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She didn’t argue, which I took as her silent agreement.
This only reinforced my suspicion: the Domination System hadn’t just assigned me a task—it had given the entire human race a hellishly difficult mission. And I? I was the final boss in this twisted game.
But I wasn’t going down without a fight. If I had to, I would use this opportunity to push humanity back on track.
My chance? The three wishes I could make once the mission was completed.
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“I’ve surrounded you all! Stop resisting immediately! Surrender and drop your weapons—it’s your only way out!” I shouted at the crowd of about ten million people, but no one so much as flinched.
So, I pressed a button, releasing 50,000 hens from the chicken farm. What happened next remains an unshakable nightmare, one that continues to haunt me.
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I, the Cinderella Targeted by a Rich Second-Generation Heir
The young stepmother of a rich second-generation heir asked to meet me. “I’ll give you twenty million if you break up with my son.”
“How much is your son worth? I’ll buy him,” I replied.
Her eyes lit up. “Ten million flat, take it or leave it.”
“Fine. I’m done with him.”
In movies and TV shows, the Cinderella targeted by a rich second-generation heir follows a pretty predictable script.
First, she has to work part-time and study hard. She ties her hair in a simple ponytail, goes bare-faced, and wears a faded white t-shirt and old, worn jeans. And, of course, she carries a big backpack — the same one from high school.
I’ve always followed that script.
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That day, I only went home to grab something, but what I stumbled upon has haunted me ever since. The moment I stepped inside, I heard a man’s voice coming from my mother-in-law’s room—low, unfamiliar, and completely out of place.
Driven by instinct, I moved closer, holding my breath. What I heard next stopped me cold: soft, uneven breathing, the unmistakable sound of two people caught in an intimate moment. The air felt heavy, suffocating, and my ears burned with embarrassment. My heart pounded erratically, as though trying to escape my chest. For a moment, I couldn’t move—my body felt paralyzed by shock, my legs too weak to hold me up.
Without thinking, I spun around and bolted, my steps clumsy and frantic. It felt as if something unseen was chasing me out, the walls of the house closing in behind me.
Since that moment, everything has changed. That secret—so shameful I can’t even put it into words—has gnawed at me, unraveling the life I thought I knew. My wife began acting differently, her behavior shifting in subtle but undeniable ways. From that day on, it was as if my world was slowly crumbling, breaking apart piece by excruciating piece.
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I was live-streaming a road trip with my mom, excited to share the beautiful views and our joy with the viewers. But out of nowhere, a comment popped up that was both disturbing and offensive:
“Be careful, streamer. Your mom’s driving isn’t normal. She might already be dead and turned into a ‘mummy.’ If you keep going like this, you’ll end up in another world.”
When my girlfriend came back from the gym, I noticed something off—again. Her workout top had mysteriously vanished.
“Where’d it go this time?” I asked, eyeing her as she unpacked her bag.
Without looking up, she replied casually, “It was soaked in sweat, so I tossed it.”
I raised an eyebrow. The weather outside was chilly, barely above ten degrees Celsius. How intense could her workout have been to drench her clothes like that?
Lately, She kept saying she was tired when she came home. Her condition seemed to be getting worse every day—she often felt nauseous and on the verge of throwing up.
When her mother found out, she was deeply concerned, her voice filled with panic as she said:
“Hurry up and get married already! I’m ready to be a grandma!”
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