The fate of a person is often such a convoluted and astonishing journey; she had finally freed herself from shackles and obtained liberty, but her father met with an unexpected joy-turned-sorrow and was suddenly killed by a car.
The two million in hand couldn't be enjoyed in time, all one could say was that life is unpredictable.
His death was so tragic that even the makeup artist, who was applying makeup to the corpse before the funeral, complained about the hassle while working.
"It's been over a week since the funeral rites; we should start planning for the future," Zhao Yang's hand gently stroked down from Su Xiaoyue's back, feeling the extraordinary beauty of her figure's contours, a true marvel of nature. However, at this moment, he was not in the mood to focus on that, just wanting to offer her some simple comfort.
