Cherreads

My Dragon Baby and Billionaire Husband

An Ying
Five years ago, she left behind an egg and said, “This is the son I bore for you. When he comes of age, that will be the time of my return.” He thought she was joking, but months later, the son hatched out of the egg, looking like a normal baby but with two shiny, adorably cute little dragon horns on his head. However, she remained far away with no signs of returning. * Later, she disappeared for five years, and he went mad for five years, until Little Dragon brought home a woman, and he instantly came to his senses... But Little Dragon said, "Daddy, even though you don't have a wife, you're about to get a daughter-in-law soon. She saved me, and I want to dedicate myself to her in return!" * From then on, the father and son found themselves in an open and covert struggle for her affection. "Your Excellency, Miss Si's medical skills have amazed the entire globe, and all the bigshots are busting their heads to court her. Your heroic rescuing act is of no use..." Mo Yinhe suddenly collapsed to the ground, coughing violently, “Quick, go call her to save me!” "Your Excellency, the seven arch-rivals whom you beat until their livers exploded are all Miss Si's biological brothers. They want to take Miss Si back to inherit the throne..." Mo Yinhe immediately announced his abdication, pulling his son to roam the streets: “Sonny, from now on, Dad can only follow you to seek refuge with your wife-to-be.” Little Dragon shook the shiny, adorably cute little dragon horns on his head, “Daddy, I've already arranged a retirement home for you, guaranteed to secure your peaceful old age~”
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I Leash Emperors: The Dead Shout. I Smile

The dead scream for justice. They have been screaming for centuries. In my office on the 88th floor, the sound is indistinguishable from the hum of the paper shredder. I have twelve of history's most dangerous minds in my vault—Caesar, Cleopatra, Napoleon, Wu Zetian, and eight others whose names are synonymous with the word empire. I stripped them of their crowns and their divinity and left them with the only two things that survive death intact: greed, and memory. Then I put them to work. The boardroom is their new battlefield. Stocks are their arrows. Hostile takeovers are their sieges. The First Emperor runs my supply chains with the same draconian efficiency that built the Great Wall. The Queen of the Nile runs my PR division and calls it beneath her. Caesar rewrites the legal architecture of an entire financial district before breakfast and considers it a light morning. The rules are simple. The Emperor with the highest ROI earns twenty-four hours of full sensory restoration—taste, warmth, the burn of real alcohol, everything the synthetic body cannot feel. The Emperor at the bottom earns something else: a Hell Start. Reincarnation as a beggar, a eunuch, a sacrificial lamb in the next cycle. They know this. It keeps them focused. Every full moon, the tavern opens. The millions they killed in their lifetimes gather as my Jury—compressed into a medium that runs on pure hatred, sustained by a spite so concentrated it has proven, against all known physics, to be a measurable energy source. They vote. They decide which of their tormentors leads the next charge, and which of the most venomous among them earns a temporary body to return to the waking world. Wu Zetian shed her imperial robes to kneel at my feet and beg for a private review of her HR directorship. Arsinoe—murdered by her own sister two thousand years ago—spent six weeks haunting Cleopatra's servers and built a perfect weapon before she ever asked me for the body to deliver it. Cleopatra herself believes her beauty is a currency I will eventually accept. She has not yet understood that in this building, the only currency is performance. I do not need loyalty. I need sharp blades. I do not trade in mercy. I trade in ROI. They believe this is my game. They do not ask why I need to win it. Rules? I am the rule. Harem? The highest-tier spoils of a game they don't know the stakes of. Every arc is a different world. Every world is a wound that needs closing. The Emperors do not know this. They never do. Perhaps the last thing standing between their world and oblivion is a man who stopped caring about it long ago. Let the dead shout. I smile. I have to. Tags: #InfiniteFlow #DarkFantasy #HighStakesPolitics #DivineAutocracy #GrimDark #RuthlessMC #HistoricalFigures #DarkHarem Content Advisory: Heavy power dynamics, sensory manipulation, historical figures in morally compromised positions. MC is an unapologetic autocrat. No redemption arcs.
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