Before yesterday, Ding Fu never needed to cry—so long as the slightest crease marred her forehead, Yue Pengcheng's heart would ache till he felt like he wanted to die, and he would pull her into a hug for comfort.
But now, listening to Ding Fu's crying revolted Yue Pengcheng, his entire head filled with her insufferable voice from last night.
As he thought of the image of he being a cuckold still pertained, the fire in Yue Pengcheng's grew wilder and wilder.
Last night, Ding Fu actually even said, said… He was a useless, good-for-nothing man.
Yue Pengcheng really wanted to viciously give her a few slaps, that b*tch, b*tch…
Once, she had a face of distilled purity, an untouchable goddess, and in the end, everything was a farce. Whatever those people from yesterday said was right, there was nothing but ill intent in this b*tch's bones.
Yue Pengcheng was a selfish man—in his world, there was no one but himself.
