The more I thought about it, the more wronged I felt, and tears began to spill uncontrollably down my face. Why did he always have to make me feel so humiliated? I buried my face in his shoulder and bit down hard, venting all my frustration. Jiang Shuo let out a soft grunt, but his strides didn’t miss a beat.

When he finally laid me down on the bed and saw my face drenched in tears, he froze. He was genuinely panicked. In all our years of fighting and screaming at each other, he had never once seen me cry.

“I’m sorry… I scared you. It’s my fault.” He scrambled frantically to grab some tissues, his usual sharp-tongued, arrogant demeanor completely evaporating.

I sniffled, seizing the opportunity to lay down some ground rules:

“From now on, you’re not allowed to make me feel humiliated!” -> “Done.”

“You’re not allowed to make life hard for my friends!” -> “Done.”

“You’re not allowed to be on top!” -> His hand hitched for a split second… before he nodded anyway: “Done.”

He dropped to his knees right in front of me, his black trench coat slipping onto the carpet, leaving him in just his white dress shirt dotted with smudges of my lipstick. His dark eyes were mesmerizing, his voice dropping into a low, hypnotic murmur:

“Whatever you want. I only have one condition: when you have… needs, don’t look for anyone else. Let me do it. Please?”

I swore right then and there that Jiang Shuo had suffered severe brain damage. The same guy who bickered with me every single day was now on his knees begging me not to “cheat” on him. What kind of twisted script was this? It had to be a trap!

He picked up a warm towel and the medicine box, clearly intending to clean me up. I faked a soft cough, pointing at the stains on his collar: “Your coat… wash it yourself. Don’t hand it over to Auntie Zhang.”

He looked up, the corner of his mouth curving slightly. “Understood. I’ll hand-wash it myself. In fact, everything of yours from now on—no machines, no servants—just leave it all to me.”

I instinctively pressed my legs together out of sheer embarrassment, but he wouldn’t let me. He took my chin, forcing me to look him in the eye, before leaning down to capture my lips in another deep, breathless kiss. My brain completely short-circuited.

God knows how much time passed before he let out a low, husky laugh. “Wifey. Satisfied? Was my service up to par? Still planning on hiring other men?”

Dizzy and flushed, I swung my leg to kick him, but he caught my foot mid-air. To my shock, he produced a pair of high heels and carefully slid them onto my feet. I gritted my teeth, deciding to use those sharp stilettos for sweet revenge. I slowly pressed the heel firm against his neck, sliding it down over his collarbone, then dragging it lower toward his abs…

But… why on earth did he look so utterly thrilled?!

“Wifey. You’re incredible.”

I wanted to scream. Jiang Shuo, you absolute pervert!

Things between Jiang Shuo and me began to feel wildly off. It wasn’t hatred, exactly—I just found myself instinctively trying to avoid him.

In the past, we had crossed the line of “zero distance” plenty of times, but it was always a power struggle—a brutal competition to see who could pin whom. It was completely void of actual affection. But lately, this sudden turn toward “tender devotion” made my skin crawl, even as a tiny part of me secretly craved it. Was this wild dog actually getting tamed by me?

To stop my mind from spiraling, I went to bed early for an entire week, keeping my interactions with him to an absolute minimum. That was until the Xiao family’s gala arrived.

At the banquet, Jiang Shuo looked lethal in a tailored navy-blue suit, standing center stage in the crowd with a glass in hand, effortlessly charming everyone. The crystal chandeliers reflected off the luxury watch on his wrist, blindingly bright. He was practically surrounded by high-society heiresses, clinking glasses and chatting casually.

Watching him from afar, an uncomfortable lump formed in my chest. Just a few days ago he was whispering breathless, sweet nothings to me, and now here he was, coolly mingling in a sea of women. Looking at how practiced he was, he clearly had plenty of experience.

Irritated, I slammed back an entire glass of hard liquor in one gulp. Xiao Mu saw me swaying on my feet and swooped in to hold me up, but before he could even balance me, Jiang Shuo appeared out of thin air like a gust of wind. He smoothly took me from Xiao Mu’s arms, wrapping a firm hand around my waist in an unmistakable display of possession.

He casually initiated small talk with Xiao Mu’s parents. Right in the middle of discussing business, he abruptly pivoted the topic: “Xiao Mu is reaching marriageable age as well. You two should really start arranging things for him. Once he settles down, he’ll naturally learn to behave himself.”

Xiao Mu’s face went completely dark, his lips silently mouthing: “Abusing your power for a personal vendetta!”

I almost snorted out loud. What was that supposed to mean? Was he implying I didn’t know how to behave myself just because I was talking to Xiao Mu? What about him, then? Standing in a flock of women like it was no big deal? A dog really never changes its habits.

Honestly, Jiang Shuo’s petty, bastardly tendencies had been around since high school. I was still bitter about that one morning assembly back then.

Jiang Shuo had hijacked the school radio room and read a profoundly moving love letter over the speakers. The moment he finished, he casually announced into the mic, “My bad, grabbed the wrong paper,” before delivering the ultimate fatal blow: “As high schoolers, we should focus on college entrance exams instead of engaging in premature romance.”

The dean was so enraged he hunted down the original author, forcing the entire student body to write self-criticisms. That letter was actually written for me by a guy from the neighboring class. Jiang Shuo had intercepted it, broadcasted it to the whole school, and turned me into an overnight celebrity with the reputation of a “snitch.” From that day on, not a single soul dared to write me a love letter again.

And Jiang Shuo? He remained the untouchable campus heartthrob, drowning in gifts, milk tea, and love letters. Back then, I used to wonder: Could he possibly like me?

But after careful observation, I came to a solid conclusion: Nope. The guy just loves ruining my life.