On the day he and Shen Que received the certificate, the marriage certificate fell into his coffee cup.
He took it out and shook it: "Three-year contract, divorce upon expiration."
I smiled and stuffed the wet ID into my bag: "Don't worry, Mr. Shen's money is more beautiful than his face."
Later, late at night, he pressed me against the jewelry design table and breathed hotly: "The contract is void."
My fingertips touched his Adam's apple: "Mr. Shen will pay for the breach of contract."
He bit my earlobe and chuckled: "Is it enough to compensate you for a lifetime?"
Everyone says that Shen is indeed an iceberg, but I am the only one who knows how crazy he is.
The necklace he designed for me cost tens of millions at the auction, and the reporter asked why.
He pinched my chin in front of the camera: "Is there a problem with making my wife happy?"
