The shattering of the wine glass on the table directly sprayed glass shards into Lin Ruxiang's eye corner; she couldn't dodge in time, and blood immediately began to flow from the corner of her eye.
Yan Zheng's chair also scraped across the floor, as he sat somewhat stunned, looking at the man opposite him, who was seething with rage.
Suddenly, there was dead silence in the dining room.
Red wine on the table slowly trickling down to the floor was almost drained, and then it began to drip drop by drop.
Fu Yanye sat there, his expression cold and solemn, as if the commotion that had just occurred wasn't caused by his own hand.
Lin Ruxiang trembled, barely able to cover the blood flowing from the corner of her eye.
But she was betting that he had listened, that he was angry with Zhuo Jian.
She didn't care about the wound; she wanted him to know what kind of person Zhuo Jian really was.
"You say your father went to see my wife several times?"
"Yes!"
