```
He perhaps should have died long ago.
Mo Qingshan should have killed him when he was nine.
Then Luo Qiangwei would never have met him, wouldn't have liked him, wouldn't have married him. She was so kind, so beautiful, so nice. There would have been a man who truly loved her, who would have taken good care of her and cherished her for a lifetime.
Instead of a sickly man like him who couldn't provide her with stability and happiness.
What right did he have to possess her?
"Keep hitting," Mo Shiche knelt there, his handsome face bruised and purple, a mocking smile on his lips, "Hit me a few more times, to vent for Luo Qiangwei. She… must be in so much pain."
That small-minded woman who sought revenge for even the smallest grievance, when he accidentally got foam on her face while brushing their teeth in the morning, she would cling to his head and not let him move, then she would bite his chin for a long time before she was satisfied.
