Encased in an aura of death, Hu Meixin's eyes were wide open, resembling copper bells.
She struggled to move her lips, attempting to cry for help, but any sound was strangled in her throat by the invisible shackles of death, revealing endless despair.
Everyone was stunned by this scene.
They had never seen Ran Qingchen like this before.
Ruthless, gloomy, cold... It was nothing like her usual detached and indifferent demeanor.
Seeing the woman almost suffocating to death, Zuo Su anxiously shouted, "Qingchen, don't be impulsive!"
Ran Qingchen's eyelashes fluttered.
Instead of letting go, the woman slowly tightened her fingers.
She could endure being the subject of mockery, but why should they say she stole another's husband?
Jiang Mo had always been her husband.
"Qingchen!"
Old Madam Ran tapped her cane.
Hearing her grandmother's voice, the black fog in Ran Qingchen's eyes dissipated a bit.
She slowly released her grip and took a step back.