In little Fanfan's eyes, that figure was as terrifying as a demon.
"You wretched thing, just the sight of you annoys me. How could such a bothersome wretch like you exist?"
The woman swung the feather duster viciously at little Fanfan.
Slap! Slap! Slap!
Little Fanfan curled up into a ball, not daring to cry or scream, gritting his teeth to endure the beating.
At the door, a man leaned against the door frame, looking on indifferently, "Don't beat him to death, a dead child means prison."
The woman turned around, "It's not your kid, what are you worried about? I'd really like to throw him from the seventh floor to crush this wretched thing."
The man calmly said: "If you kill him, we lose the house. That woman has already transferred the house to his name. Do you want the house or not?"
