Mo Zixuan's face turned white. Pain and jealousy mixed in his eyes. "She just married Mo Xiuchen a few days ago and she's already taking his side?" he spoke tersely. "If he really wanted to help you, he wouldn't have made you his wife; expecting you to play the widower for the rest of your life."
"I wanted it!"
Wen Ran's eyes were cold and resolute. Mo Xiuchen did not coerce her; it was her own choice.
"Ranran, how could you…"
"It's my business, and it's none of yours."
Just as Mo Zixuan began talking, Wen Ran cut him off. After saying that, she strided past him and left.
***
From six o'clock to eight o'clock, over the course of two hours, Wen Ran, a lady of leisure, somehow made a dish of sweet and sour ribs that looked, smelled, and tasted perfect.