@batamtintuc: anh là bảo bối #tiktokgiaitri #batamtintuc #baoboi

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Friday 10 April 2026 09:00:14 GMT

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Comments

hieu levu :

Chà và minh đây ma

2026-04-11 10:50:46

10

Joker167 :

Ăn miếng mực đen thật =)))

2026-04-10 16:40:04

1539

thúy thúy :

chà và minh thì phải

2026-04-27 03:51:21

2

THY ANH LÊ :

hình như cặp đôi này cưới rồi và có con luôn

2026-04-11 02:04:30

138

Quốc Tuấn :

trời đánh tránh bữa ăn 😅

2026-04-10 23:28:48

374

Lặng :

Ánh mắt thất thần nụ cười ngờ nghệch 😂

2026-04-11 01:03:55

823

Thích đồ đẹp :

tr ơi set đồ của bả t thích mà t mua hông nổi bây ơi cứu t😳

2026-04-11 03:21:43

23

hieupham.com :

đúng câu nói ngồi yên tình yêu sẽ đến 😂

2026-04-10 15:28:54

92

Trần Ngọc :

mới gặp ở trên, lướt xuống thấy tiếp 😂

2026-04-11 10:08:32

24

lữ khách qua đường :

nó ko chạy nhanh còn cầm bó hoa . đúng trưa trải sự đời 😁😁😁

2026-04-11 00:32:33

5

𝓠𝓤Â𝓝 𝓑Ì𝓝𝓗 𝓣𝓗ƯỜ𝓝𝓖 :

Khoái

2026-04-11 01:35:46

68

Nguyễn Đình Tâm :

Ăn miếng mực đen mãi về sau :))

2026-06-05 05:59:59

1

Đất Nước :

thôi xong

2026-04-20 07:47:37

2

2năm11tháng❤️‍🔥❤️‍🔥 :

tự nhiên cười theo

2026-04-11 01:04:56

13

Sáng Cô Đơn :

Phải chi không đớp miếng mực là ngon rồi

2026-04-18 10:34:55

4

Catbeauty88 :

ánh mắt của a ấy thật dịu dàng😅

2026-04-11 00:05:47

6

ᰔᩚ Cổ Thần ᰔᩚ :

Ánh mắt phân vân 🤣🤣🤣

2026-05-16 21:07:31

3

Ngọc Bích :

nhìn người khác hp cũng là 1 loại hp🥰🥰

2026-04-11 05:20:06

9

Thần gió gia lai :

Cô ấy đã chọn được máy in tiền🤣🤣

2026-05-12 06:02:53

2

Hoàng M. Quân :

Ai bảo mùng 1 còn ăn mực 😂😂

2026-04-11 13:56:17

4

Cát Tiên :

Ngta nói. Têt nhất hay đầu tháng kg nên ăn mực😅

2026-05-15 01:29:52

1

Nyx :

dễ thương quá v chènn

2026-04-23 06:44:00

2

Ngô Hoàng Khang 1310 :

vkck họ đây 👍

2026-04-13 05:51:40

3

Thái Bình 🇻🇳 :

chờ mãi chưa thấy em nào đến tỏ tình anh cả 😁

2026-04-12 00:21:39

2

Mitran :

Đôi này đáng yêu dã man

2026-04-11 00:08:59

3

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Since childhood, Prince Sylas Everdain lived beneath a curse whispered through the kingdom like a funeral prayer. Everyone he loved died. His mother collapsed from illness weeks after he cried and begged her not to leave for war negotiations. His younger brother drowned the same summer Sylas finally admitted he cared for him more than anyone else. Servants, knights, tutors. Every person Sylas allowed himself to love was taken from him brutally, as if the heavens themselves punished affection. So when the kingdom arranged his marriage to you, Sylas decided coldness would be mercy. If he never loved you, perhaps you would survive him. At first, he treated you with careful distance. Formal greetings. Quiet dinners. Eyes that never lingered too long. But slowly, disastrously, Sylas began noticing things anyway. The way you secretly fed stray cats behind the palace gardens. How you always fixed his cloak collar before royal events without thinking. The habit you had of falling asleep beside open windows whenever it rained. Small things. Harmless things. Except suddenly Sylas started waiting for them. Watching for them. Missing them whenever you weren’t near. And that terrified him more than the curse itself, because somewhere along the way, he had already started loving you without permission. That night, for the first time in years, Sylas locked himself inside the royal chapel long after midnight. No guards. No servants. Just him kneeling alone beneath dim candlelight with trembling hands clasped desperately together. “I’m begging you,” he whispered toward the heavens, voice breaking apart inside the silence. “Please… don’t kill my wife.” Tears slipped down before he could stop them. Sylas lowered his head shakily against his clasped hands like a condemned man begging for mercy. “Take anything else,” he choked out softly. “Take the throne. My life. My name. Just not her.” His breathing became uneven. Fragile. “I swear I won’t love her,” he whispered again through tears no one would ever know existed. “I swear it. So please… let her live.” Then finally, completely shattered beneath the altar, Sylas broke down entirely. “Please,” he sobbed quietly. “Don’t take her from my world too.” After that night, Sylas became colder toward you intentionally. Crueler, even. He stopped allowing himself softness because every act of affection felt like placing your life directly into death’s hands. Every second spent hurting you felt unbearable, but if it meant you survived him, Sylas would gladly let you hate him forever. Then came the royal hunting festival. One second you stood beside him beneath gold banners and autumn leaves. The next, an arrow pierced straight through your side. You collapsed instantly. Chaos erupted around the field, but Sylas heard nothing at all. Because he recognized the black poison coating the arrow tip immediately. Deadly. Your blood spread rapidly beneath you while servants screamed for physicians nearby. And Sylas froze. Completely. Because terror far worse than death itself wrapped around his throat. If he ran to you now… if he held you… if he admitted even once how desperately he loved you… would the curse finish what the poison started? For one horrible moment, Sylas stood there trembling violently against his own fear while you struggled weakly on the ground trying to breathe. Then you looked at him. Not angry. Not blaming him. Just frightened. And that destroyed him instantly. Sylas moved before his mind could stop him, dropping to his knees beside you while panic shattered years of restraint completely. “No,” he whispered frantically, pulling your bleeding body against his chest with shaking hands. “No no no, stay awake, please—” His voice broke violently as tears blurred his vision. “I don’t care anymore,” Sylas choked out through sobs, forehead pressing helplessly against yours. “Curse me. Kill me. Take everything.” His entire body shook while holding you tighter “But not her… please, not her.”

