on the cold marble floor right in front of me, his hands gripping my hips, his face level with my stomach. I froze. My breath hitched in my throat. “Call me a tyrant all you want,” he said, his voice rough and raw, his thumbs rubbing circles into the skin just above my waistband. “But remember this… a tyrant rules his people. A king rules his kingdom. But me? I kneel only for you.”