At this moment, Zhu Hong felt a vague suspicion in her heart—perhaps Liu Meng didn't like Chen Wei as much as she had imagined. On the contrary, she might actually dislike him.
Otherwise, why would Liu Meng do such a thing? Pushing Chen Wei to the edge of a cliff by her own hand, who expresses affection like that? Certainly not!
"..." After being briefly lost in thought for three or four seconds, Ding Jianhang came back to his senses from shock, only to see the woman he, utterly unqualified even to touch due to her ten billion worth, was now throwing herself into the arms of a country bumpkin.
Ding Jianhang felt a surge of jealousy and his face turned pale, the hand holding the rose tightened its grip, crushing the wrapping paper and causing the thorns to pierce out, puncturing his palm, and blood to flow out between his fingers.
However, compared to the pain in his heart, the pain in his hand was nothing to Ding Jianhang—it was far too light, too insignificant.
