The whole city knew that Mrs. Qin was a joke. Qin Zhou used tens of millions of dollars in contracts to force me to marry him, but he left me alone in the empty house every night. Until a portrait almost identical to mine fell out of the dark cabinet in his study, dated ten years ago. Ten years ago? I smiled and lit the lighter: "So Mr. Qin is addicted to substitute literature?" He rushed in to put out the fire like crazy, hugged the charred picture frame and screamed: "She is your sister!" "And you are the person I calculated for ten years before I dared to marry."
