The cold-blooded president chased his wife to the crematorium after the divorce

Ji Qi'an's words were cold and harsh, without any emotion. The reality cruelly told Li Jingxing: "Say something cruel."

He said, "You are the source of her illness. If she doesn't leave you, she will never get better."

When Li Jingxing heard this, his brain began to buzz with pain. The man's body suddenly trembled and he felt pain in all his bones.

The man suddenly collapsed, his shoulders slumped, he leaned against the wall, covered his bloodshot eyes with his hands, and gasped for breath.

"Ji Qi'an, I regret it."

Ji Qi'an was silent for a long time and sighed: "A Jing, just forget about it with her."

Just forget about it with her.

These words were like a sharp sword piercing Li Jingxing's heart, and pain instantly spread throughout his body.

The man slowly leaned against the wall, closed his eyes tightly, and opened them again. In his narrow, dark eyes, there was only a gloomy desolation and endless paranoid darkness.

It's impossible to just let it go like this.

It was obviously she who provoked me first.

This fire was started by Qiao Yan.

The one that is hot first cools down first, while the one that is slow to heat up cannot be stopped and keeps boiling.

Why just let it go?

Why?

Why should he recognize himself and fall in love with her? Just forget it.

"I can't count." Li Jingxing's eyes were filled with deep cruelty, paranoia and madness, and his whole body was tainted with a strong possessiveness.

Why should we just let it go?

The man covered his hands with his hands and sneered, with a strong and determined look on his face.

She, Qiao Yan, was the one who provoked him first.

If she becomes a ghost in this life, she can only be Li Jingxing's ghost.

The lights on the roadside are in disarray, with a mix of red, yellow, blue and green. The air feels stuffy and humid, as if it is foggy. The dim lights in the distance make the night even quieter.

The man's tall and straight body was shrouded in shadows, with scarlet sparks burning at his fingertips and a pile of cigarette butts at his feet.

The night wind brought a cool breeze.

Li Jingxing smoked a pack of cigarettes on the balcony. There was a hint of coolness in the man's ink-black eyes.

It was late at night. The man stood up, shook off the cigarette ash on the corner of his clothes, turned into the house, and climbed onto Qiao Yan's bed.

Qiao Yan was sleeping soundly next to his sister, when he suddenly felt as if he was being pressed down by a mountain, just like Sun Wukong being pressed down in the palm of the Buddha's hand.

The little fellow frowned tightly, his face turned red, his eyelashes trembled, and he was about to wake up. Soon the mountain disappeared.

Li Jingxing straightened up, his face dark, his eyes gloomy as he lowered his head, looking at the child still sleeping in the quilt, whom he had forgotten about.

The little guy seemed to be waking up. The man glanced at Qiao Yan's frowning brows, raised his hand and patted the little guy's back, silently coaxing him to sleep.

Soon, the little guy fell asleep contentedly, rubbing his little face against Qiao Yan's shoulder.

Li Jingxing looked at the two of them sleeping so intimately. Qiao Yan was not a child anymore, almost three years old, but he still wanted to sleep with Qiao Yan.

The man snorted coldly, bent down, picked up the annoying guy, put him on the sofa, then turned and left.

The little guy turned over and was about to roll off the sofa. The man frowned, glanced at the chair, and walked over.

A blanket was thrown on Xiaobao.

He placed four chairs around him, surrounding the little guy tightly on the sofa.

No matter how hard I roll, I can't roll down.