Trying to Kill My Son with His Mistress, I Destroy Their Glory and Life

He glanced back at Lucy, a hint of panic flashing in his eyes before turning to anger.

“Is this the time to talk about this? Myra, can you stop being so unreasonable!”

“It's just a piece of clothing. It's cold in the mountains and Lucy didn't bring enough clothes, so I let her wear it first.”

“How can you be so heartless?”

Lucy, standing behind him, immediately began to cry. She took a step forward and knelt down in front of my door with a thud.

“I’m sorry, Myra. It’s all my fault. I wore your clothes without your permission. Please don’t blame Mr. Brown. He only has you and the child in his heart. He really can’t take it anymore.”

“If you’re really angry, hit me or scold me! Please don’t torment Mr. Brown anymore.”

As she spoke, she kept banging her head against the wooden door.

The sound was loud.

When she looked up again, her fair forehead was already swollen and red, with even a few drops of blood seeping out.

What a desperate ploy.

Samuel’s anger was completely ignited.

He rushed over in a single stride, picking Lucy up from the ground with a look of concern.

Then he turned his head, glaring intently at my closed door.

“Myra!” He roared.

“How many people do you have to drive to death before you're satisfied!”

I heard him carrying another woman away, his footsteps hurried and angry.

The corridor fell silent once more.

I slowly picked up my phone, the screen displaying the recording interface and pressed the save button.

The next day, Samuel acted. He appeared on a live stream with the “injured” Lucy.

On camera, he looked haggard, his eyes bloodshot.

He addressed the camera, his voice choked with emotion, accusing me of “hating out of love.”

He said I had halted the project, forcing dozens of mountain children back to the brink of dropping out of school.

He portrayed himself as a tragic hero who had to endure his wife's unreasonable tantrums for the greater good.

By his side, Lucy had a conspicuous bandage on her forehead, lowering her head and silently shedding tears.

She said nothing, only tenderly handing him a glass of water when he was overcome with grief.

What a pitiful little flower being cyberbullied.

The comment section was completely overwhelmed.

[Capitalists have no humanity! They’re risking the children’s futures over a marital dispute!]

[I feel sorry for Mr. Brown, the hero bleeding and crying.]

[Is that rich woman mentally ill? Her control is too strong.]

[Poor Samuel Brown, he did nothing yet was cyberbullied.]

Public opinion completely sided with Samuel.

In the evening, chaotic sounds began to echo outside my residence.

Dozens of villagers, holding torches and farm tools, gathered in a dark crowd.