Three years of marriage had made him sensitive to the sound of footsteps—it was Shi Bowen.
"You can't even wipe off a wine stain, so what else can you do?"
Shi Bowen walked up to him and looked down at the man kneeling on the ground.
She was wearing a custom-made white evening dress, with a six-figure diamond necklace hanging around her neck, her nails painted with scarlet nail polish, holding a glass of red wine, and disgust written on her delicately made-up face.
Hao Jiaqi did not raise her head and continued to wipe the carpet.
"I'm asking you something!"
Shi Bowen stepped on the back of his hand.
Heartache came from the back of my hand.
Hao Jiaqi finally raised her head and saw her fiancée's indifferent face.
"Are you deaf?"
Shi Bowen pressed the heels hard, and the 12-centimeter Jimmy Choo high-heeled shoes inlaid with crystals were like a sharp blade piercing the back of Hao Jiaqi's hand.
Blood seeped out from under the skin, staining the white wool blanket red.
