The woman was afraid that Ji Tingyang would go mad again—what if he splashed hot water on Wu Yanghui's face?
If they couldn't retrieve the shares, they might even face the possibility of imprisonment.
Not daring to stay any longer, the woman hurriedly left with the pale-faced Wu Yanghui, muttering to herself.
"He's simply a madman, doesn't know the first thing about gratitude. It wouldn't surprise me if your parents were cursed to death by this lunatic. Son, let me tell you, you must stay away from such people, or who knows what disasters might follow."
Their voices faded into the distance.
Ji Tingyang clenched the hand at his side tightly, his fingertips turning white from the pressure; gloom and aggression churned ceaselessly in his chest, and the atmosphere surrounding him dipped to an all-time low.
The secretary, carrying a report, had just pushed the door open when she was frightened into closing the door again the next second.
