"None of the kids of the Zhao family are good people." Tang Chunxiu gritted her teeth.
Tang Chunxiu looked at her large and luxurious bedroom. It was resplendent and luxurious with expensive furniture. She had the latest fashion jewelry and long dresses. She was living the life of an ideal rich lady, but this place was as cold as an ice cellar.
Her husband, Zhao Jing, had not returned home for a long time.
He was outside hugging eighteen or nineteen-year-old young models and sleeping around all night.
Tang Chunxiu sat on the gorgeous quilt. Her fingers caressed the red peony embroidery patterns on the quilt. The patterns were exquisite, and her fingertips were itchy. Once again, she was alone in the empty room.
