His tone was lukewarm, sounding like a command, yet also like...seeking her opinion?
"Wife, that car isn't great, shall we smash it?"
He repeated it again. This time she was sure of it. He had made up his mind to smash the car, but he still asked her, like trying to please her.
Eva Nightingale laughed, "Mr. President, are you so rich that you just burn money for fun?"
"You could say that," he replied.
He was truly sparing with his words.
That car belonged to that guy, and that guy had smashed her car and thrown it into the stinking ditch.
Of course, he had to help her, an eye for an eye, and smash that guy's car too.
"Wife, would you drive my car from now on?" He stretched out his long powerful arms, wrapped the little woman, and she fell into his warm embrace.
"Hmm?" She was puzzled.
His car, was he giving it to her?
Or not. He, noble as the President, how could she drive his car?
But that's not the point. The point is why he wants to smash the car?
