"No!" As she watched the shattered phone, Su Xiaobei rushed over in agony, trying to pick it up.
But a large foot mercilessly stepped on the phone, crushing it into pieces.
"Just do what you're supposed to do and remember, the treatment of your mother's illness depends on your performance," Su Wenqing coldly huffed and slammed the door as he left.
Su Xiaobei's first thought was death, but she knew she couldn't do that.
Her mother had been seriously ill, receiving treatment abroad, costing hundreds of thousands each month, all paid by the Su family.
If she died, Su Xiaobei believed that Su Wenqing, with his ruthless nature, would definitely stop providing medicine for her mother.
"Mom, what should I do!" Su Xiaobei had never felt so desperate.
To others, the wedding march was a concerto leading to happiness, but to Su Xiaobei, it was a death knell.
Accompanied by the music, Su Xiaobei walked heavily, the path strewn with flowers looking endlessly long in her eyes.
