Zhu Biao didn't want to look at her for even a second longer.
Reflecting on the past two years, he felt he'd been a complete fool.
Played around by a woman, he argued with his mother, had friction with his brother and sisters, missed a good marriage—all for this outcome.
Lianlian saw the man's cold, hard profile and let out a dry laugh, "I knew it. If you found out, you'd have this expression. That's why I kept it from you! Didn't you like me? Didn't you like holding me to sleep? Is my past that important? My love for you is real!"
"Shut up!" Zhu Biao's temples throbbed, and he raised his hand, wanting to strike.
But faced with Lianlian's glaring eyes, he lowered his hand and turned away, "I won't hit you, afraid to dirty my hands!"
As a noble heir, years of upbringing made it impossible for him to strike a woman, even one as vile as this.
At this moment, the crowd's gaze towards Zhu Biao was full of sympathy.
