Three days before my wedding, I found out my fiancée was pregnant with another man's child.
She wrapped herself around a rich second-generation heir with a Porsche and tossed me a bank card. “There's two hundred thousand in here. Consider it dog food.”
Before I could even cry, my phone rang.
“Young Master, the old master says if you don't come home to inherit the trillion-yuan estate, he'll donate the company to the state.”
Me: “???”
Even more absurdly, the woman who had been secretly protecting me was crouched on the beam of my rental apartment, batting her eyelashes at me. “Don't be scared. Big Sis has your back.”
I looked up at the hole in my ceiling where she'd stomped through. “...Could you pay my landlord's security deposit first?”
Later, my ex-girlfriend knelt in front of me, crying so hard her makeup ran. “Chen Mo, I was wrong. The baby is actually yours!”
Before I could say a word, the woman behind me pulled out a gun and pressed it to her forehead. “Sorry, he's mine now.”
All I wanted to ask was: so who's paying for my ceiling?