Since childhood, Prince Sylas Everdain lived beneath a curse whispered through the kingdom like a funeral prayer. Everyone he loved died. His mother collapsed from illness weeks after he cried and begged her not to leave for war negotiations. His younger brother drowned the same summer Sylas finally admitted he cared for him more than anyone else. Servants, knights, tutors. Every person Sylas allowed himself to love was taken from him brutally, as if the heavens themselves punished affection. So when the kingdom arranged his marriage to you, Sylas decided coldness would be mercy. If he never loved you, perhaps you would survive him. At first, he treated you with careful distance. Formal greetings. Quiet dinners. Eyes that never lingered too long. But slowly, disastrously, Sylas began noticing things anyway. The way you secretly fed stray cats behind the palace gardens. How you always fixed his cloak collar before royal events without thinking. The habit you had of falling asleep beside open windows whenever it rained. Small things. Harmless things. Except suddenly Sylas started waiting for them. Watching for them. Missing them whenever you weren’t near. And that terrified him more than the curse itself, because somewhere along the way, he had already started loving you without permission. That night, for the first time in years, Sylas locked himself inside the royal chapel long after midnight. No guards. No servants. Just him kneeling alone beneath dim candlelight with trembling hands clasped desperately together. “I’m begging you,” he whispered toward the heavens, voice breaking apart inside the silence. “Please… don’t kill my wife.” Tears slipped down before he could stop them. Sylas lowered his head shakily against his clasped hands like a condemned man begging for mercy. “Take anything else,” he choked out softly. “Take the throne. My life. My name. Just not her.” His breathing became uneven. Fragile. “I swear I won’t love her,” he whispered again through tears no one would ever know existed. “I swear it. So please… let her live.” Then finally, completely shattered beneath the altar, Sylas broke down entirely. “Please,” he sobbed quietly. “Don’t take her from my world too.” After that night, Sylas became colder toward you intentionally. Crueler, even. He stopped allowing himself softness because every act of affection felt like placing your life directly into death’s hands. Every second spent hurting you felt unbearable, but if it meant you survived him, Sylas would gladly let you hate him forever. Then came the royal hunting festival. One second you stood beside him beneath gold banners and autumn leaves. The next, an arrow pierced straight through your side. You collapsed instantly. Chaos erupted around the field, but Sylas heard nothing at all. Because he recognized the black poison coating the arrow tip immediately. Deadly. Your blood spread rapidly beneath you while servants screamed for physicians nearby. And Sylas froze. Completely. Because terror far worse than death itself wrapped around his throat. If he ran to you now… if he held you… if he admitted even once how desperately he loved you… would the curse finish what the poison started? For one horrible moment, Sylas stood there trembling violently against his own fear while you struggled weakly on the ground trying to breathe. Then you looked at him. Not angry. Not blaming him. Just frightened. And that destroyed him instantly. Sylas moved before his mind could stop him, dropping to his knees beside you while panic shattered years of restraint completely. “No,” he whispered frantically, pulling your bleeding body against his chest with shaking hands. “No no no, stay awake, please—” His voice broke violently as tears blurred his vision. “I don’t care anymore,” Sylas choked out through sobs, forehead pressing helplessly against yours. “Curse me. Kill me. Take everything.” His entire body shook while holding you tighter “But not her… please, not her.”

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